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Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic,Ā Conri has been teaching himself ASL and decided to use some of it, noncommunicative Derek, Stiles and Derek both know ASL
Warning(s):Ā series and fic-typical angst, minor death (of four people in a flashback), nightmares
It turns out that cold stays with you.
And not just in the numbing, shivering, bone shattering quality that everyone thinks that it does.
Two weeks since the final showdown and they were finally finishing wrapping up the final threads. Stiles had mostly physically recovered in the time. Derek went on his daily runs and perimeter checks, and the three of them, Stiles and him, plus Colin, had swept the empty Honey Paw, the warehouse and and other possible abandoned building and ordered them either renovated or demolished, so they were sure the state was cleared of any and all Chenoo, as well as vampiresā¦Ā
I didnāt want to tack this on to the chapter so reblogging again with a note from your moderator -
This is where weāll be leaving them to find their own way, their own future. Rest assured there is only peace and love and happiness for them now.
Thank you to everyone whoās been reading and reblogging and commenting. We hope youāve enjoyed the journey as much as we have!
Thank you too, to my wonderful group of writers, @blue-eyedbeta @halinski and @ohhalefire š Itās been a delight writing with you and I love the friendships that weāve developed through this challenge.
And finally a shout out to my fellow mods @fanfics-fix and @deepestbelieverstranger for getting this up and running š
Weāll be cross posting this to AO3. I want to say soon but due to tumblr formatting fuckery, itās going to take me a while to get everything copied across. It will happen. Slowly.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic,Ā Conri has been teaching himself ASL and decided to use some of it, noncommunicative Derek, Stiles and Derek both know ASL
Warning(s):Ā series and fic-typical angst, minor death (of four people in a flashback), nightmares
It turns out that cold stays with you.
And not just in the numbing, shivering, bone shattering quality that everyone thinks that it does.
Two weeks since the final showdown and they were finally finishing wrapping up the final threads. Stiles had mostly physically recovered in the time. Derek went on his daily runs and perimeter checks, and the three of them, Stiles and him, plus Colin, had swept the empty Honey Paw, the warehouse and and other possible abandoned building and ordered them either renovated or demolished, so they were sure the state was cleared of any and all Chenoo, as well as vampiresā¦Ā
I didn't want to tack this on to the chapter so reblogging again with a note from your moderator -
This is where we'll be leaving them to find their own way, their own future. Rest assured there is only peace and love and happiness for them now.
Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reblogging and commenting. We hope you've enjoyed the journey as much as we have!
Thank you too, to my wonderful group of writers, @blue-eyedbeta @halinski and @ohhalefire š It's been a delight writing with you and I love the friendships that we've developed through this challenge.
And finally a shout out to my fellow mods @fanfics-fix and @deepestbelieverstranger for getting this up and running š
We'll be cross posting this to AO3. I want to say soon but due to tumblr formatting fuckery, it's going to take me a while to get everything copied across. It will happen. Slowly.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic,Ā Conri has been teaching himself ASL and decided to use some of it, noncommunicative Derek, Stiles and Derek both know ASL
Warning(s):Ā series and fic-typical angst, minor death (of four people in a flashback), nightmares
It turns out that cold stays with you.
And not just in the numbing, shivering, bone shattering quality that everyone thinks that it does.
Two weeks since the final showdown and they were finally finishing wrapping up the final threads. Stiles had mostly physically recovered in the time. Derek went on his daily runs and perimeter checks, and the three of them, Stiles and him, plus Colin, had swept the empty Honey Paw, the warehouse and and other possible abandoned building and ordered them either renovated or demolished, so they were sure the state was cleared of any and all Chenoo, as well as vampiresā¦Ā
It turned out Derek neednāt have worried. (Not about the dinner with the Sheriff, at any rate.)
Stilesā dad was a grounding force from the second they walked in the door. He was polite and welcoming, if a bit gruff, and was totally understanding of Derekās silence, after all that had happened. Stiles interpreted for several hours, and the Sheriff simply took it in stride, without batting an eyelash. As Derekās tongue became lighter and words finally began to return to him over the course of the evening, neither Stilinski even mentioned it.
All three of them had trauma. They understood.Ā
Stiles and Derek stayed over that night. Though the Sheriff knew full well that werewolves couldnāt get drunk, once both guests had had a beer or two, he had nonetheless insisted point-blank that they would not drive home. Heād essentially frog-marched them up to Stilesā old bedroom - seemingly unchanged, compared to the last time Derek had seen it all those years ago - and forced them to bed.
Theyād slept like rocks.
In the small, dim hours of morning, Derek woke to an empty room, with Stiles nowhere in sight. For a moment, panic almost overtook Derekās body, but he was able to quell it quickly; he could hear the humanās familiar heartbeat close by, downstairs and outside, somewhere on the back porch. It calmed him.Ā
It anchored him.Ā
Derek didnāt even register the decision to go downstairs to see his mate. It was like his legs took him there of their own accord - like he could no longer keep away even if he tried.Ā
When Derek opened the back door, Stiles was facing away from him and looking to the sky, bare toes hanging off the edge of the porch despite the chill in the air. He was nursing a small mug of coffee; Derek could smell it in the breeze.Ā
Then Stiles looked over his shoulder and met his eyes, smiling a small, warm hello, and the oncoming dawn seemed to halo his form in pale morning light. It was the most beautiful thing Derek had ever seen.
āCouldnāt sleep?ā Stiles asked, more quietly than usual - probably to avoid his voice carrying up to the Sheriffās bedroom window and waking him, Derek noted.
āNot really.ā The cold winter wind swirled around them, sharp and white, pulling them together until Derek stood at Stilesā side, looking out into the back garden.Ā
Stiles just nodded. āYeah, sleepingās been rough for me, too.ā Theyād both been having nightmares about falling, they knew - falling and falling, and clinging to each other as they fell, and then theyād wake up holding each other just as tightly.
Derek reached out to touch Stilesā long fingers, and they twined easily between his, strong and gentle all at once. For a while, neither of them spoke; they simply stood together, content in each otherās company, watching the morning wake the world.
Then, as if out of nowhere, a smile took Stilesā face. āHey, Sourwolf,ā he said, voice low and full of mischief. āWe should run.āĀ
āWhat?āĀ
āYeah. Through the Preserve. You can go four-legged, like in Maine.ā Stilesā eyes sparkled in the dawning light. āHow does that sound?ā
In his chest, Derekās wolf howled at the thought. Heād found Stiles running, he remembered - running through the forest, miles away from here - and the instinct to run with him had been strong enough then to be almost overwhelming. Now, after everything, it would be a welcome relief to finally do it.
āIāll get your running shoes and tell your dad where weāre going,ā Derek replied. āHeās waking up now. I can hear him.āĀ
Stiles grinned. āStill weird when you flex your wolfy powers, dude.ā
āDonāt call me dude.ā
āWhatever, dude!ā
The two of them together had been running since Maine - running in the shadow of their trauma, their pain, and whatever horrible karma theyād earned from being at the centre of so much death for so long. But maybe someday, Derekās wolf-brain thought later as he bounded through the trees, racing circles around the laughing figure of the man he loved, theyād see enough light to be able to start running towards something, instead.Ā
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic,Ā Conri has been teaching himself ASL and decided to use some of it, noncommunicative Derek, Stiles and Derek both know ASL
Warning(s):Ā series and fic-typical angst, minor death (of four people in a flashback), nightmares
It turns out that cold stays with you.
And not just in the numbing, shivering, bone shattering quality that everyone thinks that it does.
Two weeks since the final showdown and they were finally finishing wrapping up the final threads. Stiles had mostly physically recovered in the time. Derek went on his daily runs and perimeter checks, and the three of them, Stiles and him, plus Colin, had swept the empty Honey Paw, the warehouse and and other possible abandoned building and ordered them either renovated or demolished, so they were sure the state was cleared of any and all Chenoo, as well as vampiresā¦Ā
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic,Ā Conri has been teaching himself ASL and decided to use some of it, noncommunicative Derek, Stiles and Derek both know ASL
Warning(s):Ā series and fic-typical angst, minor death (of four people in a flashback), nightmares
It turns out that cold stays with you.
And not just in the numbing, shivering, bone shattering quality that everyone thinks that it does.
Two weeks since the final showdown and they were finally finishing wrapping up the final threads. Stiles had mostly physically recovered in the time. Derek went on his daily runs and perimeter checks, and the three of them, Stiles and him, plus Colin, had swept the empty Honey Paw, the warehouse and and other possible abandoned building and ordered them either renovated or demolished, so they were sure the state was cleared of any and all Chenoo, as well as vampires...Ā
And yet, Derek was as hypervigilant as ever, and he caught Stiles throwing triple looks back over his shoulder, and constantly strengthening protective wards. They'd recovered somewhat from the past few months; Stiles did physically at least, but Derek still felt like he was walking on a tight rope mentally.
Sure, his garden was currently blooming big and bright, but deep down, he felt like the ground was about to give way beneath him. The mission was over and they were still stuck and a fire burned under Derek's claws to get on the move, to escape the ever lingering sense of danger. He couldn't shake it.
Derek wasnāt so clear on all the FBI business and how in the world Collin and Stiles had managed to explain away anyĀ of the happenings with the Chenoo or how they had gotten Derek off of the Most Wanted list. Derek could bet there was some of Stilesā magic involved there though he had no idea how, nor would Stiles ever tell him how exactly it went down. He wouldnāt even tell him about the helicopter explanation. Either way, he was on indefinite leave for now, and although he remained haunted now, Collin promised to stay in touch and keep an opening free in their unofficial supernatural handlings. Derek was pretty sure Stiles would recover sooner or later and get restless enough to pick up were they left off.
They escorted Ev to Beacon Hills and introduced him to the pack personally, to be taken under Boyd's wing; and the youngster took to Isaac immediately for some reason. Stiles had muttered a quiet word of judgement under his breath, and Erica happily took it as a challenge. They could have done without the awkward reunion, but thankfully, it seemed to be enough for nowĀ to exchange smiles with everyone. 'He hasn't changed', they would probably say once he was out of earshot, judging by their careful gazes following the tense lines of his shoulders.
He wanted to tell them he was trying. Derek wanted to share his life with them, with his- with what was once supposed to be hisĀ pack, his family. Almost. That he had Stiles now. That he was trying to open up to Stiles. That he was struggling and working on it, and that admitting it was the first step, wasn't it?
But his throat felt sewn shut from the inside, mouth dried up, and tongue heavy like an immovable object, and life kept moving around him like an unstoppable force. He felt utterly helpless. Every time Derek thought maybe he was about to grasp the core matter of his heart-racing anxieties, it slipped from him as he hurried to catch up with the present events. So, for now, it was Stiles who talked, and updated them on Ev and their adventures, but he kept their new relationship on the down-low. Once Derek had started clamming up, Stiles had insisted they take it slow.
The mage had picked up a lot of ASL and Derek really didn't know how to thank him for it. Even as evening neared and the emotions, magical and physical exhaustion alike caught up to him, frustration visible in the corners of Stiles' eyes, he remained patient in his communications. Though he got quieter as well. The steel vice around Derek just constricted further.
In the interest of business before pleasure they had left their visit to the sheriff until last, especially seeing as they would be staying there. As they parked in front of Stiles' old childhood home, Stiles turned to him.
"Hey," he signed, "you okay?"
Derek let out a measured breath as he looked over at Stiles and nodded slowly.
āYes,ā he signed back. āCome here.ā
Stilesā lips quirked up at the prompt and he leaned over the middle console, his chin finding an anchor point in Derekās palm. He melted into Derekās kiss and Derek felt some of his own anxiety seep out of his shoulders. At least there didnāt have to be anymore hiding around the sheriff. Stiles had already told him about them dating. Now, Derek wold just have to reintroduce himself to the man as his sonās boyfriend. Nerve-wracking.
Yet, hopeful.
Like maybe his future was waiting for him just behind that front door, pooled in the warm living room lights behind the windows, waiting for him walk right in, no more obstacles or traps ahead. Just his mate by his side, his heart pounding strong and healthy in his chest and all opportunities ahead of him. Waiting. For him to be ready.
Stiles jumped out of the passenger side door and grabbed his backpack off the car floor, weary but excited. Just waiting for Derek.
Derek breathed carefully, trying to get his throat unstuck. Breathed in, out, and then dared to take the first step toward steady warmth.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic,Ā Conri has been teaching himself ASL and decided to use some of it, noncommunicative Derek, Stiles and Derek both know ASL
Warning(s):Ā series and fic-typical angst, minor death (of four people in a flashback), nightmares
It turns out that cold stays with you.
And not just in the numbing, shivering, bone shattering quality that everyone thinks that it does.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic,Ā Conri has been teaching himself ASL and decided to use some of it, noncommunicative Derek, Stiles and Derek both know ASL
Warning(s):Ā series and fic-typical angst, minor death (of four people in a flashback), nightmares
It turns out that cold stays with you.
And not just in the numbing, shivering, bone shattering quality that everyone thinks that it does.
Cold settles into your soul. It is like a virus that learns to mimic the beating of your heart before it takes over. That claws its way into your marrow and like a mosquito laps up at the nutrients that made you a person. That made you real.
That made you human.
Stiles had known cold before.
He had known it the day that they had his motherās funeral and he had snuck out after his father had brought him home to ācamp outā on Claudiaās grave and hadnāt found him or realized heād been missing for three days.
Heād known it the night that the nogitsune had sleep walked him into that coyote den.
Heād known it the night he should have died, from the moment that he had scrambled out of the hell of regurgitated linen wrappings right up until he had been tripping backward over his own two feet, supported on one side by Lydia as they backed away from the entity wearing his own skin, glaring bloody murder at the two of them for daring to outsmart his 11th hour attempt to rid himself of his final obstacle.
Perhaps most poignantly of all, heād known it that fateful day.
It was a couple of years gone by at this point, but he remembers it as if it were yesterday. Remembers it in the way that the deep seas frozen depths had crept along his peripheral nerves to his spine, the way it had leached any form of warmth his thin flannel and slacks had provided against the harsh central Maine winter even before the Chenoo Queen had torn that flimsy armor to shreds with her claws.
In the way that it had broken his death grip on Derek and left him tumbling through the undertow.
āStilinski, the guy is a career criminal,ā his supervisor had drolled on with a roll of his eyes, āyouāre the one who fingered him for this, you know that there isnāt anything keeping him from going after a lone agent.ā
āYouāre right, I read the file backward and forward, which is how I know that if you send in special tactics weāre never going to find Roger,ā Stiles had pleaded. He could still see the look on the faces of Rogerās parents and older sibling as they pleaded with him to help bring their boy home. He was only the most recent victim, but to Stiles he was more than just a number, a statistic. And so were the rest of the men in his unit.
Unfortunately, his boss was a legacy with a chip on his shoulder to prove that he could live up to daddyās reputation and blatant string pulling to get him in this position. He obviously didnāt care as much as Stiles did. Heād just glanced at the file when Stiles had come into his office and shared his theory, and had only half listened to that before he had reached over to his phone to call in the request. That was when Stiles had reached over and pressed the disconnect on the cradle.
āSir, itās really a better move for just one of us to go in. Hell, let me go. I can talk him down. I can get him to tell me where the vic is and bring him in peacefully.ā
āWe both know thatās not going to happen.ā
Talking to this guy was worse than talking with the worst of the deputies that served with his father. In one ear and out the other.
āThe guy is a classic suicide by cop, Stilinski. We both know the type.ā
āWhich is why a full on assault isnāt going to work!ā
Two hours later, Stiles had found himself kneeling on top of a gurney in the back of an ambulance, pressing his entire body weight down into his white-knuckled fingers, which he was using to plug a hole he could feel but not see in little Rogerās brachial artery while the EMT next to him rushed to do anything and everything he could with his limited supplies. The kid barely resembled the photo that his mother had given him the previous day when heād gone to interview the family, heād been beaten so badly.
Roger was barely past eleven, and he was white as the sheet covering the gurney under him. Ā
He barely registered when the portable monitor beside them flatlined. He couldnāt hear it above his own pleading with the kid to hold on, just another few minutes, or the wailing of the three other ambulances rushing behind them with agents on board riddled with bullets despite their kevlar.
The cold had seeped into him then too. Riding along the life blood of another as it seeped past his own skin, deadening everything it touched. Reaching into his heart, his brainā¦
The glossy, deadened eyes staring back up at himā¦ just likeā¦
Just likeā¦
The blaring of the sirens in his ears faded gradually to whirling mechanical thumps, and Rogerās young face, so bloodied and bruised twisted and morphed around those deadened hazel eyesā¦
āDEREK!!ā The scream ripped from his throat with the fiery intensity of his spark, momentarily casting an eerie green glow about the room as his mouth hung open, wisps of verdant fog hovering before his eyes. His arms reached as his legs beat and flung the covers, but was soon replaced by the gooseflesh inducing chill of cold sweat.
Energy sapped into the air so quick it was as if it had never been there at all. Ā
Beside him, the only half-dozing werewolf sat with a start, those wide hazel eyes glowing blue in the darkness that surrounded them. There were footsteps farther away, but Stiles couldnāt be bothered with registering them consciously over the questioning rumble of noise from Derekās chest. An arm came around his shoulders and brought him in close to the near suffocating warmth that was Derekās wide, strong chest. With nary a second to process what he was doing, Stiles found his long fingers scanning the wall of muscle heād been pressed against, looking for imperfections or openings in the bronzed skin, carding gently through coarse hair.
No wounds.
Just the smooth perfection that had always been.
Slowly his breath calmed from the frenetic panic of nightmare into a more eased waking rhythm. Derek was safe. He was here, he was whole.
It was just the doom of the grave coming back to haunt him again. Awoken by the recent string of near-death and energized from the padlock chest in his mind in which heād locked the horrors awayā¦.
Just as slowly, the events of the last few nights began to clumsily bleed back into his brain. The call from the Queen on Evās phone. Collin commandeering the field officeās chopper. Derekās injuryā¦ the sea coming up to swallow them. Waking up to Derek crying.
They all followed the older spectres in an endless parade that had followed him his entire life.
Obviously Derek had healed from the fight.
There wasnāt anything to worry about.
Stiles then turned in on himself, attempting to do a mental inventory of how he was doing. It was slow going, like swimming through pudding. He was exhausted, completely and thoroughly, in a way that he had never felt before, even during those days when sleep could have meant death for him or his childhood friends. Derek included. That much had been obvious enough from the way that the past had broken free of his attempts to keep them locked away.
Heād been wounded too, hadnāt he? Surely he was covered in cuts and bruises? Orā¦ he should be. At the very least, should his wrists be shattered from hitting the water with Derek? Even with his magic, which had been pretty depleted at that point, there should be something.
But he couldnāt find anything, at least, not with his eyes in the dark of Derekās bedroom.
He heard the click of the door closing, and looked up to see hisā¦. Oh what even were they now? His brain was too pickled to really come up with anything or to care. He found he just wanted to curl up into the warmth again and fade into blissful quiet. Before he could though, Derek was leaning away from him again, and moving his hands.
It took the wolf repeating his gestures several times before it came to him; weeks ago, when theyād first reunited, Derek had used sign language with him at one point. Something unconscious in his brain clicked back into place and he forced himself to pay attention to the movements.
Index finger pointed to Stilesā chest.
Then Derek planed his left hand, palm up with his finger together, and brought his right hand down on it in a perpendicular before running the heel over his left palm.
And then a pointed questioning look, busy brows mussed with sleep as they pitched in the centre of his forehead.
The question was clear, and Stiles forced himself to smile. Despite the obvious fear in Derekās face, and the darkened bags under his eyes that gave away the fact that he obviously hadnāt slept since the fight, his concern was so obviously focused on the man in his arms that for Stiles to have felt anything but completely loved and grounded would have probably been a slap in the face.
āYeah, Iām ok,ā the exhausted fed murmured, mirroring Derekās ASL back at him when he was unsure if it was just Derekās ability to communicate with him that was off kilter or if there was also something with his understanding that had suffered over the years. If anything, Derek could correct him later when he wasnāt so out of it. After they had both had rest.
āYou,ā Stiles signed after a few minutes, pressing his own index finger into Derekās chest as they both sat there. āLook terrible,ā he finished, first bringing his right palm up to face Derek near his temple and then rotating his wrist so that he was looking at his palm, and then bringing both hands to his temples with the tips of his fingers pressed to his ears before springing his fingers out with a bit of a flourish. He cocked his right wrist out and laid his ear against it. āCouldnāt sleep?ā
Derek shook his head, worried his lip with his teeth a little as a long sigh moved from his nose.
They sat in quiet for a moment, Stiles not prying. In his time as an agent, heād learned to be patient, that if something was important it would always work itās way out. It was something that the kids had taught him over the hundreds of interviews he had conducted with them. He wasnāt going to deny Derek the time that he needed to figure out how to get out what he wanted or needed to. It had been clear enough to him, even back when they were young, that Derek had never really gotten that time. Not since his family had died, anyway. He was a man of few words, a man of action, more out of necessity than anything.
Then, suddenly, there was motion.
Derek brought his closed right hand up to his head, and ran his thumb outward along the edge of his jaw before bringing both arms in front of his chest, fists closed with his right close to his chest and his left pressed against the other side. He brought them out a bit before dropping them both and looking pointedly at Stiles.
āYou couldnāt protect me?ā he murmured incredulously.
He felt tears prickle against the corners of his eyes and closed them.
Derek.
Sweet Derek.
Before Stiles could even manage to move his lips enough to think about a comeback, Derek nodded slowly, and brought his closed right hand up to rub in a clockwise circle around his heart several times.
That did it.
Stiles reached out, taking hold of Derekās wrist. āNoā¦. Derā¦ noā¦ā he sighed. āYou didnāt do anything to be sorry for.ā His voice cracked a bit as he shook his head, unable to keep the emotion from his face or vocal cords. āDerek, if anything, I should be apologizing to you. You were the one that got hurt. I was supposed to protect you, not the other way aroundā¦ā Ā
The confusion on the wolfās face was heartbreaking.
And Stiles knew why.
Derek had never thought himself worthy of being saved. Worthy of help. Not ever. And every time he thought about it, it tore a hole into the fabric of his being. How could someone so beautiful, so giving, so strong and yet so utterly broken not be worth protection? Not be worth saving as much as any other person?
He wished he had the answer for that, he really did.
But he knew that he would never be able to give one to Derek no matter how much he searched for it, or tried to impress upon him that it was the truth.
So instead, he did the only thing he could think of, and he leaned up and pressed his lips into those of the broken beast before him.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Warning(s): near death experiences, angst, thoughts of death and suicide, oh god this makes it sound so dark and it isnāt, itās just angsty, everyone is fine
Hitting the water should have been like hitting concrete. Shattered bones and ruptured organs and mangled bodies.
But it wasnāt.
Surrounded by a now familiar green haze, they landed in the icy ocean.
The impact wasnāt enough to kill them but it was enough to tear Stiles from Derekās arms.
No no no no no,Ā Derek thought as he was left clutching at nothing but freezing water that slipped through his grip and dragged him down into the murky depths of the sea.
Stiles.
Stiles had saved them both. Once again. And now Stiles had been taken from him, torn away by forces of nature that not even Derek was strong enough to fight.
No.Ā This was notĀ happening.
Derek fought his way back to the surface, wincing with every stroke as his battered body slowly healed from the wound that went right through him. He emerged, coughing and spluttering, and drew much needed air into his lungs as he twisted in the water, searching desperately for any sign of Stiles.
There.Ā
Ten feet away. Not moving. Werewolf speed didn't help much in water, but he was still beside Stiles in an instant.
Please please please please please.
The refrain echoed through his mind, a prayer of sorts to gods he didn't believe in.
Take me. Not him. His life for mine.
Derek wantedĀ to stay. Had found a reason to live for the first time in more years than he cared to remember. But in a choice? If it was Stiles or himself? He'd choose Stiles to live every time.Ā
What are you doing?Ā the logical part of his brain screamed at him. Get hold of him.
Finally, Derek did. He shook off the thoughts that threatened to suck him down to the ocean floor and pulled Stilesā lifeless body to himself. He cradled him there, angled in the water, and held him up.
He wouldnāt let Stiles sink.
The same way Stiles hadnāt let him sink in the swimming pool so many years ago.
He zeroed in on Stilesā heartbeat. Fast but even. Alive but unconscious.
They had to get out of the water. Derek couldnāt help Stiles here. Maybe he couldnāt help him at all. Maybe whatever injury Stiles had suffered was too great. Derek hadnāt been enough to protect Stiles. Hadnāt taken enough of the impact or kept hold of him. Maybe if Derek had been better, Stiles would be awake, whooping and laughing and kissing Derek because they were alive.
But he wasnāt and Derek couldnāt change that now.Ā All he could do was make it right.
He struck out for the nearby shore, slowly and carefully so he could make sure Stilesā face was always above the small waves that rose and fell around them.
It seemed to take forever. For each stroke forwards that Derek took, another wave would come and push him back again. His body was weak, tired, used up from the fight and the healing. He had nothing left.
Is that what Stiles felt? Back then?
He remembered Stiles sinking with him, determined not to let Derek go even if it meant his own life. He remembered the superhuman effort Stiles had put into saving his life. Not only back then but today too.
He would do the same for Stiles. Both of us or neither of us, he told the ocean, bargaining with her as though she would follow his rules.
Somehow it seemed to work. It gave him the strength he needed to make it to the shore and drag them both up onto the pebbled beach.
He allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief once they were clear of the water. Just a tiny one. They werenāt out of danger yet. The water was freezing, the stones covered with a rim of ice, and they were both in wet clothes.
But still, he allowed himself a bigger sigh of relief when Stiles stirred.
āDer-ā he mumbled, shivering as he raised his left hand. āYouāre ok.ā
Iām ok?Ā Derek thought. What about you? You stupid, self sacrificing, idiotic asshole.Ā It was what Stiles would have said to him if their situations had been reversed.
But Derek didnāt say it. Wouldnāt say it. Instead he sniffed and nodded. āIām fine.ā
Stiles smiled a smile that was brighter than a thousand suns. "Worth it," he slurred and promptly passed out again.
"No, no, Stiles!" Derek said frantically, only half aware of the beat of helicopter blades a way down the beach. He pulled Stiles closer to himself, as though sheer proximity could transfer some of his life force to him. "Stiles, wake up! You can't - you can't leave me!"
And then Collin was beside them, and Ev, and they were taking Stiles away from him, taking him away to the helicopter while Derek followed behind, feeling useless.
Heād done this. It was all his fault. All of it. Like it always was. He hadnāt done enough to keep Ev safe, or to keep Stiles away from any of this. Heād gotten hurt and Stiles had to save him and now Stiles was hurt and if anything happened to Stiles -
God, if anything happened to Stiles, Derek would never forgive himself. If Stiles died, Derek would follow him. He wouldnāt be able to find a way to carry on. Not now heād known the brightness that it was to be loved by Stiles. Not now heād found a way to make his garden grow again.
The garden that was slowly withering with each passing moment. Leaves dropped and blooms faded, replaced by parched grass and bare branches, desolate and barren once again in the face of a loss that would be too great to handle.
The journey didn't pass in a blur, exactly; that would suggest it passed quickly and it didn't. It dragged. It somehow simultaneously felt like the longest 10 minutes of Derek's life, and like it was over in the blink of an eye.Ā
He was focused on Stiles, on the rise and fall of his chest because he couldn't hear his heartbeat over the whump whump of the helicopter blades; on the minute flicker of eyelids and the regular shivers that told him Stiles was still alive. There wasn't space to notice anything else like the passing of time or where Colin was taking them.
When the helicopter blades faded to a quiet whick whick and then to nothing, Derek finally looked up, bewildered to find himself in the clearing not far from his house.
Collin leaned back over the seat. "Take him. Go. Both of you. I'll head out, keep the wolves from your door -" he chuckled "- so to speak."
Derek stared blankly at him. "Shouldn't he be -"
"In hospital? Nothing they can do for magic depletion like that. He poured everything he had into keeping the two of you alive. He'll be ok, he just needs to rest."
"You've seen this before? You're certain? It's just his magic?"
"One hundred percent. Make sure you keep him warm, water's cold enough for hypothermia."
Derek nodded. He knew that anyway. He would take care of Stiles and if there was any doubt whatsoever, he would take Stiles to hospital himself and deal with the inevitable fallout and questions.Ā
Ev made a move towards Stiles and Derek growled at them. Stiles was /his/. Stiles being hurt was his fault. Stiles was his responsibility. No one else's. Derek would take care of him now.
He glared at Ev until they backed off, then scooped Stiles up into his arms, bridal style.Ā
Memories flooded through him, threatening to undo him, to make his knees buckle under the weight of his love and guilt. Stiles. Stupid, idiotically brave Stiles who had somehow decided Derek was worth saving, who had inserted himself into an FBI investigation and gotten himself shot. Stupid, idiotically brave Stiles who had somehow decided Derek was worth saving again and again, who had thrown himself out of a fucking helicopterĀ with no regard for his own safety.
Then, there had been blood. Now there was only a deathly pallor and cold skin and shivering.
Please be ok. Please be ok. Please be ok.
The refrain echoed through Derek's head as he carried Stiles inside and straight upstairs; a prayer to gods he no longer believed in.
He gently laid Stiles on the bed while Ev hovered in the doorway.
"You should -" they said.
"Out," Derek growled. "Turn up the heat. Control's in the lounge."
"Derek," Ev tried again. "You need to get out of those wet clothes, you -"
"Heat," Derek said, more gently now. "Please."
Ev nodded and raced down the stairs to do what they were told and Derek was left alone with Stiles.
Panic threatened to rise up, clawing at his throat with icy fingers. He forced it back down where it made a home in his chest, covering his garden with thick layers of frost that wouldn't thaw until Stiles was awake again.
He worked quickly; peeled the wet clothes from Stiles' freezing body and tossed them on the floor. There would be time to deal with that later. To empty the pockets and salvage what wasn't water damaged. To launder them and dry them and fold them ready for Stiles to wear again. For now it was more important to get Stiles warm.
A bath would be the quickest way but something deep in Derek's memory told him not to. Something about not warming someone too quickly because it's dangerous. He couldn't recall the exact details, he just knew it was a thing that could go wrong and he wasn't willing to take any risks.Ā
So he carefully bundled Stiles under the covers. The room was already feeling warmer, thanks to Ev cranking up the heat, but Stiles was still pale and shivering. Again, something deep in Derek's mind told him that shivering was good. It was when the shivering stopped that you had to worry.Ā
Not that the knowledge made it any easier to see Stiles lying there. He looked smaller than ever. Fragile. Young, with the tension smoothed from his face. He looked breakable.
But that was exactly what had happened, wasn't it? Stiles had given his all to save Derek's life and now he was broken. Freezing and broken. All because Derek hadn't been good enough to take out the Queen without getting hurt.Ā
Take care of yourself now, a voice that sounded like his mom prodded him. You can't take care of him if you don't take care of yourself.
The voice was right, even though Derek wanted to argue with it, to say he wasn't worth taking care of. He had to. For Stiles.
Werewolves always ran hot and his healing powers would keep hypothermia at bay for much longer than in a human, but he was coldĀ and uncomfortable in wet clothes. He might not be in danger, but he needed to do better. If his mom-sounding inner voice didn't yell at him, Stiles would when he woke up. And quite possibly Ev, too.Ā
With that thought, he quickly stripped off and slipped under the covers with Stiles. He would warm up fast now that the cold, wet clothes weren't leeching heat from him and then he could use his own body heat to help Stiles.Ā
One thing at a time, he reminded himself, along with every analogy for self care that he'd ever heard. You can't pour from an empty cupĀ and other seemingly useless platitudes that made perfect sense until he was lying beside his unconscious boyfriend, partner, whatever they were calling each other, and all he wanted to do was fix it. Find some way to help him.Ā
As soon as he was warm again, he wrapped himself around Stiles, letting out a quiet hiss when Stiles' freezing skin came into contact with his own. Undeterred, he pressed closer. Hypothermia, he could help with. The magic depletion? Not so much. So he would focus on what he couldĀ help with. He pulled Stiles into his arms, giving him as much skin to skin contact as he could - far more than they'd shared before and Derek hated that it was like this. But he had to do it and he was at least 99 percent sure that Stiles would agree, even if he couldn't agree to it in this particular moment.Ā
Which brought up a whole lot of questions around consent and bodily autonomy and whether it was right to do this. It's basically a medical treatment, Derek reasoned with himself. Stiles wouldn't be able to consent to being warmed in a hospital setting either, it was no different.Ā
But still, the thought niggled at him, worked its way into his mind and scraped away; a grain of doubt that would raise a blister if he didn't remove it soon.
The distraction of Ev's footsteps on the stairs and the subsequent tap on the bedroom door was a welcome one.
"Yeah?" he called out, unnecessarily gruffly.
"Er," Ev said as they opened the door and came in, laden down with a tray and an armful of fabric. "I made a pot of tea. Chamomile. It was all you had in the cupboard. And I found some extra blankets. I thought it might -"
"Thank you," Derek interrupted quietly. "Can you put the tea on the dresser and give me the blankets. Please."
Ev put the tray on the dresser but instead of giving the blankets to Derek, they started placing them on the bed - mostly on Stiles but on Derek too. "You should rest. I'll bring some food up later."
"Not until -"
"Until Stiles is ok again, I know. I'll make sandwiches and then you can share them when he wakes up."
Derek nodded, and Ev smiled and turned to leave.
"Ev?" Derek said when they were at the door. "Thanks."
"No problem," Ev said easily, and went back downstairs again.
Feeling less alone now, Derek turned his attention back to Stiles. He wanted to full shift; to wolf out and deaden his emotions so they were easier to carry. They weighed heavily, forcing him to sit low in the water where he was in danger of being deluged by the stormy waves of doubt and worry.
But he couldn't do that. He needed to be human. For Stiles. As soon as Stiles was awake again, Derek would be there to get him anything he needed. He'd get him the world if that was what Stiles wanted. He'd take him back to Beacon Hills or far away from everything or he'd stay right here. Wherever Stiles wanted to be.Ā
Once he thought he would die for Stiles. He still would. But now he wanted to live for him, too.Ā
He curled closer still and tucked the blankets in more securely around them both, as though that would shut out the rest of the world.
The fight and the healing had taken their toll on Derek; left him with a yawning, gaping tiredness that surrounded his body and mind. An exhaustion so deep that even taking a single breath felt like too much effort. He needed to sleep. To replenish his energy reserves.Ā
Not now.
Not yet.
He wouldn't sleep. He had to watch over Stiles, to protect him against any forces that might come to take him away. Whether it was supernatural or the FBI or death itself, Derek would keep them at bay.
He focussed in on Stiles' heartbeat. Slower now. More even. More normal. His breathing was fine. Steady. No rasping or rattling. He hadn't inhaled any water, then. That was good.Ā
The shivers had slowed, only coming every few minutes. Stiles' skin felt warmer, too. Maybe Derek had done enough to protect him from hypothermia. Maybe that risk was behind them now.
Derek lay there, wrapped around Stiles as thoroughly as it was possible to be. Talking was supposed to help unconscious people. He read that somewhere once.Ā
But what was he meant to say? Words weren't Derek's strong point on a good day, he always struggled to say what he meant or his tone of voice was wrong and it came out more harshly than he meant it to. On a bad day, sometimes the words wouldn't come at all. When he was overwhelmed with emotions or his senses were overloaded, words became white noise; dancing static that refused to settle into a clear picture and instead hung there, tantalisingly out of reach.
On days like that, communication was beyond him.
And anyway, how was he supposed to give voice to a fear so great that it threatened to consume him?Ā
Did he wantĀ to give that fear a voice? To speak the words aloud; to put them out into the world where they might come true, like an ancient curse that could only be activated if it were spoken. Did he wantĀ to take that risk?
No.
He could push past the lack of words, dig deep and find them and force them past his lips. He could do that. For Stiles. Anything for Stiles.
But no. Uttering the words aloud would make it real. If he left them unspoken, he could sink into the comforting daydream that Stiles was just sleeping in his arms and would wake at any moment.Ā
He couldn't keep the words from his head, though. Silent pleas for Stiles not to leave him, bargains with fate or destiny or god that he would trade everything if Stiles would just be ok.Ā
As day turned to night and darkness sank down around them, Derek trembled with the effort of keeping the floodgates closed against the swell of his emotions. A single tear slipped from beneath his closed eyelid, angrily wiped away with the back of his hand. There would be time for that later. Not now.Ā
He didn't eat the sandwiches Ev made. Or drink the tea. Or the replacement pot of tea Ev brought up later. He did gulp down the glass of water Ev held out to him, but ignored the glass Ev replaced it with a few minutes later.Ā
Hours of silence passed. With each minute it grew. With every second, it devoured a little more of Derek's hope, slowly nibbling away at the tiny spark that told him Stiles would be ok, until only the barest ember remained.
And then finally -
Finally -
Stiles stirred in his arms.
Relief washed through Derek, taking some of the darkness with it. "Stiles," he whispered urgently. "Stiles, wake up."
"Mmf?" Stiles mumbled.Ā
"Wake u-" Derek's voice cracked and he swallowed and tried again. "Wake up for me. Please, you have to wake up. You have to be ok. Please be ok. I can't -"
Stiles' eyelids fluttered open and Derek lost himself in the whiskey warmth. His breaths were coming fast, catching in his throat, only calmed when Stiles wriggled one hand out from under the layers of blankets and absentmindedly rubbed Derek's shoulder.
"I'm ok," he said, "I'm ok, Derek."
Derek's garden, parched for so long and then flooded, slowly started to return to life. The flowers were blooming again. He let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh and kissed Stiles on the forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Hot. Too hot. And thirsty and oh my god I'm so fucking hungry and are we safe? We are, I guess? Because I'm here and you're here and -"
"We're safe," Derek was quick to reassure him. "There's food and water and tea. I'll get some in a minute."
"Now?" Stiles said hopefully, giving Derek puppy dog eyes.
Derek swallowed hard. "In a minute."
Stiles smirked. "Don't wanna let go of me, huh, Sourwolf?"
No. I don't.Ā Derek shook his head and curled up with his head on Stiles' chest, pulling off some of the blankets as he moved. At least he could do that much without losing contact with Stiles.
"Guess I've been out for a while?" Stiles ruffled through Derek's hair, still mussed and salty from their dip in the sea.
Derek screwed his eyes up against the sting of tears and nodded.
"I'm ok, Derek. I'm really ok. I feel fine."
"You promise?" Derek whispered.
"I promise."
Derek propped himself up on one elbow. "Can you promise me something else?"
"Anything," Stiles said solemnly.
"Please don't throw yourself out of any more helicopters," Derek said, his voice full of gravel as he forced the words out.
Stiles laughed softly. "Yeah, yeah, I think I can manage that."
Derek nodded and curled up with his head on Stiles' chest again. He would get up and get the tea and the water and the sandwiches in a minute.
For now, he just wanted to take a moment to savour the knowledge that Stiles was ok.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Mod note - due to writer ill health, vacations, conventions, exhibitions, heatwaves and general life stuff, updates will be somewhat sporadic but we hope to resume weekly updates soon. Thanks for bearing with us! Mod Kate @greyhavenisback
Warning(s): blood, violence, gross monster horror crap, very near death experiences
The ride to the warehouse was kind of a blur. Derek had had to track Ev by scent; despite the frantic where are you?!Ā heād sent, the Queen had never replied to him, so his nose had been his only hope.
By the time they parked just down the road from the familiar warehouse, its roof now sagging in one corner where a monster-sized hole had been punched in it, Derekās chest was tightening, but not from exertion. Once again, someone he cared about was in danger, and once again he was responsibleā
Heād done itā
It was his faultā
Ā Againā
But before the old darkness at the edge of his mind had a chance to overtake him, a long-fingered hand pressed against his chest, grounding him in sensation and pressure.
āDonāt start beating yourself up about this, big guy,ā said Stiles. He sounded strangely far away, despite the fact that he was only in the passengerās seat. āI know that self-loathing is practically a full-time job to you, but youāre not responsible for this, the Queen is. You didnāt do this.Ā Okay? Look at me.ā
Derek did. Concerned whiskey eyes swam into focus in front of him, and awareness came back to his body in waves, radiating out from Stilesā fingers on his chest.
āYou with me, dude?ā Stiles asked. When had all that stubble grown in on his face? Derek hadnāt noticed. It looked good.
He breathed. In, out. Synced the timing of his inhales to Stilesā breath. In the car, the air tasted like gas and incoming snow. āDonāt call me dude,ā Derek finally answered, instead of a āyesā.
A smirk pulled slightly at Stilesā mouth. āGood. Because brooding may be a good look on you, but so is anything else, and right now, I need you.ā Stilesā hand still hadnāt left Derekās chest. āWe can talk about it later, okay? When the whole town is safe from the monster in that warehouse. Maybe over dinner.ā
Derek knew two things: one, that Stiles was trying to distract him, and two, that it was working. He blinked away the fog of guilt pressing against his brain. āDinner?ā
āYeah, Sourwolf. Dinner. What, did you think that our entire relationship was just going to be saving the world over and over again? No. I demand a hokey first date, just like everybody else.ā Stilesā smile was lopsided and as bright as the sun. It illuminated everything.
Derek tried to match it, but could only feel the corners of his mouth twitch a little. āNot Chinese food, though.ā
āNot Chinese,ā Stiles agreed. āNow letās get going. The sooner we smoke this monster lady and save your friend, the better.ā
And with that, Stiles stepped casually out of the car, glowing green bat in hand, looking far too relaxed to be heading to take out a thousand-year-old monster who had been eating the citizens of Portland. Derek watched from the car as the human - hisĀ human - tiptoed around the back of the building, trying to keep downwind so the Queen couldnāt track him by scent. Every step that Stiles took away from him, away from Derekās direct protection, felt like another jab into his chest, a reminder of the worry and loneliness that were his constant companions.
He hated that Stiles was putting himself in danger. In danger for Ev, whom he didnāt even know - whom he cared about just because he knew Derek cared, and that was enough for him.
It didnāt matter what Stiles said. Derek knew all this was his fault.
And he would make it right.
Derek stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Now Stiles was out of his sightline, it was showtime.
He stomped up to the front door of the warehouse, making as much noise as was believable of a born werewolf to make. He needed to pull the monsterās focus - to make sure she didnāt track Stiles coming up from the back entrance. In one angry movement, he wrenched the doorknob off the door, so the entrance creaked open without pushing. Behind it, there was only darkness - a dark thicker than was natural, deep and almost tangible, like a black fog. Even with his werewolf senses, Derek couldnāt see his hand in front of his face once he passed the threshold. āHello?ā he called into the dark, letting the anger he felt at Evās capture seep into his voice. āEv? Are you here?ā
Distantly, as though from very far away, he could hear Evās heartbeat, calm and perhaps only slightly too slow. They were unconscious, then.
He heard no other heartbeats. The Queen hadĀ a heart, Derek knew, but it probably hadnāt beat in a thousand years.
āEv?ā
Derekās eyes werenāt adjusting. There was something wrongĀ about this darkness.
Suddenly, he had a very bad feeling.
Faintly, as though from impossibly far away, Derek heard a sound - one that made every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He wheeled, trying to face the noise, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere: the unmistakable, chitinous clicking of the Queenās monstrous form. As the sound grew closer, it echoed against the corrugated warehouse walls, ringing horribly in his ears.
āHello, little wolf,ā the Queen hissed into the dark, and her voice bore into his mind.
All at once, right in front of him, the profound darkness opened up to reveal the Queen. She was giant, of course, with far too many beetle-black legs ending in terrifying points, her maw too-long and too-full of jagged teeth, her hair long and stringy and wild.
Wrapped in what could only, horrifyingly, be oversized spider silk, hanging from a thread attached to the Queenās warped back, was an unconscious Ev.
āGive them back,ā Derek spat.
āMaybe, little wolf,ā said the monster, and Derek could hear the violent amusement in her voice. āBut weād have to make a trade.ā Her smile showed no lips and a thousand gory teeth.
Them for me.Ā Derek knew it would be that, of course. Heād always known. And so much of him was ready for that sacrifice, and always would be - it was part of the things that made him up. He was Derek Hale, only useful for saving other people.
But for the first time in his life, he realized he actually had something else to live for.
If Derek even tried to give his life for anyone elseās, Stiles would raise him from the dead just to murder him again. He owed Stiles a dinner date, too, and the guy would definitely murder him a third time if he missed that. Andā¦ and he didnāt want to leave him, either. Not after everything theyād been through, after losing and finding each other, after that kiss in the bedroom.
He wanted to stay, Derek thought, half-amazed.
He would just have to get Ev back another way.
āI know what you are,ā he said slowly to the monster that hulked in the dark. āAnd the legends tell me how to kill you. I donāt need your trade.ā
Suddenly, the Queen hissed as though she had been stung, chitinous limbs writhing, Evās limp body bouncing precariously against her side. āYou do not know me, wolf! I am older than any human story! I am beyond legends!ā
Her voice, boring into his mind, scratched a billion nails on a billion chalkboards, but Derek didnāt flinch. āTouched a nerve, my Queen?ā He asked, voice as casual as he could keep it as he began to pace. Slowly, the thickened dark was becoming easier for his eyes to pierce; maybe the Queenās concentration on her strange darkness-spell was beginning to wane. He could see the small, high windows around the edge of the warehouse now, and the crack of light coming through the back doorway. If he could put the Queen between him and the doorā¦
The monster didnāt notice. Spittle gathered in the corners of her too-wide mouth, her voice growing impossibly louder. āYou are nothing! A speck in time! I am a devourer of a thousand of your people, and I will devour a thousand more! Your precious friend will only be the next in a long line, before I consume you, and finally your mate! I will extinguish his Spark like a match in the snowāā
Behind her, the back door exploded open.
āGet away from them, you BITCH!ā Stiles screamed, using the exact same cadence as Ripley in Aliens, and a beam of neon green light hit the monsterās back at full force.
The Queen writhed in pain and wheeled, her screech debilitatingly loud, and Derek took his moment. Claws out, he launched himself through the air at the strand of strangely thick spider silk binding Ev to the Queenās carapace. In one fluid move, he swiped at the strands, tearing Ev from their cocoon of bindings and catching their limp body as it fell.
One second too late.
A single warped limb, one of so many, grabbed at his ankle with its pincer, sending a stab of pain shooting up through Derekās whole leg. He fell, Evās body pressed to his chest to protect them as they hit the ground, and the spider Queen pulled at his foot at a wrong angle until it broke underneath him with an all-too-familiar crack.
Stiles yelled his name, and Derekās vision filled with bright green light again. The limb attached to his ankle fell, separated from the Queenās carapace by a spark of magic, and with a frantic free hand, Derek grabbed it and threw the leg away. The Queenās shrieking seemed neverending, now; it bored into his brain by way of his eye sockets, a drilling, white-hot type of pain.
Against Derekās chest, Ev was beginning to stir against the commotion. āWhereā¦?ā
āWeāre getting you out of here,ā Derek said, wincing, pushing himself up awkwardly so his broken foot could start healing. āDonāt worry. Iāve got you.ā
āOh,ā grunted Ev groggily, and went limp again.
As quickly as Derek could with a pounding headache and a broken ankle, he dragged Evās body away from the fighting, towards the other end of the warehouse, just under the hole in the ceiling. āStay here,ā he told his semi-conscious friend. He had to help - Stiles may have been a super powerful Spark and all, but he couldnāt heal like a werewolf and didnāt have a set of fangs, and every second Derek wasnāt helping him was an eternity of agonizing worry.
When he turned back to the fight, though, ready to jump in with Stiles, what he saw was truly magnificent.
The strange darkness the Queen had created was gone. Stiles - breakable, human Stiles - was glowing with magic, the brilliant green light of his Spark as bright as sunlight through spring leaves. His stance was strong, confident, and there was none of the self-consciousness of a boy about him anymore; with the stubble and the shaggier hair had come the assured eyes of a man, absolutely clear about what he needed to do, and secure in knowing he could accomplish it. And what was more, he was holding his own, fighting the Queen of Monsters and beating her back, one burst of dazzling spring-green light at a time.
In Stilesā magic, the garden inside Derekās heart was coming to life in front of his eyes. Wherever the light touched, he could swear he almost saw flowers.
āWhoa,ā said Ev from somewhere behind him, in a thready, thin voice. āHeās amazing.ā
āYeah,ā Derek breathed. āHe really is.ā
Just then, a new noise pressed into Derekās consciousness, breaking his reverie: the distant sound of a single approaching helicopter, carrying to his ears from all the way across the water.
They were almost out of time.
Derek roared and shifted, bounding back into the fray despite his still-healing ankle. In one go, he pulled out yet another of the Queenās chitinous legs, ripping it from its socket and flinging it away across the room.
The monsterās screaming boomed even louder, and one of her remaining claws ripped into Derekās arm before he could reach it away. āHow dare you! Warm-blooded scum! You are vermin!āĀ
āTime to go!ā he told Stiles as he scrambled to his side. From closer up, Derek could see the nasty gashes the Queen had opened on the humanās forehead and shoulder. There was far more blood than he would have liked. āYou got anything left?ā
Stiles nodded once. āGot a few more tricks up my sleeve,ā he said with a strange, adrenaline-fueled grin. āBuy me ten seconds and Iāll be ready to blow this popsicle stand.ā
Derek didnāt need to be told twice. Without even thinking, he charged at the monsterās face in full Beta-shift, tackling her with his claws.
āNot like that!ā Stiles yelled after him, but it was too late; Derek was already within reach of the Queenās too-many remaining razor-sharp legs, and her rows and rows of revolting teeth.
Ten seconds. He could survive fighting in close range with the Queen of Monsters for ten seconds.
Hopefully. (It wasnāt self-sacrifice if he didnāt die, right?)
Her teeth bore into the meat of his shoulder when he dug his claws into the seams of her carapace.
Ten.
Her claw stabbed him in the low abdomen when he ripped out another leg.
Eight.
Her voice burrowed into his mind when he forced himself to keep healing.
Six.
You cannot win, little wolf,Ā said the Queen, directly inside his brain. Her eyes were wild, milky and too-wide. Terrifying, in a fundamental and existential way. I will outlast you. Your humans cannot bleed for long. Your Spark is tired. You will die today.
Four.
āNo,ā he spluttered, and there was blood in his mouth, though he couldnāt tell which wound was causing it.
Two.
He held her gaze - her attention. From only a few inches away, he stared the Queen down.
One.
āGet out of there!ā Stiles screamed, voice ragged, and Derek tore himself away, ripping claws and teeth from his flesh with a pain his mind couldnāt even process, flinging himself away from the Queenās revolting body. He wasnāt able to land properly - he didnāt have enough feeling in his legs - but he could drag himself next to Stiles in a strange scramble that brought him clear enough to start healing again.
Stiles raised the bat over his head. āI can do this all day!ā he roared, and green light exploded out of him in a wave that filled Derekās vision and set his ears to ringing.
The whole building rumbled, creaked, and then went quiet.
When Derekās eyes adjusted again after the flash, the Queenās body was embedded in the opposite wall, on its back, its strange spider legs curling up towards the air.
āHoly shit,ā Stiles breathed. āHoly shit, we did it.ā
The helicopter noise was close now - right overhead - and when Derek turned back to Ev, he could see a wriggling rope ladder lowering through the hole in the roof. Collin had arrived - with his airborne reinforcements.
āLetās go,ā he told Stiles. He couldnāt run anymore, not without some considerable healing time, but his boyfriend seemed to know that; without asking, Stiles slid underneath Derekās arm, supporting him on the way to the ladder, and up towards the helicopter, Collin, and freedom.
*
āTurns out you didnāt even need me!ā yelled Collin from the cockpit of the borrowed FBI helicopter, once all three of them were inside. āYou did fine!ā
Stiles, Derek, and Ev all shared a loaded look. They didnāt look fine, Stiles thought; every one of them seemed bone tired, bloody, and in deep need of a nap. Fighting a supernatural predator took a lot out of you, it turned out.
But Stiles couldnāt relax yet. He had one more spell to unload, now the ladder was retracted and clear of the warehouse roof.
āGotta make sure weāve destroyed her body enough that she stays dead,ā he mumbled, quietly enough that over the drone of the propellers only Derek could hear him. Exhausted, Stiles turned to the open side of the helicopter where it hovered near the warehouse and slightly out over the water.
He didnāt have much left in him. Stiles knew that. The bat wasnāt glowing anymore, either; whatever power heād managed to put into it that first time when heād eradicated most of the coven, it was almost drained now. He would just have to make this last spell count.
Stiles couldnāt even yell the trigger words this time - even though he knew the effect would have been way cooler. All he said was āHulkā¦ smash!ā as he threw the bat down towards the warehouse with everything his body had left. Thankfully, it seemed to be enough; underneath them, the warehouse began to collapse in on itself where the bat had hit, shaking the ground as the whole building fell.
Stiles let out a long, ragged breath.
āLetās go home,ā he told Collin over the noise of the chopper, and sat back down as the helicopter turned out over the water and began the steady climb to its cruising altitude for the rest of the journey back to the FBI building. Theyād have a lot of explaining to do when they arrived, Stiles knew; maybe if he was lucky, heād get a chance to nap before they got thereā¦
Beside him, the back of Derekās hand touched his own, and wordlessly they threaded their bloody fingers together.
For a moment, everything seemed fine. It was over. Theyād won. Stiles let his body relax, his head leaning back against the headrest behind him.
Suddenly, he felt more than saw Derek turn his head back towards the still-collapsing warehouse behind them, like his sharp ears had caught something, and it was like Stiles knew.
āGet down!ā
Instead of ducking the way Derek told him to, Stiles whirled, leaning partly out of the helicopter to look.
And his stomach sank down to his feet.
The horrifying, mangled body of the Queen was flyingĀ at them on broken, mangled wings, ripped out from underneath her chitinous shell to carry her haphazardly across the water. She was still shrieking, that horrific mouth wide, and didnāt seem to have much control of her trajectory; she was a creature of only pain and rage, propelled by sheer force of will, and her scream echoed across the water in a nauseating wave as she careened towards them.
Her milky eyes met Stilesā. Despite the holes in her ragged wings, the helicopter could not outrun her - and they both knew it.
And Stiles was out of magic, out of weapons, and out of time.
As she caught up to them, her ripped wings began to lose lift, but still it was enough. Several of the Queenās remaining legs hooked on the landing gear, and the whole helicopter lurched suddenly down and to the side, tilting dangerously out over the water, until Stiles could see the white tips of waves far, far below. Her shriek was boring into Stilesā brain again, and without any prepared spells, his body filled with fear. All he could do was clutch the handles beside the open sides of the helicopter for dear life as Collin fought to keep them in the air.
An elongated limb reached out for his neck, its pincer wide open, and Stiles could do nothing.
But Derek leaped past him, for the second time in twenty minutes, wearing fangs and claws and his human face to fight the monster at close range. This time, though, the Queen was weak, hit by most of Stilesā magic and an entire collapsing buildingā
So maybe if Derek got to her heart, like the legends saidā
If it was quick, maybeā
Maybe the werewolf read his mind. Either way, Derek gave a wild cry that mixed with the monsterās shriek in a way that made Stilesā hair stand on end, and he reached forĀ and throughĀ her sternum, claws grasping for the icy, dead heart inside her chest.
For a second, nobody moved. Collin was obviously fighting valiantly to keep them level, but still the helicopter banked sharply with the weight of the monster on its landing gear, steeper and steeper with each passing moment.
Finally, Derek wrenched his hand out of the monsterās chest, a hunk of black, cold flesh crushed in his fist. Ichor covered his clawed hand.
The monster fell, noiseless, towards the sea, and he dropped the heart down after her.
As soon as the Queen let go of the chopper, it swung back to level, hard enough for Stiles to almost - almostĀ - lose his balance out the other open side of the helicopter. Thankfully, he caught himself before he could land on Ev in a knot of tired limbs.
āHoly shit!ā Collin screamed from the cockpit. āHoly shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! Is everyone okay?!ā
Derek didnāt respond. In fact, all he did was wobble precariously on his feet. And suddenly, Stilesā blood ran cold.
Slowly, Derek turned to meet his eyes, and Stiles saw it: a blooming red hole high in the werewolfās chest, where the Queen must have stabbed him right back.
And Derek fell, too, quietly out of sight, his perfect blue-green eyes wide, full of fear and another emotion Stiles couldnāt name.
Around them all, it began to snow.
*
Stiles didnāt remember jumping. He didnāt remember making that decision.
All he remembered was the way Derek looked as he dropped out of sight, and the overwhelming feeling that he couldnāt let it happen. He wouldnāt.
So he fell, too.
Dropping towards the ocean, it turned out, was loud as hell. The air rushing past him was too noisy to think through, even compared to the shriek of the monster - all he could do was reach down, stretch as hard as he could, to catch Derek falling below him. He couldnāt tell if he was yelling Derekās name.
It was like he was diving, when Derek was simply dropping; somehow, with Stilesā arm outstretched towards the werewolf, he was catching up. Derekās eyes, looking up at him, were the same - open and full, overwhelming and perfect.
āReach for me!ā Stiles screamed, but had no idea if anything came out.
Derek understood, though. He always did. Hell, he always had. His broad hand reached up toward Stilesā own, and their fingers knotted together again, like they had only a minute ago in the chopper. Stilesā eyes were streaming with the wind, but somehow through it he could see Derek mouth āidiotā at him with the warmest, sweetest, most open smile on his face that Stiles had ever seen him wear.
All at once, Derek pulled Stiles towards him, until they were chest to chest, their bloody wounds mingling, and Stiles felt Derekās arms wrap around his body, strong and protective even as they fell. It took a moment to figure out what he was doing, but after a moment, Stiles understood: Derek wanted to take the brunt of the force with his back when they hit the water, and protect Stiles as best he could, even until the very end.
Stilesā fingers tightened in Derekās bloody shirt.
There was too much they hadnāt said. Too much they hadnāt done. And they still hadnāt had that dinnerā¦
The waves were getting close now. Past Derekās head, Stiles could see them coming. They were beating the snowfall to the sea.
When they were only a few storeys up from the ocean, Stiles instinctively held out his hand in front of them, as though it could break their fall. āI love you,ā he said, or didnāt say, into the air rushing past them - into Derekās ear. But Derek always understood.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didnāt quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stilesā craft. They had a pointā they needed Stilesā magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Derek was not pouting, no matter what Stiles said. As a general rule of thumb, Derek did not pout. He was just a careful and reasonable person. Making themselves a target out in the crisp, wintry air, was not what he considered a good idea, so yes, he stood at the edge of the hidden clearing, just a short walk into the forest near his house, with his hands crossed firmly over his chest but he was not pouting. There was the occasional flurry in the air, announcing an oncoming snowfall, which didn't quite feel like an assurance of safety when they faced an enemy that thrived on the cold. Of course, the building winter and inevitability of a face off were exactly why Collin and Stiles reasoned they should use the time to hone Stiles' craft. They had a point-- they needed Stiles' magic. He was a powerful spark and obviously more effective than Derek himself.
Collin, although not magical himself, was about to go through some exercises with Stiles, which he had picked up from his childhood that were supposed to help channel the energy. Nonetheless, Derek couldn't shake the twinge of discomfort in his gut that had him lifting his chin into every shift in the breeze and shuffle of branches. Having spread out a blanket and instructing Stiles to sit on one end, Collin started setting up a half circle of tools around him. Right in front of him was a wooden bowl of water and to each side he placed a row of different kinds of gemstones. At Stiles' sides there was a candle each that Collin lit before finally settling crosslegged, just small packets of herbs and a crow's feather laying in front of him.Ā
"Alright," Collin said with a measured breath. "Let's start with some breathing exercises to bring our bodies into unified calm."Ā
Stiles' gaze darted over to Derek, who was watching closely, and there was a small flash of teeth as Stiles grinned. "Why don't you join us, big guy? Might relax you a little!" Stiles called over, way too loudly for Derek's sense of comfort.Ā
His heart dropped every time he thought about how he would be able to protect Stiles from the queen bee when he hadn't even managed to fight off the local coven. They'd overpowered and kidnapped him. Derek knew he would do anything and everything in the world for Stiles but how was he supposed to help when he was so powerless? Of course, he tried not to show his anxiety because Stiles was insecure enough himself, too. He was exhausted, dark rings under his eyes still, never having had the time to quite recover from the past weeks and Derek fearedā¦ That emotionally he hadn't exactly been able to find fully stable ground since the nogitsune years ago either.Ā
They were quite a pair, the two of them.Ā
Derek watched Stiles' fingers go from worrying at a spot on his jeans to a measured folded position on his knees as he started counting his breaths. There was a twitch here and there but Stiles was clearly trying hard to focus on what Collin was saying. Although Derek tried to listen too, he found his thoughts straying immediately, constantly checking Stiles' vitals, as well as their perimeter for any changes.Ā
It's not like much was happening anyway. Most of it was mindfulness and concentration. Apparently they were just doing some inner channeling exercises, none of it for show but rather to help Stiles get a feel for his magic and how to access it. Though the candles did flicker suspiciously often. It wasn't something Derek could quite pinpoint but they did it in a rather Stiles' way-- unless he was just starting to imagine things because of that restless, gnawing feeling of dread in his gut.Ā
He found himself unable to stand still either, shuffling his feet, putting his hands on his hips, then crossing them again, and before long he realized as Stiles looked over againĀ and lifted an eyebrow that he was actually hindering him here.Ā
"I'm going for a run," Derek declared abruptly, forcing himself to leave before he gave in to clinging to Stiles' side. There was no sense in ruining this for him and he could still keep watch from a bigger distance. Maybe he would find something in nearby surroundings that would explain his nausea.Ā
As soon as he was out of view, he stripped and broke out into an immediate run, letting the tension in his veins drive him, paws pumping hard with every heartbeat and taking in the raw, powerful senses of the forest that he had in this form. He couldn't quite explain the way his mind quieted a bit when he underwent the full shift, like some little feral mouse in his head finally found shelter but the world felt clearer, sharper.Ā
The future presence of a snowstorm was growing ever more potent in the air, but that was the only thing Derek could attribute his unease to because the coast was completely clear otherwise. He wondered if the Chenoo would use a snowstorm as an attack. They should check the weather report to see just how bad the snow fall was going to be. Derek's nose was good but he couldn't tell how much it was going to snow.Ā
He returned to the clearing calmer if only because he had run off the adrenaline, managing to step calmly enough that neither of the men noticed, both of them sitting with their eyes closed. Stiles had a frustrated look on his face at this point, palms gripping his knees, and on a whim, Derek kept stepping toward him and lightly set his chin on his right shoulder.Ā
Stiles jumped a bit at first, but quickly relaxed beneath Derek's touch, the flames at his side settling as a smile came to his face. It was when a hand snuck into Derek's fur carefully, as if magnetically drawn by the beat of his heart, that he quietly told Collin, "I got it."Ā
Derek refrained from digging his cold nose into the crook of Stiles' neck in front of Collin but only under the guise of self restraint, and made sure to remember it for future endeavors. He sat at Stiles' side for a while to let him get some more channeling done, and by the time they were cleaning up and he was trotting back to his clothes, Stiles although tired was laughing behind him, and Derek felt more settled as well.Ā
Maybe they had a chance after all.Ā
He had always known Stiles was special, talented, powerful. But had always hoped for more of a normal life for him. Now it was like he felt the power the man had at his fingertips, and it was more than Derek could have imagined.Ā
Stiles' good mood was infectious, pulling Collin into laughter with him easily, and yeah, Derek could see, potentially, how they possibly could have been friends in a mundane life.Ā
But Derek's slowly settling calm was shattered as he pulled out his phone to check the weather, at the text waiting for him.Ā
He didn't get texts, or calls for that matter.Ā
The only contacts he had beside Stiles were from Beacon Hills for emergencies, and well, Ev- whom the text was from.Ā
Or rather, whose phone the text was from.Ā
Ev:Ā We have your friend. Come, if you want them alive.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
The entire trip back to Derekās house in the car was interesting to say the least. In the front passenger seat, Stiles was uncharacteristically (at least for Derek; according to Collin this was pretty much normal now) silent. He was far from still, however, his eyes flicking back and forth as he worried the nail and skin of his thumb with his teeth and bounced one of his legs. It was all a major distraction to Derek, who could smell the apprehension coming off of him in waves.
At one point, ironically not far from the house, the wolf couldnāt take it any more and reached out, taking the bite-ridden hand in his own and pulling it away from their source of torment. Stiles flinched at the sudden interruption of his thoughts, his eyes stopping their mad dash about his skull to focus on the touch, watching intently with a blush forming across his cheeks, mouth agape, as Derek gently threaded their fingers together above the center console and gave a slow squeeze of reassurance.
Their gaze met for a moment, and the corners of Derekās lips lifted in a delicate smile that caused the blush on Stilesā cheeks to deepen further as he returned the compressive gesture.
For his part, in the back seat, Collin had remained relatively silent as well. Derek didnāt question it; heād been more at home in silence than with the forced noise of conversation for so long that it felt comfortable to him. Companionable.
It was just a function of his and Stilesā partnership. They had been working together long enough that their third wheel knew when Stiles needed time to process information; especially when it was a weighty bit as had just been dropped at the warehouse.
It wasnāt until the two of them were seated at Derekās kitchen table while the wolf put on a pot of coffee that either of them spoke.
āHow long?ā Stiles asked, his voice icy.
āHmn?ā
āHow long have you known about all of this? The vampires, the-ā
āThey arenāt vampires.ā
Stiles and Derek both froze. Theyād each had their suspicions, and Stephen King had hinted that this might be the case when they had made the trip to Bangor, but hearing it out loud and stated in such a blunt manner...
āYou know what they are?ā
Collin nodded.
Stiles ran a hand over his face. āOkā¦ did you know about the Paw?ā
Once again, the other agent gave a bit of a nod. He thanked Derek when the werewolf brought over a mug of hot coffee and began to sip at it gently. Black. Stiles busied himself with pumping his full of cream and sugar before even attempting to bring it to his lips. Had his partner always taken his coffee black like that? Or now that the veil was dropped was he just letting his own little idiosyncrasies out in the open since there was nothing to fear? Stiles felt himself spinning, lost, unsure of where to step. His world felt like it was upside down or shifted three feet to the left or something. He didnāt like this.
āSo you knew what it was when you brought me there that day?ā Stiles asked, remembering how Collin had popped into his office from the bullpen to check up on him and had so casually dropped the name. Andā¦ come to think of itā¦ Had he known Derek was there? Who he was? Oh godā¦ had Stiles inadvertently put Derek in harmās way by name dropping him then?
Luckily, his werewolf slid into the seat beside him and leaned in close just then. A heavy hand came to the nape of Stilesā neck and applied pressure, just enough to short circuit the impending panic. The fingers moved gently against the sides of his cervical spine, diffusing the gloom and bringing in light and protection and peace. He reminded himself that Collin hadnāt called the bosses in on them; he had seen Derek plain as day and hadnāt given him up. So, at least he could relax about that.
āSay something, dammit.ā He whimpered, and Collin rose a discerning brow over the mug of his coffee before he put it down. āI feel like I donāt know you at all.ā
āWell, of course not.ā Collinās smile was as good natured as always. He cleared his throat. āI mean, you were always so closed off at the office and itās not like we ever really hung out after hours.ā
Beside Stiles, Derek growled protectively.Ā
Collin didnāt flinch at all, but gave a small shrug. āNothing wrong with it, like I told you that day, itās better to be closed off than to give someone ammo to use against you.ā
That felt like forever ago. How long had it really been?
āWell, Iām listening now.ā Stiles said, putting a hand on Derekās knee to silence his grumbles and growls. They werenāt going to get anywhere if they turned this into a pissing match. Collin had more than graciously offered to help after what they had just put him through for apparently no reason whatsoever, so they could at least hear him out.
Collin nodded. āIām one quarter Cree on my motherās side.ā He said. āThe Nation has a name for these creatures, but obviously there is another name for them out here.ā
āSo what do you think they are?ā
āWendigo. Orā¦ The natives here call them Chenoo. Either way, itās the same thing.ā
āThe fatā¦ā Derek murmured, narrowing his eyes as if he were looking at something that should have been so obvious to him in the beginning.
Stiles shifted a bit in his seat, āYou know about these things?ā
āWell, yeah. Didnāt you hear about the Donner Party when you were in history class?ā
ā......ā Stiles thought hard for a moment, scratched his head. He couldnāt recall. The name sounded familiar, but he couldnāt place where or why. Mr. Yukimura had taught a lot of otherwise obscure Californian history topics, but Junior year had been sort ofā¦ hectic for him. What with the Bardo and not being able to read and then being possessed and all. āNo?ā
His boyfriend gave a long suffering sigh out of his nose. āIt was a wagon train of families that migrated from Missouri to California in the late 1840s. They got stuck and had to overwinter in the mountains and several of the surviving members had resorted to cannibalism.ā
āOh shit.ā
Collin nodded. āThatās one example, yeah. After they fed off of the flesh of their fellow humans, they were possessed by the spirit of the wendigo, forever cursed to remain unsatisfied.ā He sighed, āThe Chenoo are similar, human beings that have been possessed after performing unspeakable acts of cruelty or cannibalizing others.ā
āSo you thinkā¦ whatā¦ that they were creating more at the Paw?ā
āUnfortunately. They were doing it against the will of the people who ate there, converting them unwillingly, but raising their ranks nonetheless.ā
āShit.ā
āLuckily, your magic seems to be effective on them.ā
āHow do you know all of this?ā Stiles murmured.
āMy mother raised me in the traditions of the Nation.ā Collin said with a shrug, as if it were the easiest answer in the world. āWe donāt really see a distinction between the spirit world and the world of men.ā
āThe supernatural is natural.ā Derek murmured. āThe humans in our family were raised the same way.ā
Collinās smile at hearing that was sweet and gentle, almost puppy-ish in a way that pulled at Stilesā heart in a way he had never expected it to. In an attempt to hide the prickly welling of tears at the corners of his eyes, he placed his head in his hands, heels at his brows, and gave a racking sigh. He wasnāt spiraling, which was good, and thanks to Derekās grounding hand, tips of fingers still kneading small circles on either side of his spine. However, he did feel awash in all of this information. So much just kept coming, and he just wanted to go curl up on the couch until all of it was over. Just let everything left of this whole situation go away.
Ignore the problem until it disappeared.
But that wasnāt an option. Hadnāt been for a long time now.
He felt a presence loom in closer to him, didnāt have to lift his head to know it was Derek. āIām hereā the wolf whispered as he bumped his forehead into Stilesā temple. āWeāll figure this out.ā
āWe will.ā Collin agreed from the other end of the table.
āSoā¦ do you have any better idea to get rid of these things? Any idea where the queen could be hiding?ā
āI-if theyāre humans underneath, can we bring them back?ā Stiles asked tentatively.
āItās extremely rare, and even if we could pull it off, the evil spirits would always harass their victim until they were able to repossess them.ā Colin said sadly. āItās better just to put them to rest and destroy the demon outright.ā The other agent danced his fingers across the tabletop in an indistinct pattern then. āAs for defeating them and where the original may be hidingā¦ Like I said, your magic seems to work. The important part is to destroy the heart, which I assume is what you were doing considering theā¦ well what passes for remains in whatās left of your house.ā He chuckled, shrinking slightly as Stiles raised his head just enough to send a pointed glare his way. Not a joking matter.
āAnd where could the queen be?ā
āWinter is here, Stiles. They thrive in the cold.ā Collin sighed. āIt could be anywhere, hoping to rebuild her numbers before she comes after you again.ā
ā.... Well thatās just perfectā¦.ā Stiles grumbled.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None, I donāt think - references to a bad case connected to Stilesā work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it
Summary:Ā An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later
*
Stiles runs.Ā
He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isnāt the same once Derekās gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.
So he runs.
Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.
Tags:Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s): None for this part
The entire week after Stiles had left the box of pastries at Derekās front door had been quiet. As had the week after. So much so that he had started to wonder if maybe he had been mistaken. Sure, heād had that feeling of familiarity following him; but in the years since the Nogitsune had been vanquished, Stiles had come to accept that feeling as normalcy.
After all, his shadow gave him that same feeling sometimes.
As did the heft of his firearm, whether in his hand or holstered at his side.
Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: none here!
For all that the past years seemed to have drawn Derekās face in a different shade - Stiles couldnāt even explain how because obviously age and time didnāt etch its scars and fold into werewolves like they did for humans and Derek was as gorgeous as ever - all that aside, for a moment all walls around him, as well as the ones built to construe Stilesā life, fell like jenga towers.Ā
An overwhelming canyon of vulnerability seemed to be gaping between them, Stilesā heart beating painfully and erratically against his chest before he could school his body back into full submission.Ā
Derek must have heard but there was no need to be embarrassed, not with the way the werewolf was looking back at him, front teeth shyly peeking between slightly parted lips and those eyes. Swirling rainforest stormed eyes. Wide eyed and stark.Ā
Open, if only for someone like Stiles who knew what to look for; that little sliver of something hidden, veiled by years of masking; akin to the surprised whisper of his name, an escaped prisoner of a carefully guarded secret; the glint of a long healed wound, revealing a once deep bleed. Stiles had seen that look before, multiple times, and it brought the memories rushing back in a flurry. It sent him back to the worn seat of his jeep that still stood in his dadās garage in California, the air inside permeated by Derekās blackening blood. Back to Derek going limp before Stilesā hands. To waking up beneath his hands with a surprised gasp like Stiles was the only reason he could still breathe. Back to high school pools and finished sentences. To werewolfy deals in bedrooms and Mexico trips.
Tag(s):Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending
Warning(s):Ā None for this part
The kitchen is a whirlwind, like all restaurant kitchens, but to Stiles, Derek is the eye of the storm. Everyone else here is bent over a station, head down, in a groove, moving at pace to manage the dinner rush; Derek, though, walks between them with his chin held high and his mouth held taut, his tempo slower and smoother than that of everyone around him.
Tag(s): Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): None for this part
āIt wasnāt a date,ā is the first thing out of Stilesā mouth, falling from his lips before Derek has even fully opened the door. āI mean, Collinās great but he isnāt exactly my type. Like, I am into guys too - shit, did you know that? You probably knew that, right? Werewolf senses and all. Anyway, yeah, if you didnāt already know, Iām bi and Iām assuming that isnāt gonna be a problem. Heās a work colleague. It wasnāt a date.ā
He stops rambling, then, acutely aware that Derek hasnāt managed to get a word in and is just staring back at him with that expression thatās half annoyance and half amused tolerance.
Tags: Clueless idiots, Stiles is Derekās anchor, mutual pining, cute coffee mugs are cute,Ā Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending, waiter!Derek, supernatural shenanigans
Warning(s): Angst on both sides, character death [Teen Wolf canon; Laura, Boyd and S4 Derek], family issues
While heās here though, he might as well take advantage, right? After all, Stiles hasnāt seen Derek in years, and despite trying to ignore that elephant in the room, what harm could trying to play a little bit of catch-up do?
Especially since, if he was being honest, Derek had started this whole mess first. It wasnāt as if Stiles had been actively looking for him for the last few months when the wolf had suddenly appeared on his runs. This was Derekās fault if it was anybodyās.
Stiles didnāt even have to consider his next move as he made a pit stop at the general store a block down from his house. He could grab some frozen meals for dinner while he was at it if he didnāt forget in the midst of the chaos in his mind, because he couldnāt stop running through the whole visit to Derekās on repeat. He trudged through every one of their movements and how they might have paralleled the whole drive over, counted the times their eyes had made contact as he parked, gauged every word that was uttered and what impact it may have had as he walked through the automatically sliding doors and grabbed a shopping basket. Somewhere along all these lines there had to be an answer. The inevitable point of no return of his mistake, the trains of thought and influences that lead him to thinking it was okay to just dive straight into the heart of the matter.
Into the only question that really mattered in Stilesā eyes, and in this world it seemed, in his eyes alone. History had time and again shown it didnāt give much worth to Derekās well-being. Or maybe that was just Derekās choice. It was hard to tell.
Derek slid into the booth across from him, tense and taut from every angle, a tendon popping silently in his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Stiles wasnāt afraid of Derek anymore - hadnāt been for years. The time when he would have quailed under the weight of the werewolfās stare was a distant memory; he met the look without wavering, with the simple strength of a human, and didnāt blink.
Warning(s): Food horror, grief over canonical character deaths, general angst as per the theme of this fic
The experiment doesnāt take long to set up given Stilesā barely controlled whirlwind of activity.Ā He has most of it done before Derek has so much as opened the first box.
Each dish is separated out by ingredient.Ā Derek would say it was carefullyĀ separated but it isnāt and heās mostly just glad Stiles put down newspaper because otherwise it would be a hellĀ of a lot of cleaning up afterwards.Ā Ā
āYou see there? All done!ā she said, her voice melody soft to his ears. Stiles sat, gazing in awe at the colorful pattern in woollen yarn. The colors were dark, and laid out a pattern that could easily be missed; but to him, whoād watched his mom knit them together for days and days, fingers moving quickly with the long bone needles that had been passed down to her from distant memories of generations, he could make out the spiral amongst the blues and purples and blacks.
Derek didnāt need to listen for Stilesā heartbeat to know he was lying.
Fine.
Fine was never a word Stiles used to describe anything that was actually going objectively well.Ā It was a poor attempt at a thin wall of optimism.Ā Very poor.Ā So poor that Stiles hadnāt even tried to sound sincere.
The drive was unseasonably bright all throughout the day, as though rural Maine had altogether forgotten it was early November. The leaves along the highway had decided not to fall, and instead clung to the branches of the trees, hanging on to bright reds and yellows in defiance of the oncoming winter. The city had already had its first snow, but out here, snow seemed impossible.
Impossible things seemed to hang around them both, Stiles knew.
They move the jeep first. Mostly Derek moves it with his werewolf strength but Stiles helps. Or at least he tells himself he helps. Mostly heās just glad to be doing something. It helps calm the shaking in his hands and puts the leftover adrenaline to good use.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic,Ā America Runs on Dunkin (pft), please donāt fix your fuel line with duct tape, Derek is a marshmallow, Moose are larger than they appear on TV, Stiles is a sleepy lil guy
Warning(s):Ā food horror, mentions of gore, mentions of car accidents
It was maybe a half hour later at best that Stiles was pulling into a small highway rest area and up to a pump. Derek didnāt need to ask why. He had known that despite the miraculous start up back there that there had to be some sort of serious damage under the hood. The vehicle may have started up, but the dents and folds in the hood hadnāt knitted themselves like a wound on his skin would have.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, waiter!Derek, future fic, guest starring Stephen King
Warning(s): Mild horror, brief mention of Kate Argent, angst as per usual XD
Fingers dug harshly into Derekās sleeve right above his elbow, and tugged jerkily. Derekās snarls immediately went an octave deeper, eyes flashing at the rumbling coming from the moose. If that thing thought Derek would let it within ten feet of Stiles, it had another think coming.Ā
When Derek was young, his mother told him that his heart was a garden. The potential for love to bloom there was so strong, she said. It was a gift. He had a capacity for love unlike anyone else she had ever known.
Cold, bright sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains when Stiles stirred. He squinted at it but even that was enough to send spikes of pain through his eyes and deep into his brain so he closed them again. Why did he feel hungover? He definitely hadnāt been drinking but it felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted like dog shit. His head was thumping. Every muscle ached and his left ankle was screaming at him, though that was incidental; an injury rather than related to his present state of hungover without the fun of drinking.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, we didnāt need that door anyway, please donāt steal my identity, series typical violence toward Derek, fluffy whumpy what?, emotion + magic = uhoh
Warning(s): Series typical violence, magic shenanigans
āI think itās for youā¦ā For Derek, those words were like a thiefās punch-through of fragile glass into a case that held all too sacred artifacts. With the breaking of the seal it was as if there was some sort of veil that had been lifted from over his senses. All too quickly it was like all of his senses that had been so acutely on edge for danger were turned on their axis, instead focusing on the closest object.
āBut then-ā and thatās when Derekās voice gave out, failing him like it did so often, though he usually didnāt let it come to the point where it pulled the rug out beneath his feet mid sentence. He swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the heavy sap coating his throat. Trying to push through the brambles and branches of the garden with ever stickier hands, thorns catching in his clothes and tearing at him until he tore them off the branches. He marched straight through all the safeguards that blocked the path, set his jaw as the buzzing of bees enveloped him from above. He wasnāt whining and tucking tail this time.
Warning(s): some grossness, angst as per the theme of this fic, vaguely explained but bamf magic
Stiles didnāt know how long they stayed there, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, stealing shy kisses like the kids theyād been when they met, their smiles bleeding into one another until their cheeks hurt. It could have been a few minutes; then again, it could have been forever.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, monsters, horror, magic, the author has no clue how magic works, just enjoy bamf!spark!Stiles ok?, the warnings make it sound dark but i promise everyoneās fine (or will be once we give them a chance to rest and recover a bit)
Warning(s): angst as per the theme of this fic, mild horror/food horror, panic attacks, references to torture (canon typical)
Stilesā phone, when he finds it in the chaos of his magic-wrecked bedroom, reveals that heās been out for 6 hours. 6 hours.Ā Heās weak, shaky and aching and sore. Heās drained. And Derek is gone.
The walk out of the warehouse, across the lot and down the long access road to where the jeep had been parked was a confused jumble of stumbling legs and arms that didnāt know exactly what to do with themselves. Derek mumbling under his breath but close enough to Stilesā ear to hear his complaints about the sheer weight of the smell of him; but how it somehow was also the bestĀ thing he had smelled the last week, to which Stiles just gave half-hearted and exhausted huffs of laughter.
Derek didnāt sleep so much as he dozed, letting himself slip into a shimmery light sleep, aware enough still to call himself to any time he heard a noise. Every car, fluttering bird or gust of wind had him blinking at the ceiling and scanning the room, listening intently for a few seconds just in case, until he felt sure enough to turn back to the softly breathing male at his side. Stiles slept rather deeply, an unmoving presence at his side that Derek could snuggle into, breathe and rest his soul at.
Sometimes, Stiles knew, hyperfocus was a glorious thing.
If his brain let him, he could do research like this, head down at the dining room table with his mind immersed, for hours. He wouldnāt have any interest in any other task, and so could accomplish it faster and with more detail than any of his neurotypical colleagues ever could. Hyperfocus meant excitement humming in his belly, urging him on, forcing him to find the answers, find the patterns, uncover the truth. Hyperfocus, sometimes, was a superpower.
Tags: fbi!Stiles, spark!Stiles, wolf!Derek, future fic, crack(ish), humour(ish), the author would like to apologise for the sheer silliness of this chapter, Stiles got an idea in his head and I was powerless to stop him so I let him do it
Warning(s): Mild horror but if youāve got this far, nothing to worry about
āWhat the hell, Stiles?ā Derek said as soon as Stiles has ended the call. Facial expressions were all well and good and they understood each other but he felt the need to voice his opinion with words as well as eyebrow movements.
