#canon-esque

[iwriteasfotini]

A little virtual bookshelf of my complete long fics in my fanfic series.

I'm at 523,687 words in the series.

Four complete works

The Heir and The Spare The Prince's Pact The Bonds of Friendship The Heart of the Lion

One WIP - The Wolf and The Star

And honestly, the journey has just begun.

Don't want to read the "young years"? Not to worry! I have summaries written for each work so you can skip to the year of your choice.

[nalufever]

For the Smut Prompts- #100 Nalu ;)

Okay, not as smutty as maybe you wanted - it just took on a life of its own. ;) But the smut is kinda implied, yeah? Thanks for asking!!

‘In the Mood’

"Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you," Natsu admitted sourly. He pouted for all he was worth. He went so far as to cross his arms and drum his heels on the floor, like a petulant child instead of a mature adult.

"Fine." Lucy settled back into her own chair and crossed her arms too. If you couldn't beat'em, join'em, yeah? "Mr. Selfish." Her words were menacing. Heavy. Threatening. Narrowing her eyes and firming her lips, she went for the kill. "Guess you don't want kids then, do you? Because there's no way I'd ever have a child and not let them touch me!"

"I didn't say that!" Natsu shot up out of his chair, eyebrows so high on his forehead they about disappeared. His mouth opened like a wide-mouth bass. "I'm just telling you how I feel!"

Lucy rubbed one hand over the growing swell of her stomach. She was craving lots of odd food choices at this point and most of her wardrobe didn't fit - including her beloved collection of high-heeled boots and shoes. Oh, and her hair had started growing like a weed, and her hormones were on a knife's edge, and she was low-key horny every damn minute of the day. If she didn't take a stand now, who knew how far Natsu would push?

Squirming under Lucy's gimlet stare, Natsu gulped and conceded defeat. "I mean, while I understand people want to rub your belly for luck or whatever, it's still a violation of your bodily autonomy and rights."

Gobsmacked, Lucy was struck dumb - it was now her turn to imitate a stunned fish.

Natsu walked over to Lucy and sank to his knees. "May I?"

Lucy nodded.

"Thank you." Natsu rubbed Lucy's baby bump and when Natsu junior gave a fluttering kick, a tear trickled down his cheek. "I'm not always gonna make absolute sense, but when I tell you how I feel, it'll always be the truth. But you ought to wait for me to give you more details before you get upset. Or," he paused, his usual sunny smile returning to his face, "maybe ask some follow-up questions."

"Humph." Lucy couldn't stay mad at her husband - not when he was so cute. Cute and sexy. Oh, wow. Hormones were a bitch - but at least this time they weren't in the middle of the guild with a horrified audience. She gave in to the inevitable, tugging Natsu's hands off her stomach, urging him to his feet as she also stood. "We'll finish this discussion later."

"If you remember." Natsu grinned, not even a whit abashed. "Let's go make some noise."

"You're killing the mood," warned Lucy, "but as a special favour to you, I'm going to ignore that last bit."

Very well aware of Lucy's likes and dislikes, Natsu decided to go ahead and just kiss his wife with love and passion. Lucy was free to be her own person but he knew exactly how to push her buttons - and making a blanket statement about not liking anyone touching Lucy had ended exactly how he'd planned.

At least this time they were already home alone.

[envydeanwrites]

Sky

The hood is still warm from the drive out to the middle of nowhere. Dean lies back, eyes closed against the sky, painted with vibrant oranges and purples, and breathes. He doesn’t get the chance often and it feels good for once. Dean feels chilled fingers reach for his own, much warmer ones, and they entwine their fingers. Dean knows Cas has his eyes open, dissecting every cloud and eyeing every colour. Cracking open his eyes, he sees Cas with his brow furrowed slightly, deep in thought. Dean smiles as he rolls over and presses a kiss to his temple.

Weekly drabble challenge no. 1

[inkandblade]

Anthracite

♠♠♠♠♠

The first text Stiles got came about a month after the Berserker-shitshow in Mexico. There were no words in the message, just a single uncaptioned image. It was a photo of a spectacular sunset: oranges and blues and glowing golds against a mountainous backdrop that could have been just about anywhere in the world. Stiles had no idea who the unknown-number sender was. He’d considered messaging something back to indicate that, but then a random monster-of-the-week tried to kill one of the Pack, he can’t remember what or where exactly, and he didn’t end up hitting send.

He forgot about it until another month later when he received the second text. This time it was a picture of a huge basket of curly-fries set on a table in a retro-styled diner. There was a big, neon-pink Route 66 sign hanging on the wall. Stiles had spent most of that night—the Sunday of his actual birthday—with his dad, and they had made a pact to leave their phones behind, which meant Stiles had not seen the message until after midnight, an hour or two after it was sent.

The photo had two words as its caption: Happy Birthday .

Stiles probably should have freaked out, then and there, at the fact that it was a not-so-random somebody sending him texts. A somebody who knew his date of birth. He didn’t, though. He made an in-Stiles’-brain-executive-decision and chose to remain composed. He also decided to keep it to himself.

He loaded the sunset image as the background on his phone. He saved that pic, and the big-basket-of-awesome-fries one, to a folder synced with his laptop and two different services in the cloud. It wasn’t until after he’d done those few things, finished his chemistry homework, jerked off, and had a post-midnight snack, that he allowed himself to admit that he knew exactly who it was who’d sent him the messages.

Five or six pictures and a Happy Fourth of July later, Stiles saved the number into his contacts list as M.W . Everyone in the Pack had their noses in everyone else's business, so it was nice to have something just for himself. No one but Stiles needed to know about his newly nicknamed Mystery Wolf .

A few days after making the contact-list commitment, Stiles sent his first reply. He managed a fairly decently angled image of the bandage covering the small tattoo he’d travelled a couple of towns over to get.

He was worried at what M.W.’s response might be. He didn’t send a shot of the actual ink.

There was no comment, but the texts kept coming.

♠♠♠♠♠ Read the rest of the first chapter on AO3.

[nalufever]

A Dare

A silly little drabble for the @fortheloveofnaluevents July 18th Colorful Nalu prompts(Red: daring, passion, romance, energy) Fluff, just over 800 words, featuring what I optimistically call ‘canon-esque’ Nalu *grin*

Mira dropped a full mug of beer. Unusual in and of itself, but even more so because Cana was the recipient. And they'd both lost focus and stared. 

Lucy - wearing Natsu's clothes - ran through the guildhall. Was it the fact that she was screaming at the top of her lungs? Or because she was chasing Happy and making creative death threats? Most likely it was the way she clutched the vest shut with only one hand and was trying to snatch the garments spilling out of Happy's arms.

"Imma shave you bald when I catch you! You'll be sleeping with one eye open until the day you die!"

Elfman shouted, "Bald is manly!" wincing only slightly as Evergreen snapped her fan at him. 

Happy flew a little lower and taunted Lucy. "Fu fu fu! You're too slow!" He spiraled over and through the rafters, leading Lucy into the center of the hall and then bolting for the front doors as Natsu burst inside. 

"LUCY! It's all a misunderstanding!"

"I don't care if it's part of an elaborate plot from a prize-winning book! Imma skin Happy and turn him into boots!"

Lucy tried to run past Natsu and keep chasing Happy - but her partner lunged and wrapped his arms around her. "He's only little. Maybe shoes, but not boots. And you gotta calm down or those two letches over in the corner are gonna have strokes." Natsu glared at Macao and Wakaba. "Don't you have something better to do?" 

Macao and Wakaba exchanged looks and deciding they wanted to keep their limbs intact, swiveled around on their barstools. 

Cana gave herself another moment to leer at the celestial mage and then tapped Mira on the shoulder. "Two beers, one to lament the beer that perished and the other to cool my blood." 

Mira nodded but paused to address Natsu. "And maybe you two should go put on more clothes?" 

"Yeah, Natsu! Nobody wants to see so much of you." Gray rolled his eyes and scoffed. "That skirt isn't your colour, at all!" 

Natsu kept holding Lucy tight to his side and glanced down his body. "I've got more covered than you, popsicle pervert. A skirt beats no pants." 

"Shit."

"Natsu, let's just go." Lucy let her head and shoulders slump in defeat. "I need to change." 

Natsu nodded and gave Gray one last glare before escorting Lucy outside, sheltering his best-friend in a one-armed hug. 

Perched on the closest tree to the guild, Happy called out to Natsu. "When am I gonna get my fish?" 

"Buddy, drop Lucy's clothes and we'll make good on our deal." Natsu caught the bundle and held it out to a suddenly happier Lucy. "Hurry and change - unless you wanted help?" 

"Don't push your luck." Lucy scooped her clothes into her arms and darted behind a large bush to change her outfit, tossing Natsu his pants and vest as fast as she could. 

Lucy took another moment to pat down her clothes before making her appearance in front of Happy and Natsu. "Um, couldn't you find your pants?" 

Natsu leaned against the tree with his legs spread wide - still wearing one of Lucy's skirts, although now with his vest instead of bare-chested. "I'm not blind, I saw'em." 

"Get out of my skirt!" 

Happy coughed. "Don't get weird until you guys pay me and I can leave!"

Lucy scowled. "I didn't mean it like that!" 

"This is comfy, I don't see the big deal, but fiiiiiiiiinnnnne." Natsu picked up his pants and started to shove his foot into a pants leg.

"Not in front of me!" 

"We've seen each other - lots of each other - why're you being so weird now?" Natsu sighed and hopped behind the privacy of the same bush Lucy had used. He raised his voice, "Who cares?" 

"I care!" Lucy fanned herself as Natsu came back, properly dressed. "Now, how about we pay off Happy and then we go hang out at my place?" 

"Yosh!" Natsu cheered and grinned. "This is gonna drive everyone crazy at the guild."

"Everyone was already crazy, Natsu." Happy rolled his eyes. "I don't understand what you two were doing, but I love me some fish."

Lucy looked at Natsu and giggled. "Don't worry about it, it was just a dare." 

"Yeah, little buddy! A little dare." 

Lucy smiled and took Natsu's hand as they made their way to the market and the fishmonger. Happy flew high overhead but still noted every little brush of his two partner's shoulders, the way they leaned into each other and were immersed in each other. Happy laughed to himself. They might have said it was a joke, a dare - but he knew it was an excuse. 

Happy swooped down and let himself laugh. "Fu fu fu! You liiiiiiiiiiike each other!"

Lucy squeezed Natsu's hand and together they replied to Happy: "Duh!" 

[inkandblade]

11: Bright

So... this was supposed to be brightness, not bright, but damn, the people who compiled the prompt table I’m using have a weird hard-on for shiny/ing things (glimmer, glitter, glisten...). I just couldn’t, not so soon. Also... I couldn’t ignore the look on Scott’s face in this set of gifs and I just had to. My apologies to the McCall lovers out there. 

“Okay, due. Spill. Derek says you stink like someone spat in your jello.” Stiles sits on his father’s sofa, and it feels good. It doesn’t feel like it’s his own sofa anymore, but it’s a home away from home, and he’s glad to have one.

He’ll be even more glad to have an explanation from the guy who, despite their ups and down, has always been his brother. Scott looks like someone made a very unpleasant smelling suggestion. He’s had the look on his face for the last hour or so. Derek decided to make himself scarce by going to pick up dinner for them, which leaves Stiles with approximately twenty minutes to pry the problem out of Scott’s brain.

“You wouldn’t be happy if I’d kept a secret like this from you.” Scott’s on the other end of the sofa. It’s where he should be, even if he’d look more right with some kind of game controller in his hand. He’s staring at Stiles, though, instead of at the television screen or a textbook or at his phone.

It’s strange having some kind of heart to heart in the living room, but Stiles is nothing if not flexible.

“You’re that pissed at me for not letting you know we were coming?” Things must be dire if that’s the case. Scott’s always dug surprises. “I thought you’d be happy to see us. We want to help. You know we can. I mean, even Dad’s glad we’re here. Like, he didn’t even hint at putting Derek in the spare bedroom.”

Scott squeezes his eyes together a little and his cheeks pull up high beneath them. “No, man. I mean. It’s good to see you and all and it means things are definitely looking up, but,” he actually waves his hand in front of his face, “you could have warned me that you stink like you’ve been marinating in Hale for months.”

And now, if there’s anyone going to be surprised, here, it’s Stiles. “What? Dude. I told you minutes after the first time I ran into him. I sent you texts while I was freaking out about getting ready for our first official date. What the hell are you going on about? Of course I smell like him. He stinks of me, too. You share a bed and everything else with someone for six months and it’s bound to happen, man.”

“You didn’t tell me it was him!” Scott’s voice has risen to a point somewhere between I forgot to do my homework and Dude, you shot someone. Stiles is slightly shocked to realize that he doesn’t know which of those two extremes Scott is sitting closer to. He hasn’t been out of Beacon Hills for that long, he should know. He should know what Scott’s feeling. Scott says, “You never have your face or his in the pictures you send. I know what his and your hands look like together, and that he’s got way hairier legs than you, and the color of the sofa in your apartment.” Scott’s cheeks are getting pinker with every breath in. “You only ever call him D or big D in your texts, and man, I wasn’t going to ask if that was related to his name or something else! I just thought you’d hooked up with some boar-man and he didn’t want you taking pictures of his beard or kinky-harness or something.”

Stiles tries to hold it in and fails spectacularly. He’s glad they’re not eating or drinking, ‘cause he’d have knocked everything over and spat everything out. He catches his breath and manages to ask, “Boar-man? Kinky what? What the hell, Scotty?”

Scott blinks and looks at the table and then at Stiles, but can’t seem to look him in the eye. “You know, a boar. A big hairy guy that likes leather and lithe, young men.”

Stiles presses the back of his hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing more. “You did your homework, huh? It’s bear, though, not boar. I don’t think a lot of big, hairy gay men would like you calling them pigs. Also, I’m pretty sure they don’t exclusively like twinks. I’ve seen bears with bears and twinks and guys in expensive suits. Derek’s not a bear, though, man, even if he is rocking a pretty awesome beard these days.”

Scott’s eyes are wide, and he sputters, “I. Oh.”

Stiles leans back. Scott now looks far more like the Scott he wants to see. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it more clear to you, dude. I could have sworn told you I was with Derek. Either way, we’re here now, and we want to help, and you’ve got to let us. We’re all in this dude, and together we can make it go our way.”

♠

Bright: [n] filled with light, vivid or brilliant: [n] quick-witted, intelligent: [n] favorable or auspicious, bright prospects

July CampNaNoWrimo - my prompt table and ‘rules’ are here.

[inkandblade]

01. Glimmer

Stiles tipped his head back and drained the last of the water he had. The others should be back soon, so even in the heat of the afternoon he’d live. They’d bought a dozen giant bottles of the stuff with them and the last two were on the other side of the room. They were untouched and would stay that way until Derek woke up.

If Derek woke up.

Stiles growled at himself. He was a poor mimic of a wolf but he was the only one he needed to convince at the moment. He stood and stretched and pulled his t-shirt up from his belly to wipe at his face. The motel they were crashing in was small and surprisingly clean, but it didn’t seem to have any real insulation or air-conditioners. The ceiling fan wasn’t a good idea.

Derek would wake up. Stiles had learned a lot about his Spark in the last few months, and his Spark had learned a lot about his surroundings. One of the things that it had decided he needed to be able to do was judge the strength of the magic-ness of the beings around him. Derek was weak, but his energy was growing as he slowly healed from whatever was in his system.

Stiles looked out across the bland landscape outside. The motel was on the edge of a town that took ten minutes to walk the length of. There was a gas station that doubled as a market, a diner that shared its building with a doctor-cum-vet, and the sheriff’s office was in the shadow of the smallest church Stiles had ever seen. There were a score of houses and beyond all that was just flat. Stiles had managed to find a spot in the corner of the room where he got bars for a while, and Googled just where the fuck they were. The town was on the outer edges of the Sonoran Desert, and the only plants that he could see were suited to the arid environment: strong, hardy and sharp looking.

He hoped the fact that they were plentiful was a sign that Derek, who in his opinion shared those traits with the desert grasses, would also thrive. At least he’d survived.

Stiles had never liked Braeden, but he’d admitted to himself that it was because he coveted what she’d eventually taken from them. He supposed that he could feel vindicated now that he had a real reason to despise her. He didn’t. Derek had suffered enough and a petty, jealous, little boy panting after him wasn’t going to make anything any better.

Derek stirred and Stiles turned to watch him. The wolf was still sweating far more than was natural even in this heat. They’d thought about putting him in the shower to cool off, but the shock might set his wolf-healing into overdrive. Purging this kind of poison too quickly could do irreparable damage to a werewolf according to the hedge-witch that had sold it to Braeden. The man had scoffed at Scott and Stiles’ attempts at extracting information but cowered and grovelled when Lydia had appeared to see what was taking so long. They’d left with the knowledge that there was no antidote, but that the concoction needed to be re-administered regularly and would wear off otherwise. Lydia had squeezed the guy’s nose between her thumb and finger until he admitted that he’d been making it for Braeden for months.

Derek had evolved, and within days been stripped of what he’d become. Braeden  had not only taken away his wolf, but with it almost everything that made Derek who he was. She’d laughed at their shock, and Derek’s distress, when he’d seen Scott’s wolf-face: Derek didn’t know them, Derek didn’t know that werewolves existed.

Stiles had been surprised, but pleased, when Scott snapped. Braeden held her own against him for a while, but once Stiles pushed her weapons out of the way—he was getting the hang of certain parts of his magic—Scott flipped over her and dragged his claws across the back of her ankles. She’d never walk without help again. Derek had watched in terror, and sat stunned in the car when they’d handed his girlfriend over to a local Pack. The Stewart’s Alpha had questioned them hard, but Derek couldn’t hear anything they were saying.

They drove for a day and picked the first town they came to after sundown. Derek hadn’t made a fuss when they’d bundled him out of the car, but he’d refused food until they produced unopened snacks and soda from the gas station down the road. He’d fallen asleep easily, and not done much more than stir when Stiles had laid the mountain ash around the double bed and then the room.

Stiles phone buzzed in a text and Scott pushed opened the door.

“There isn’t a laundromat, but the manager is letting us borrow her washing machine if we buy her a few extra tubs of powder before we leave. Derek’s stuff is on her washing line at the moment. Ours is still in the wash.” Scott looked at Derek from over the ash-line. “Has he said anything?”

“Not even in his sleep. He’s seriously out of it. I can feel his mojo coming back online, though.” Scott had a couple of shopping bags at his feet. “Wolf or human he’ll be hungry when he wakes up. Did you get anything close to real food, or?”

“There’s protein bars, Gatorade, and cup-noodles for if he still doesn’t know who you are. If he does, just knock on the door and we’ll go get him something from the diner. The locals believe the story about us staging a drug intervention, and they’re keen to help.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all.

“I just hope that asshole in San Francisco wasn’t lying about there not being any withdrawal from it.”

Scott turned his head a little. “The washer’s finished, and by the sounds of it,” he tilted his chin up to point behind Stiles, “Derek’s waking up. His heart rate’s climbing. Are you sure you don’t want one of us with you?”

Stiles was. The fewer people the better at the moment, and while Lydia could use ash and wolfsbane, she didn’t have the same control as him. “I’ll be fine. Go get those clothes out.” He reached out the door and grabbed the bag of food.

The clicked shut and Stiles turned to find Derek staring at him.

“Good morning.”

Derek blinked. “‘Morning.”

“Though, it isn’t really.” Stiles looked at his phone and back up again. “It’s almost two in the afternoon. You’ve been asleep since about nine last night.” He put the bag on the little table and sat back on the single bed he’d slept in. He laid his hand on his jeans and flicked a finger out quick, willing the ash-line around Derek’s bed to break. Hopefully it looked like he’d just pushed at some fluff. If Derek still had no real memories he might freak out even more if he realized Stiles had magic. “I had my shower hours ago, so there should be plenty of hot water. Your clothes are being washed, though, so you’ll have to put your dirty stuff back on for now.”

Derek didn’t move. Stiles stood and went back to the table and grabbed out the drinks. They had red, blue, purple and yellow energy drinks to choose from. Stiles took one for himself and tossed the purple to Derek, who’d always joked that the one that looked like wolfsbane shouldn’t taste the best.

Derek caught it and frowned down at the bottle. He opened it and took a swig, then closed it before putting it on the beside table farthest from Stiles. “I’ll shower then.” He stood up and walked over to the bathroom. He stepped inside and turned to close the door. His brow was pulled in tight and his eyebrows were low enough that Stiles could tell if they’d ever be able to go back up again. Derek’s nostrils flared and Stiles made himself stay very still.

“You,” Derek’s throat sounded dry despite the drink he’d just had, “you like the red one, and it matches your…” He looked down and to the side, then back up and Stiles and held his gaze a moment before tearing his eyes away.

Stiles opened the cap of the bottle in his hands and took a swig of the red liquid. “Take your time, big guy.”

♠

Glimmer [n]:  a dim perception; inkling; a glimmer of hope

July CampNaNoWrimo - my prompt table and ‘rules’ are here.

[inkandblade]

09: Lingering

Stiles almost bled out tonight. It’s the closest they’ve ever come to losing him. Derek doesn’t know who he’s more angry at—Scott for abandoning the territory to go to college in another state when he could have stayed here and studied, or himself for refusing to end the life of the rogue last month that could have given him back his own Alpha eyes. Derek hadn’t wanted the burden again. He hadn’t wanted to risk what the rush of power might do to his mind. He’d been selfish, and tonight it had almost cost the life of the Pack’s emissary, and someone Derek...

Derek should go home. The waiting room is at the opposite end of the corridor to Stiles’ room. It’s long since past visiting hours and unlike the Sheriff, Derek has no familial nor law-enforcement-sanctioned reason to be here. But he can’t leave, he won’t. Not at least until he hears Stiles speak, sees his eyes when he wakes. Derek is tired, though, and he can’t be comfortable where he is. He took off his jacket and long sleeve shirt when he got here and stuffed them in a plastic shopping bag that smelled like Melissa had carried her lunch in. It was better than the stink of Stiles blood soaked all through them, but not strong enough to drown the odor out. Especially when there’s blood on Derek’s shoes and at the cuffs of his jeans, too. A proper cleanup will have to wait until he gets home.

He’s glad the weather is bad enough that he was wearing more than one layer. He’s glad it’s still cold for a werewolf now, inside the hospital in only the t-shirt he was wearing for an extra bit of warmth. The cold is the only reason Stiles is still alive. The cold and the Pack bond that had Derek up and moving into the night when he felt that something wasn’t right.

The Sheriff raged when he saw his son. He turned and faced Derek and made it very clear that if Stiles died, he would too. He didn’t say sorry when Melissa stepped between them to say that it had been a regular old mugging, nothing supernatural. The man’s face had shut off and he’d made a phone call to the station and then he’d sat by his son’s bed and wept. The scent of the salty tears mixed with the scent of Stiles blood and the general chemical air of the hospital had almost made Derek heave. Being banished to the shitty waiting room at the other end of the building had helped, a little.

His battery has run out on his phone. Lydia had called not long after Derek had started searching for Stiles; she’d told him to hurry and refused to be hung up on until he found Stiles. She cried in his ear when he’d called her again from the emergency room. She can’t get away from school until the end of the week, but she demanded a Skype session be set up as soon as Stiles is awake again.

Derek sent the baby-betas, as Stiles still refers to the rest of the pack, home not long after they’d all arrived. Scott didn’t pick up his phone when Derek called. He didn’t respond to the texts everyone sent him either. Derek would be worried, but it’s not the first time Scott’s gone been MIA in someone’s bed, and it probably won’t be the last.

Derek should have killed the rogue that came through last month. He should have given into the pleading look on Stiles’ face. He shouldn’t have made Stiles use the gun he hates instead.

Derek sits up in his chair again when he hears footsteps moving to the other end of the corridor.

“He’s stable, John. You need rest, yourself. I know you want to be here for him, but you’d be just as well to spend the night in one of the visitors rooms. We have them attached to I.C.U. for a reason.” Melissa’s voice is echoing in a way that means she’s standing in the doorway to Stiles’ room. There’s barely space in it for a chair beside the bed, so it’s possibly not just because she doesn’t want to intrude. “The bump on his head isn’t as bad as it could have been. He’s breathing steadily. His temperature is normal again, and he doesn’t need anymore blood. He isn’t even going to have a scar much bigger than the hole that asshole made in him.”

There’s a shuffle, and then John takes a couple of steps in his heavy boots. His voice echos in the hall. “I know, logically, that he’s going to be okay. I just. I don’t want him to be alone if he wakes up, is all.” He’s a little hoarse. “I don’t. I know it’s selfish, but I want to be the first person he sees.”

Melissa does something that, from the distance and in the echoing hallway, sounds like an actual snort. “It’s damn selfish. I understand that he’s the only thing you have left, John, but you aren’t the only one who cares about him. I know that if it was Scott in that bed I’d be feeling exactly like you are. But I’d also understand that whoever my boy saw first was going to be someone important to him. And you know that, too.”

Derek doesn’t hear it, but he can imagine all the strength going out of John Stilinski’s shoulders again, the way they had when the surgeon had come out with good news.

“I should apologize to Hale. He was covered in blood, though and—”

“You made an assumption that no one in the know will blame you for. You should still say sorry for being an ass, and thank you for saving my kid, but, Derek will understand.”

John’s words are a little clearer when he says, “Are they? I mean…” Derek can’t smell the awkwardness, of course, but like father like son, and Derek knows just how embarrassed the Sheriff is from the tone of question and the way he sucks in a breath instead of finishing the thought out loud.

Melissa chuckles. It’s more of a huff, but it’s definitely in amusement. “I don’t think they are. Not yet, anyway. Still, and I don’t know much about the whole Pack bond thing, but I’m fairly sure Derek wouldn’t have been able to feel any of the other non-wolves in the Pack bleeding out. He probably wouldn’t be waiting around all night just in case they woke up, either.”

John shifts again, and drops his voice. “Hale’s still here?”

“Hale? Yes. Derek is. He’s in the waiting room, though, not one of the visitors’ ones. I could technically toss him out, but I’m not attempting to move a born-werewolf by myself, and besides, he saved your son’s life. I think he’s earned the right to stick around, don’t you?”

♠

Linger(ing): [v] to be tardy in action; delay; dawdle: [v] to remain or stay on in a place longer than is usual or expected, as if from reluctance to leave

July CampNaNoWrimo - my prompt table and ‘rules’ are here.