Archive of Our Own

Covered in sugar powder of snow, the Hale house looked straight out of a dream. Roses were wrapped in tight, protective cocoons and sat in the front yard like pieces of a giant deconstructed snowman. The pines stood still, sleeping under the snow.

Stiles jumped out of the Jeep. His smile turned into a wince when the scars tugged uncomfortably on his skin, but he refused to let it dwindle. Today was not the day. Today was about—

“Derek!” he yelled. It felt as if someone had tied strings to the corners of his mouth and tugged them harshly, up and up, until his cheeks hurt from smiling and the cold. Without locking the car, Stiles trudged through the front yard as fast as he could to the man standing on the porch and, when Derek met him halfway with an amused smile, wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Instantly, the warmth filled him, releasing the hold on his lungs. Strong hands settled on Stiles’ waist. He closed his eyes, reveling in the embrace, and then smacked a kiss under Derek’s jaw. “Happy birthday,” he whispered.

Derek groaned and tugged him towards the house.

Stiles laughed. “Come on!” he teased. “We’re gonna have so much fun! I brought Monopoly—”

“Yes!” Boyd shouted from inside the house.

“No!” Cora’s yell was followed by the sound of a squabble.

“If you team up with Boyd, Isaac will cry again,” said Derek.

They walked inside, with Stiles chortling. Derek helped him shed his jacket and pursed his lips when Stiles winced again. God, how Stiles hated that damn wrinkle between his brows. More so, he hated Peter—

Nope, not thinking about that.

Stiles put on a bright smile. “Come here, birthday boy,” he muttered, took Derek’s face in his cold hands, and kissed him.

Slowly, Derek melted. His tense shoulders sagged and softened under Stiles’ touch. His breath and his lips were so hot after the icy winds that Stiles shivered.

He loved kissing Derek. Like, loved it, all of it: the heat of Derek’s skin, his hands on Stiles’ waist, the sounds they made. They could spend hours making out (which, they did) or simply lie against each other, clothes or no clothes (yep, they did), murmuring nonsense. Barely anyone looked their way anymore, because no one actually wanted to see Hale and Stilinski kissing under the bleachers again. For once in his life, Stiles couldn’t wait for summer so they could revisit their meadow and lie there together until his skin blistered from the sun and their lips grew numb from kissing.

Death threats, anxiety, and painful healing aside, everything was bliss.

Derek’s chuckle broke their kiss.

“Want anything?” he murmured into Stiles’ lips, kissed them once more as if he couldn’t help himself, and leaned away. His eyes were impossibly, wintery green.

Stiles smiled like an idiot. “Like what, another steak? I’ll turn into one soon if you keep feeding them to me.”

“You are the one moaning at them.” Derek smacked another hard kiss on his jaw, ignoring his squawk, grabbed his hand, and led him into the kitchen. “I bought you a cake.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah, so I do what I want.”

Stiles huffed with an exasperated smile, but his heart lurched tenderly. Inside, the house was warm, though it smelled faintly like raw meat. After many dinners at Hales, Stiles grew accustomed to the smell and even tried a real tartare once, courtesy of Boyd. Cora and Erica laughed their asses off when he stuffed his mouth with bread right after, but Derek looked pleased. Turned out, the key to eating raw minced meat is to not think about what you’re chewing.

Still, the combination of a brightly decorated Christmas tree and meaty chunks was something that took time to get used to.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Stiles greeted as he entered the kitchen. George and Talia, both in red Santa hats, were cleaning up and turned to him with welcoming smiles. “And congrats on Derek’s birthday.”

“Thank you, honey.” Talia wiped her hands on a towel. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“How’s John?” asked George.

Stiles’ heart warmed; he pushed down a smile. This budding friendship between their dads was nothing short of adorable.

“Good. He’s been up since dawn.” Stiles sat in the chair while Derek went to make him tea. The teapot was actually Derek’s present for him for Christmas, so he could ‘feel at home’ in the Hale residence. As if having Derek there wasn’t enough. “I think he’s sulking that you couldn’t come fishing with him.”

“Well, you know…” George shrugged with one shoulder and fell silent. Something tugged on Stiles’ heart — something that felt too much like guilt. His father remained clueless to this day.

“Yeah,” Stiles said dumbly.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” George added with a light grin. “Maybe some other time.”

Stiles answered his smile with one of his own, though it turned genuine when Derek lowered a cup of tea and a piece of birthday cake in front of him.

“Feels like it should be the other way around.” Stiles picked up a fork. Talia and George disappeared into the living room (probably to play cards); Derek sat near, pulling his chair close, and Stiles put his feet on the rack under it. The wolf’s hand landed on his thigh, spreading warmth and giddiness.

It was adorable, this providing thing. With anyone else, Stiles would’ve been creeped out, but with Derek, it felt as natural as breathing. If offering Stiles food made Derek feel at peace, then so be it. Stiles would do anything to calm him, even if it meant eating cake alone on Derek’s birthday.

Stiles hummed at the sweet vanilla taste, licking his fork clean.

“Is it good?” Derek muttered, watching him.

“Mhm. You have a surprisingly good taste, considering, you know...” Stiles waved his fork around. “That you don’t eat this stuff.”

“I watch you eat.”

“How romantic.”

The corners of Derek’s lips lifted. The sight of it tugged on Stiles' heart, so precious that smile became to him in the past weeks. The dark circles under Derek’s eyes — not so much. No amount of kisses or sleep was able to make them go away.

Nothing would, except for Peter’s capture and his subsequent death.

“One day I’ll catch you something,” promised Stiles, his voice thick from cream. He slurped hot tea (too strong this time, but, hey, Derek was learning) and met Derek’s studying, hungry gaze. If Cora saw how close they were sitting, she would gag. “I can’t promise a buck, but maybe a quail.”

“You know I don’t need anything,” muttered Derek, stroking Stiles’ thigh. His frown eased the longer they sat together. “Least of all, you fainting at the sight of blood in the middle of the forest.”

Someone’s snort reached them from the depths of the house, followed by bickering. Stiles’ cheeks heated.

“Still,” he insisted, squirming in his seat. “There’s gotta be something I can do.”

He scooped fallen sprinkles from the side of the cake and licked them off the fork. When Derek said nothing, Stiles looked up, and his heart swooped.

Derek was smiling.

It was a small, quiet smile, full of sadness for some reason, yet at the same time, it breathed with softness. His eyes glinted in the low light, tired but tender.

God, how was anyone allowed to be this beautiful?

With warm feelings squirming inside his chest, Stiles leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of Derek’s mouth. The lingering kiss exhausted the last bits of cold from his face. With Derek, he couldn’t feel anything but warmth.

“What presents did you get?” he asked, taking another sip from the cup.

Derek blinked languidly as if coming out of a sleep. “Mmm… Haven’t opened them yet.”

Stiles’ eyes bulged out. “No cake, no presents, what kind of birthday is this?” He scraped the last bit of cake into his mouth and stood up, tugging Derek as well. “Do not tell me you don’t like celebrating it.”

“I don’t like celebrating it.”

“Lame.” Stiles pushed Derek into the living room and made him sit in the armchair. “Everybody, we’re singing a birthday song to the birthday boy!”

“Do not—”

In just a moment, after a thunderous stumbling, the rest of the wolves gathered into the living room. Erica looked like she had just gotten out of bed with a bun on her head and no makeup on her sleepy, puffy eyes. Cora grimaced as usual, and Boyd got Isaac in a headlock. Stiles snorted at the sight of them and nodded at the door. “I’ll get your present from the—”

Someone whooshed past him and back so fast that the cold only managed to tickle his shins. It was Cora — the girl stood in the middle of the living room, examining the big, red box.

“Hey!” Stiles complained. “It’s for Derek!”

Cora bared her teeth at him and cut through the paper. Stiles’ angry huff melted away when Derek tugged him to sit on the armrest and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“You’re such an asshole,” Erica mumbled, lowering onto the fluffy, white carpet beside Talia’s feet. She all but purred when the alpha scratched at her hair.

“I don’t care,” Cora sneered. She let the box fall to the ground and took out the present — a camping rucksack with numerous straps and pockets, along with an essential camping set inside. Her eyes widened, and she barked a laugh, which Stiles did not expect, and chucked the rucksack at Derek, who caught it with one hand. “Isn’t it useful, Der?”

Derek tensed. “Shut up,” he bit out.

Stiles looked at him strangely but got distracted when Boyd caught Cora around the middle and forced her into a headlock instead. Red-faced Isaac jumped out of the way of a screeching Cora, dove for the Christmas tree, and produced a present stashed behind it. Thankfully, he didn’t chuck it, as it turned out to be a knife with an expensive wooden handle, all lacquered and dark. Boyd and Erica presented him with a sports store certificate, claiming that Stiles stole each and every one of Derek’s jerseys.

“Children,” George admonished Boyd and Cora, making them split up; Cora marched upstairs, cursing everyone, and Boyd settled beside Erica. Talia stood up, stepped over the betas, and walked over to Derek with a smile and a thin white envelope in her hands.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” she said warmly.

Derek accepted the envelope with interest and used his claw to open it carefully on the side. Two rectangular pieces of shiny paper slid out of it into his palm. As Derek read them, his jaw clenched.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, glancing at Talia.

Derek didn’t answer. He looked up at his mother as well. Talia’s smile was forcedly light, almost apologetic. She looked at Stiles as she replied, “Those are vouchers. For plane tickets, for you and Derek. We thought you’d like a little vacation in summer before university starts.”

Stiles’ heart stuttered. A strange mix of dread and excitement overtook him. The vacation alone with Derek sounded like a lovely dream, but the thoughts of university made his stomach turn. How was he going to leave his dad? What if something happened to him? Besides, what if he and Derek went to different universities? How was that going to work? How would they?

“That’s so cool,” Stiles said with a genuine, if weak smile. He grabbed the vouchers from Derek’s hand. “Where are we— Ah, shit.”

He frowned at his finger, which was sliced open by the sharp edge of the paper. A microscopic droplet of blood welled up on the surface of the skin.

Derek’s nostrils flared.

It all happened very quickly, then.

“Derek, no!” roared Talia.

Stiles yelled in pain as claws sank into his thigh. Derek ripped them away within a second, scratching his arm on the way, and it was enough for the searing ache to settle deep into his flesh. The vouchers slipped from Stiles’ stiff fingers, and in the next second, he was falling. The chair scraped loudly, toppling over right beside Stiles’ head.

The vouchers came to rest on the floor.

Everyone remained frozen, their wide, alert eyes focused on the werewolf looming over Stiles in the middle of the festive living room.

“Derek,” Stiles called, rising on his elbows. He clenched his jaw to keep the painful groan inside. His shaking hand landed on Derek’s shin. “Derek, it’s okay.”

He had never seen a shift like this. Derek showed him everything — every stage of it, every trick; how he controlled one claw at a time and descended his fangs without transforming his entire face.

But this? This was Derek out of control.

Black fur spurted down his chest and arms, crawled up his neck and back like a wave. Derek’s face became unrecognizable, stuck somewhere between human and wolfish one. His fangs clashed together, his elongated snout curled in threat. He stood with his back to Stiles, tense as a stone, his shaking muscular body ready for a jump. The ears on top of his head were flattened, his violently pink and black gums bared at everyone.

God, what was happening? The faces of the pack were the worst of all, as they seemed just as shocked as Stiles. None of them had ever seen Derek like this. But he was protecting Stiles, right? From whatever it was, he would never harm—

Stiles winced as he pulled himself up. The deep cuts whined inside his skin.

“Derek?” Talia called. Her eyes flashed — just once, perhaps out of habit — but it was enough.

Derek jumped on his mother with a violent snarl, shaking the house like thunder.

“No!” shouted Stiles, echoed by the rest of the pack.

Derek didn’t get far; not a moment later, he was writhing on the floor, trapped by his father, Boyd, and Isaac, who pulled his arms behind his back, growling back at him.

“Take him to the Nemeton,” Talia’s order rang through the snarls. She wouldn’t look away from her child. “Lock him. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Wait,” Stiles scrambled to his feet. Derek’s red gaze pinned him down, and he growled at the sound of his voice.

“Stay where you are,” warned George.

“Mom?” Cora asked, coming down the stairs.

“Bring the first aid kit,” Talia said to her, walking over to the front door. She opened it, letting the men through. “Stiles — into the kitchen, now.”

“But—”

“Now!”

Derek roared.

Stiles’ heart ripped out of his chest right as the pack pushed Derek out of the house. The snarls were unbearable, the more they quietened with distance.

“I need to go with him.” Stiles turned his begging gaze to Talia. “I need to.”

Talia’s jaw clenched. She marched past him toward the kitchen, wrapping her hand around his shoulders to keep him moving.

“We need to get rid of your blood,” she muttered absently. “Its smell will only irritate him more.”

Stiles pursed his lips. “Fine.”

In the kitchen, pale-faced Cora was tearing into a brand-new first aid kit. She unwrapped the gauze as if she didn’t know how much one would need and pursed her nose in indecision. Stiles would bet his ass she didn’t even wash her hands.

He didn’t have time for this. Any other day, and he would’ve been happy to teach the wolves the wonders of human healthcare, but now he couldn’t think of anyone but Derek.

His mate was somewhere out there, in the cold, dark forest inside a rotting tree carcass, distressed and… and scared.

His mate.

“Give it.” Stiles tore the gauze from Cora’s hands and stuffed it into the aid kit box.

“Wait, let me—”

“Talia, I’m fine,” Stiles swiveled to her, his voice shaking ever so slightly. They stared at each other with both of their hearts in their throats. Talia’s mouth was grim and thin. “It’s nothing serious, just a cut.” Cora arched her eyebrow skeptically. “I’ll do it quicker by myself. I… I gotta go to him.”

He hated every second that passed with Talia’s hesitation. At last, she nodded tersely.

“Let me know if you need stitches. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Stiles wasted not a moment more and limped toward the bathroom. He shut the door and allowed himself a moment to breathe before getting down to business. He shed his jeans and shrugged out of a hoodie, grinding his teeth at the new pain added to his old ache. Fuck, if Derek feels an ounce of guilt over this…

Under the harsh, cold light, the cuts looked too dark against his pale skin. Stiles blinked away the dark spots from his eyes, swallowed at the sight of blood, and pushed his arm under the faucet, washing it down with soap and cold water. It didn’t look bad, just a scratch. An accident.

Stiles patted it with a paper towel until the blood stopped, and, ignoring the cut on his finger altogether, took a steadying breath in preparation for the worst.

Get it together, Stilinski.

Stiles was fine with cuts and scratches. He was fine with scars, even, as long as they didn’t bleed. He wasn’t squeamish.

He looked down at his thigh.

And, yeah, nope, it was the worst.

Cursing everything, Stiles spat out the blob of bitter spit into the sink, tore a handful of paper towels, soaked them under the cold water, and carefully swiped around the cuts.

Those weren’t scratches. Stiles was fucking lucky that Derek missed the main arteries. There was no way he was going to the hospital, because a) Dad would have a heart attack; and b) Derek would drown in guilt.

Fuck, they would definitely scar, though. As if he didn’t have a set on his chest already. And his arm. And his palm. And the neck…

Whatever, none of it mattered. Not when Derek needed him.

If Stiles were more careful, none of it would have happened.

Derek was just… on edge. None of it was his fault.

Sick of waiting and wasting precious time, Stiles tore at the gauze with his teeth and wrapped it hastily around his thigh, swallowing down bile at the crimson spots on his jeans. He took a Tylenol pill that he found in the kit, pulled on his hoodie, and burst out of the bathroom, wincing.

“Are they coming back?” he asked with a frown as he reentered the kitchen.

Talia and Cora stopped talking at once and looked at him.

“No, honey,” said Talia. “He’ll need some time to… calm down.”

Stiles’ lungs tightened. “Can you take me there? I don’t know the way.”

“I—”

“I’ll take you,” blurted Cora. She exchanged a glance with her mother, lifted her chin, and marched out of the room. She didn’t bother to put on her jacket. “But you’ll have to walk.”

Stiles winced as he hurried after her. He grabbed his jacket and his hat, then, after some thought, took Derek’s jacket as well, stuffed it into the new rucksack, and hobbled onto the porch. Cora watched him with such a weird, narrowed look that Stiles barked, “Let’s go.”

“Jeez.” The girl huffed, jumping off the steps. “Didn’t know you cared that much.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, just stared at her snowflake-covered hair slapping at her back. Despite Stiles' fresh injuries, she didn’t slow down, but it was for the better. He didn’t need pity, least of all from this girl. Stiles glanced back; Talia’s dark silhouette stood out harshly against the square of orange front door light.

“Your mom is not coming with us?” he asked, turning around.

Cora didn’t look at him. “Someone has to be at the pack den at all times.”

“Then who—”

“Dad usually stays.” She fell silent for a while, then added without enthusiasm, “Before, it was Peter.”

The darkness shrouded the forest. It stood still, prickly, and cold. The moonlight burst from the sky here and there, covering the bare trees in light-blue lace. If it weren’t for the flashlight stuffed in one of the rucksack’s pockets, Stiles would’ve been completely fucked.

He glared at Cora’s back as he walked. His feet and thighs grew cold, his wounds nagging uncomfortably at his tensing muscles, but Stiles only grit his teeth.

“You know I care,” he bit out after close to fifteen minutes of silence. “You cannot seriously look me in the eyes and say that I don’t.”

“I’m not looking at you.”

“Cora.”

The girl stopped in her tracks and swiveled toward him with cloudy breath billowing out of her nostrils.

“You’re human, okay?” she pointed at him with her eyebrows raised. “Humans don’t feel shit.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that?”

They stared at each other for a few moments. In the end, Stiles rolled his eyes and walked past the girl with a huff, barely stopping himself from shouldering her.

“If you know other human mates, send them my way, ‘cause I have a couple of questions,” he bit out.

One would think such romantic thing as mates was documented through and through, but, apparently, wolves were allergic to any scientific research. Where were the statistics? the evidence? the surveys? Someone had to have started figuring shit out, and, yes, he was well aware of the top-notch secrecy.

It’s just, sometimes, being a zero point zero one percent fucking sucked.

If humans didn’t feel shit, then Stiles had some real heart problems. That, or indigestion. No, but seriously, this bond with Derek felt like a real, physical thing; like an anchor that the wolf threw at him, and it embedded itself into Stiles’ heart, scraping it, digging inside into the raw, fluttering muscle. The distance hurt. The silence nagged at his ears. His anxiety levels rocketed sky-high when they went for too long without contact. Stiles clung to him, hung from him like a monkey from a tree; he needed to touch Derek, and yearned for Derek’s touch. Stiles wanted to kiss Derek until the wolf forgot about all his problems. He wanted Derek to think of no one but him.

Now, some would call him obsessed, but Stiles knew for a fact that Derek felt the same.

The way Derek’s jaw unclenched once his arms wrapped around Stiles' waist in the school parking lot. The way his shoulders sagged when he buried his face in Stiles’ neck for a couple of hungry minutes. Derek clung back and crawled into his bedroom after midnight with dark circles under his eyes. His tiny breath of relief when he folded into Stiles’ arms was worth every scar.

They couldn’t stay away. They were addicts, codependent, and obsessive. Only, in their case, quitting wasn’t an option, was it?

Stiles’ throat tightened impossibly at the thought, and only at the first traces of Derek’s growls could he take a breath.

Forgetting all about Cora and her silence, Stiles hobbled as fast as he could to the white round meadow where he could see Isaac and Erica standing beside the giant flat stump. The snow around it was disturbed, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what caused it.

“Dude…” Isaac frowned at the sight of him.

“Shouldn’t you be getting stitches?” added Erica.

“Is it bad?” Stiles threw the rucksack beside the stump, pressing his hand to his side to ease the pain. The acidic spit gathered in his mouth. “Is he hurt? Did he say anything? Did he shift at all or—”

He stuttered when Boyd emerged from the large, rotten opening in the stump. He looked grim, his jaw set in annoyance and worry. He threw Stiles a dubious glance.

“George thinks it’s a bad idea,” he muttered.

As if that would stop Stiles.

“Let me through.”

“You realize he went nuts because—”

“—of me, yes.” Stiles shouldered past Isaac and only stopped in front of Boyd because he couldn’t possibly squeeze around his big frame. “I can calm him.”

“How do you know?”

Stiles pursed his lips together, glaring.

After several seconds, Erica murmured, “It happened before, didn’t it?”

God, he didn’t have time for this.

Derek didn’t shift like that, not fully. His face transformed during sex sometimes (most of the time), and so what? Stiles didn’t mind a lil fang here and there. Or his claws. It wasn’t a big deal then, but perhaps… Perhaps, it was a pattern. And it was the one Stiles knew how to solve.

“He just needs to see me,” said Stiles, not breaking Boyd’s eye contact, “so move out of the way.”

“Or what?” Boyd asked quietly.

Stiles could hear nothing but his own harsh breathing.

He licked his cracked lips. “Boyd, he’s my mate. I need to be with him. I like you, dude, and I do not wanna break my fist against your face, because then I’d have to go to the hospital for real, and do you know how much hospitals suck on Christmas—”

Boyd watched him skeptically, then turned sharply toward the entrance. He blinked, and then with a heavy sigh, stepped aside.

Stiles instantly jumped past him, barely hearing Boyd’s annoyed, “George said ‘give up’,” before pushing into the entrance of the burrow carved into the base of the stump. The tunnel that led to the basement was short but very steep, and Stiles hissed at the pull on his cuts.

Don’t shine the flashlight on the jeans, don’t…

He knew George was there, but still jumped when the light settled on his crouched figure. The bright, cold light cast sharp shadows on his angular, bearded face. They trembled, but Stiles could only blame his shaking hands.

Quickly, George turned back to Derek, murmuring something firmly. Stiles’ heart clenched at the sight of him: Derek stood on his knees, shaking and shining from sweat; rusty, heavy manacles dug into his wrists, rubbing them raw as the wolf struggled to stay within their confines. He breathed harshly, rolling his neck and curling his lips. His shift softened into a partial one, and even though Stiles was used to it, it brought little relief.

“Derek…” Stiles breathed, hurrying towards him.

George stopped him with a hand on his chest. It clamped on him, pinning him in place. Derek growled at Stiles’ punched-out gasp, flickering his red eyes at his father.

“Quit it,” George chided, though his son didn’t respond. “Stiles, stay behind me.”

The manacles clattered. Derek struggled against them, trying to reach Stiles, but could do nothing but snap his teeth in frustration. A small trickle of blood slid down his wrists and onto the frozen ground.

Watching him in pain was torture.

“Please,” Stiles turned to George; he would plead, beg, and fight; he was ready to. “He just needs to see that I’m okay.”

“But you’re not okay.”

“It’s nothing, it’s just a scratch.” Stiles tightened his lips at the look George gave him and added quieter, “He’s not dangerous, not to me. He won’t hurt me.”

“You smell like blood.” George watched him. Derek strained against the iron hold. “We wouldn’t be here if he controlled himself around you.”

Stiles’ heart thudded in his throat. “He’s my mate.”

“Doesn’t mean he cannot hurt you.”

“I don’t care, he needs me!”

Derek snarled. The sound grated on Stiles’ soul, scratching it with dirty, stinging claws. Swearing under his breath, Stiles forced George’s hand off his shoulder, laid his flashlight on the ground, and crawled into Derek’s space.

God, and why did Stiles have to fight so many people to hold him?

“Hey, hey, I’m here…” Stiles murmured and pushed down a yelp when Derek snatched him from the floor. With a loud clang, the wolf wrapped his arms tightly, painfully around Stiles’ frame and… yep, that was Stiles’ jacket ripping from the claws. “Okay, don’t complain when I steal your jersey this time.”

Derek didn’t answer. He took Stiles to the corner of the basement, sat down, propped him against a wall like a doll, and plastered himself to Stiles’ front, his hands wrapped around Stiles’ frame and his nose stuck into the neck. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles bit his lip and thumped the back of his head against the dirty, cold wall.

Breathe, just breathe.

“Tylenol?” asked George grimly.

Stiles breathed out shakily and put his arms around Derek’s shoulders, scratching the wolf’s head. “N-no, I already took one. It’s alright.”

“It’s not, and you know it.”

“He’s actually— Ugh… Putting pressure on the wound. I meant the cut! Yeah, the cut…” Stiles licked his lips and opened his eyes. White blobs faded from his vision, leaving him to enjoy the wonderful sight of the tree’s dried guts. “And he’s burning like a furnace, so that’s a plus.”

“You want to stay here?” George lifted his eyebrow, looking so much like Derek that Stiles wanted to laugh.

“Of course,” he replied. “You can— God, you’re heavy… You can go. I’ll… I’ll take care of him.”

George gave him a dubious look, so much so that Stiles was ready to be offended before he remembered that he was, after all, but a puny, breakable human. Yeah, if Derek decided to act up, Stiles won’t be able to hold him back.

“The manacles stay on,” grumbled George, standing up. He threw the flashlight to Stiles, and Derek snarled at him. “I said, quit! I have to get back to Talia; she must be beside herself. Someone will—”

“I’ll stay.”

Stiles craned his neck, careful not to disturb Derek, and groaned. “Did you lose a bet?”

Cora threw him a poisonous smile, walked over to the wall, and sat down with her arms crossed. “Shut up. Dad, take those losers with you.” She smirked at the indignant squawks coming from the surface. “It’s Christmas, you should be thanking me!”

“Why isn’t Laura here again?” Stiles complained.

“No one would willingly subject themselves to your presence.”

“George, I think your daughter is going blind.”

George sighed, ignored them all, and marched to the tunnel. “I’ll send someone with food for you, Stiles.”

Stiles opened his mouth and quickly shut it. Ah, yes, the blood loss.

You are the best in-law, he wanted to say, but ended up yelling a simple “Thanks!”.

After glancing at Cora — the girl had her eyes stubbornly closed — he finally focused on what he came here for — taking care of his mate.

“Come on, big guy, let me look at you.” Stiles tugged on Derek’s hair, pulling him out of his hiding place. Derek grumbled but obeyed, probably because it was Stiles. Yep, still a partial shift. Stiles stroked the bridge of his prominent, fleshy brow; he could barely see a thing in this low, cold light, but Derek’s gaze burned his face like fire. Stiles smiled weakly. “I’m alright,” he said in a low voice. “You freaked out over nothing like a baby. It’s gonna be so-o embarrassing for you when you snap out.”

Derek blinked at him, his cheek mashed against Stiles’ chest, and said nothing.

“His heart is going really fast,” muttered Cora suddenly.

“Thanks, I can feel it.” Stiles scratched Derek’s back and pulled up his knee with some effort so it would be easier to hold him. The wolf didn’t seem to give a shit, happy to be nestled in Stiles’ embrace. He stared and stared, blinking lazily, and didn’t even bother to take some of the weight off Stiles. Maybe Derek had him exactly where he wanted. Maybe in his wolfish mind, this was the safest place for Stiles to be.

“You’re a dork,” Stiles huffed a laugh, cupping Derek’s furry cheek. The wolf’s nostrils flared, and he nuzzled into Stiles’ palm. “You know I could be eating cake right now, hmm? The one you bought me? For your birthday? You know what else would be a great present for your mate? Sanity.”

After another bout of silent gazing, Stiles sighed and leaned his head back on the wall. Derek immediately burrowed back into his neck, his hot breath coating Stiles’ skin in waves.

Bit by bit, Stiles calmed down. Or, rather, forced himself to, because he had an inkling feeling that Derek’s sanity depended on it. This feral codependence had to have healthy benefits, right? Granted, the proximity helped.

Bulged from the protruding fangs, Derek’s lips pressed against his jugular. Stiles’ gums itched — a strange thing he slowly got used to — and he swallowed spit, pushing down the desire to bite Derek’s bared shoulder.

Most likely, it was just a consequence of being a wolf’s mate. A kink by proxy. Stiles indulged it sometimes, when the itch got unbearable, but Derek only chuckled, familiar with that desire.

“Yeah, you’re my mate,” he usually added.

The minutes ticked in silence. If it weren’t for the myriad of thoughts roaming in Stiles’ mind, he would’ve fallen asleep. With Derek’s heat around him, it wasn’t like it was hard.

“It’s what my mate said.”

Stiles jumped, then quickly shushed Derek, caressing his shoulder. When the wolf stopped frowning and settled back into Stiles’ neck, he looked up at Cora — the girl’s eyes remained closed.

She looked innocent, curled against the wall in a t-shirt with snowmen on it. Then again, Lydia’s dog also looked innocent despite the ungodly amount of rage in such a tiny, shaking body.

“Said what?”

Cora sighed in annoyance, which wasn’t fair, as she started it first. “That she didn’t feel shit.”

Yikes.

“I’m sorry.”

Cora pursed her nose. “Eh.”

Eh. That wasn’t “eh”. Stiles imagined what Derek would’ve felt if he said the same thing and nearly broke out in hives. Derek’s chest vibrated as if he sensed his discomfort. He shushed the wolf.

“What did you—” Cora cleared her throat. She resolutely refused to meet his gaze and tried her hardest to pretend she wasn’t tense like a mooring line. “Did you feel anything when you two met?”

Stiles hummed. “I thought he was the best-looking out of you lot.” Cora snorted. “I don’t know. Derek was so weird that day that I honestly thought he hated me. It really bothered me.”

“That he hated you?”

“Yeah. I was ready to confront him the next day, but he dipped.”

“He freaked the fuck out.”

Stiles swallowed, unable to comprehend how anyone could freak out about him. He was just a dude. Just Stiles.

Derek’s hands tightened on him, and he purred again. Stiles raked his fingers through the wolf’s hair, tugging softly.

“We don’t have the best record with mates,” said Cora. “And this whole thing with Uncle Peter…”

“Yeah.”

“He knew not to tell you straight away, and we told him to go slow, but the dumbass just went, ‘fuck y’all, I have to try,’ and then started full-on courting you.” She shook her head.

A smile bloomed on Stiles’ lips all by itself. He looked down at Derek’s relaxed face. His heart gave a trembling ‘blub’. He traced Derek’s cheek with his finger, noting the prickling of eyebrow hair under the furrowed flesh. He felt Cora’s gaze on them, but didn’t meet it. She needed to have her fill.

“You told your mate straight away,” he said carefully.

The air grew prickly.

“It’s all Laura,” bit out Cora, turning away. “She dated her mate for, like, half a year, before telling him. That was a shitshow. He nearly pissed himself. Gathered his things that very evening and ran.”

“Damn.”

“So when I met mine—” She huffed.

“You told her, and she ran?”

“No. Said she didn’t know what I was talking about. The pull, I mean, that I felt. Told me that she had a choice, and that she never chose to be anyone’s mate. So I guess, I just wanted to know…” She fell silent and bitter.

Hearing it was painful. No wonder she was miserable all the time. All while witnessing Stiles, who was ready to fistfight anyone to get to his mate.

“I can’t say for her,” said Stiles, “but I know for us it’s not this instant… pull, like for you wolves. Though I did develop a crush, like, instantly.” He thought for a bit. “I just fell in love, I guess. And when Derek told me about mates, I was already obsessed with him. I got so depressed thinking about this mate that Derek would leave me for, oh god…” he shook his head with a dark chuckle. Cora didn’t join. “I can talk to her.”

The girl looked at him so fast that her neck cracked.

“What?!” she hissed with her eyes big.

“I can—”

“No.” Cora jumped to her feet, shaking her head vigorously. “I don’t need you talking to anybody.”

“Hey!”

“Not when you look like you have a cheese grater for a loofah, Stilinski. You are the worst ad for mating. Stay away from her.”

“Right, uh, just so we’re clear on that: what’s her name?”

Cora glared at him. Ah, no luck then.

“None of your fucking business,” she bit out deadly.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Irish? None O’Your-Fucking-B— Okay, wait, I’ll shut up!”

But Cora’s heels had already disappeared up the tunnel.

Stiles winced and, groaning, leaned his head back. “Nice one, Stilinski.” He stared at the ceiling for a while before glancing down at Derek. “And you slept through everything, of-fucking-course.”

At least, his face turned back to human. To his ungodly, unfathomably handsome self.

“I can’t believe we’re considered lucky, big guy,” Stiles muttered under his breath and patted Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m all down for forever. Part of the crew, part of the ship. If we’re hitting an iceberg, I’m going down with you, Titanic.” He huffed. “Come on, that was funny. Wake up.”

Derek did not move.

Stiles swallowed.

“Alright, birthday boy. This is so not the night I wanted to give you, but if you insist…” He stroked Derek’s cheek with his thumb, tracing the edge of the stubble. It wasn’t long before he gave in and pressed his lips to Derek’s forehead.

God, how warm he was.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, soaking it all like greed personified.

Derek slept through Isaac’s visit and Stiles’ devouring of the cake and tea, as well as his failed interrogation attempts. Isaac vehemently refused to tell him who Cora’s mate was, because apparently, he liked his testicles attached. Who knew?

Still, Stiles felt like he could have helped. And so what if he’s all scratched up? Having a mate was… It was worth it.

Derek was worth it.

Cora just didn’t explain it right. It may have sounded nice to a werewolf, this everlasting, instant bond, but humans needed time and a bit of space. It didn’t seem like Cora’s girl minded the furry part… That was a good first step.

What Cora needed was a chance.

One… simple…

*

Weightlessness. The sharp crunch of the stiff, frozen leaves. Heat.

Stiles blinked his eyes open, tried and failed to orient himself, then lifted his eyes onto the man carrying him.

“Hey,” he croaked.

Derek stared straight ahead.

Stiles rubbed his cheek against the wolf’s ripped shirt. “Could’ve walked,” he muttered. “You’re not gonna let me down, aren’t you?” And, when Derek didn’t answer, he added, “Thought so.”

This whole carrying thing was weird. While Stiles knew about Derek’s super-strength, his mind refused to accept that someone could lift him like a kitten. And Derek liked to manhandle him a lot.

“Beep-boop. Ground control to Major Hale.” Stiles poked him in his pec, and it jumped. “Are you still non-verbal? Over.”

The moon lit Derek’s face in fleeting fractions. Sharp shards of pale blue sliced across his angular, grim face before Stiles could study it.

When his heart began to pick up pace, Derek grunted a single, “No.”

Stiles swallowed against his tightening throat. He picked at the loose thread hanging from the rip in his shirt.

“You didn’t say ‘over’.”

He could hear Derek’s teeth grinding. Stiles’ stomach turned, but he tried to remind himself that Derek — well, both of them — had a rocky night. Maybe Derek wasn’t fully back to his gorgeous, smart self. Maybe he’s hungry. Or pissed off about the manacles, but, hey, Stiles would’ve helped taking them off if Derek woke him!

If only he could see the wolf’s wrists… What if he was in pain?

“Are you hurt?” asked Stiles.

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

“Me?” A flock of birds burst out of the trees at the anger in Derek’s voice. “No, Stiles, I’m not hurt.”

“Okay, please, chill.” This was the worst. “Nothing catastrophic happened, everything’s fine, I’m fine, you’re fine. It’s your birthday—”

“Yeah, and you could have bled out, if my hand was a bit to the left!” Derek snapped. “Other than, you know, your death, yeah, I’d say everything went dandy.”

Stiles’ lungs constricted. “Derek…” he pleaded as softly as he could.

“Be quiet,” the wolf dismissed him. “Your father is asleep.”

Stiles opened his mouth but snapped it when his house materialized out of thin nightly air right before his eyes. So… they weren’t going to the Hales.

If Derek thought he would dump him here and leave, then he was in for a big surprise.

Stiles pursed his lips as Derek silently marched onto the porch. As soon as Derek set him on the ground and let go, he took the wolf’s wrist in a tight grip and bit out at his face,

“If you leave, I’m gonna scream.” They glared at each other, though Stiles turned away quickly, knowing he would fold. If Stiles screamed, his father would wake up, have a heart attack, and die, and then Stiles would never forgive Derek and also die, so, naturally, the wolf couldn’t do shit. So there.

Fuming in quiet, both entered the silent house and went upstairs. Given the lack of pain, Stiles could do so easily, so he turned to Derek.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“The pain mojo.” Stiles caught sight of his face and harrumphed. “Don’t start.” Instead of the bedroom, Stiles sneaked into his bathroom, tugging Derek along with him, and locked the door. “Sit down.” He nodded at the closed toilet seat.

“What are you doing?” asked Derek, watching as he shimmied out of his jeans.

“Showing you that it’s nothing,” Stiles hissed.

The bandage was soaked with dark, crusty blood.

It wasn’t nothing. In fact, it was rather bad, and Stiles regretted this immediately.

“Actually, you know what—”

But Derek had already caught him by the hips and pushed him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. His large hands grabbed underneath Stiles’ thigh and lifted it; Derek leaned down for closer inspection with a serious, frowny face.

This was the worst.

“Derek,” Stiles whined, careful to keep his voice quiet but extremely annoying.

“You need stitches.”

“You don’t know what that looks like. It’s just dirty.”

Derek’s jaw clenched. “Antibiotics, then. And antiseptic.” He leaned down and opened the cabinet below the sink, rummaging for a first-aid kit. To his credit, he did find it suspiciously quickly and went straight for the roll of bandages, as if he knew where it was.

Stiles watched him with narrowed eyes. “Look at you, big guy, learning new words.”

Derek didn’t take the bait. He looked up at Stiles with his eyebrows furrowed. But where his face was tight, his hold on Stiles’ thigh was the gentlest touch Stiles had ever experienced.

“I’m going to clean it up,” said Derek. “I’m gonna act quick, but it’s not gonna hurt. I promise.”

Something stinging lodged in Stiles’ throat, and no amount of swallowing could make it disappear. He nodded.

Derek had cleaned him up in the blink of an eye. They had to wait until the skin dried before slathering the wounds in antibiotic ointment. Derek wrapped him back up just as quickly. Not once did Stiles feel an inkling of pain.

Derek had yet to let go of his calf.

“You’re staying the night,” said Stiles.

The wolf stroked his shin, not meeting his eyes. “I should go home.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Derek sighed.

They cleaned up and moved to Stiles’ bedroom. The shirts that Stiles spent an hour picking and dismissing lay on the chair in a lumpy heap.

It felt like centuries had passed since morning.

Derek, the ever gentleman, helped Stiles out of his clothes, then shed his own hanging threads. When they settled into the bed, Stiles crawled into Derek’s space, plastered himself to the wolf’s front, and swung his arm around Derek’s waist and his injured leg over his thighs.

“I don’t think my heat is gonna help,” Derek grumbled.

“If you don’t put your hand on my ass, Hale... And stop sighing like that.” He waited until Derek’s hand settled around his shoulders and under his knee, and only then pushed his face into the wolf’s neck, pressing his lips to the skin.

The sleep refused to come.

They lay still and silent, each consumed by their own thoughts. Derek’s heart pushed against Stiles’ cheek and into his ear with insistent lub-dub, lub-dub. Stiles wanted to take it out of the cavity, kiss it, blood and all, and put it back.

Instead, Stiles kissed Derek’s neck. Once, twice, before he unlocked his jaw and pressed his teeth to the flesh between the neck and shoulder.

A bit more force and—

Derek’s blood rushed under the pressure of Stiles’ fangs. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. In a lightning move, the wolf cupped Stiles’ face, pulled him close, and sealed their lips in a kiss.

It was all teeth and slick sounds, hot breath on Stiles’ cheeks, and cake vanilla on his tongue. Derek’s fangs caught on Stiles’ lips. He forced Stiles’ mouth open, claiming it as his own, his breath and life as his own.

Stiles let him.

He would be strong when Derek needed it; he would hold the wolf, and if they were to sink to the bottom, Stiles would not let go.

He would be soft. He would give in and give up, let Derek take and take, his mouth and body, all his blood and all his breath, just so the wolf could stay alive. And if Derek sank his claws in, Stiles would beg him to go deeper.

Derek’s hands trembled.

Stiles caught the wolf’s hand on his jaw and intertwined their fingers without taking it off. He hummed into the kiss, allowing the wolf to take whatever he wanted. If it weren’t for Stiles’ injury, they would be making love. But Derek wouldn’t touch him now, despite the heat burning in Stiles’ stomach.

Well… he could be a benchwarmer for the night, but as for the captain…

Derek breathed in sharply. Their kiss stuttered, but Stiles only smiled. His thumb swiped over the leaking head.

“Under the pillow,” Stiles murmured into his open lips.

Derek kissed him again as if he couldn’t resist, pulled out the lube from its hiding place, and squirted some on Stiles’ palm. It went a lot smoother after that.

If only Derek was up to some fun, Stiles would have him sit up and let Stiles suck him off. It could have been lazy and long, just like Derek loved. Granted, he loved everything with Stiles, but when it came down to Stiles’ mouth, the wolf liked to keep his dick in it for as long as he could.

Weirdly, it just boosted Stiles’ confidence. Which Derek also found hot.

They fit together so ridiculously well, damn. It’s almost like they were soulmates or something.

“Why the fuck are you… giggling?” Derek murmured into Stiles' lips, breathing heavily.

Stiles flicked his tongue against Derek’s mouth, enjoying the dreamy, stupid look on the wolf’s face.

“Nothin’. I was thinkin’ about your dick—”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“— and how we’re meant to be together.”

“Because of my dick?”

“Because I like getting my mouth on it.”

Derek’s cock twitched in Stiles’ hand. He bit his lips to keep from laughing, because that certainly wouldn’t go well. Instead, he went faster and tighter, smiling when Derek fucked into his grip, breathing harshly into Stiles’ mouth.

He was totally thinking about it.

Stiles kissed him.

With all the helpful imagery, it didn’t take long for Derek to come. He bit into Stiles’ neck as he did so, right next to the old bite, which made Stiles fumble his grip for a second. Not like the wolf cared at that point; his come shot over Stiles’ hand and stomach, which couldn’t have been anything but deliberate.

And, yep, there he goes rubbing his come into Stiles’ skin.

“Kinky,” Stiles teased.

“You will smell like me,” Derek breathed harshly, all sweaty and glowy-eyed.

“I never said I didn’t like it.” They gazed at each other. Stiles smiled. “Happy birthday.”

Derek sighed. He put his come-covered hand on Stiles’ neck — and, nope, Stiles was so not meeting any wolves tomorrow — and rubbed it, swiping his thumb over Stiles’ jaw.

“Thanks,” Derek mumbled. “It was the worst.”

“It wasn’t the worst…”

“You nearly died. I nearly died. But, yeah, besides that—”

Stiles stiffened. “What do you mean you nearly died?”

Derek sighed. His gaze caressed Stiles’ face softly, as if he were committing it to his memory.

“If you…” He frowned. “If you bled out today, I wasn’t going to live without you. Not for long.”

Stiles’ throat dried. The sleep disappeared from his thoughts and future. His heart raced, dreading something it couldn’t decipher.

“You can’t say that,” he whispered.

“Why? It’s the truth. We’re mates.”

“Peter lives,” Stiles snapped. “And if something happened to me, you’d live, too!”

Derek watched him for a while with a contemplative look, as if the topic did not disturb him in the slightest. His fingers traced Stiles’ jaw in feather-light moves.

“Before you came,” he started, “all Peter did was search for a way to kill himself.”

“Derek.”

“You humans have it so easy. Rope, knife, pills, bullets — it doesn’t do shit to wolves most of the time.”

Stiles couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. “And why do you know that?”

Derek’s eyes fell to Stiles’ bloodless lips.

“I thought about it a lot when you were in the hospital,” he said casually, but quietly. “About the contingency plans.”

Stiles groaned. “You can’t be fucking serious…”

“I think I’d go to the Alpha pack and confess.”

“The Alpha pack?”

“It’s what it sounds like. A pack of alphas that governs over us.”

“Confess?”

“In Kate’s murder. The murder of the mate is punishable by death, remember?” Derek’s eyebrow furrowed. “I think Peter has the same ideas.”

That day, in the meadow. When Derek confessed to him in what he had done, he said that in some packs a wolf would get killed for it, but the Hales… The Hales hid it. Hid him and Laura from whatever this Alpha pack was.

With his heart in his throat, Stiles grabbed Derek by his face with one hand and growled, “Listen to me, big guy, if you even think—”

Derek took his hand off. “Was today not enough? What do you think will happen if I were to go feral like that again, only this time without you?”

“You’ll have your pack.” Stiles’ voice trembled.

“I’ll have nothing. No consciousness and no control, nothing to hold me back. To kill me would be a mercy.” His face grew somber. “Better the alphas do it than my family.”

“Can we, like, not talk about your suicide on your fucking birthday?” Stiles begged. His chest constricted, locked in a vacuum. “Please?”

Derek surprisingly smiled, the fucker. “Your wish, my command.”

Stiles wiggled close, glueing himself to the wolf. He stuck his nose in the hollow beneath Derek’s ear and inhaled his scent, tempting as always. Calming, safe.

Safe, Stiles thought. I’ll keep you safe.

“I love you,” he murmured into Derek’s skin.

The answering hum vibrated under his lips. “Love you, too.”

And for a second, everything was just that simple.

*

The morning came slowly, crawling into Stiles’ bedroom with bleak sunlight.

They stayed in bed for as long as they could. Derek muttered something under his breath, which was pretty much all greeting Stiles got; the wolf clung to him, plastered to his back, all morning while Stiles scrolled on his phone. The wolf’s hand rested on the jagged edge of the scar on Stiles’ stomach, his thumb caressing it back and forth.

Downstairs, Stiles’ dad puttered around the kitchen, grunting like an old man and arguing with their new coffeemaker. It was a present from Hales, which Dad got ridiculously flustered about.

When Stiles referred to Talia and George as ‘in-laws’ within the confines of their home for the first time, Dad choked, coughed for a minute straight, and spent all morning red and silent like a boiled lobster. Looking back, Stiles should’ve eased him into the idea, but why lie? He couldn’t — not about this. Derek was it. No return policy. That was the Stilinski way, and Dad knew it.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early?” asked Dad that day.

“It’s seven in the morning.”

“Dumbass.”

And that was it, that was the conversation.

Perhaps, Stiles should’ve talked to Derek first, considering his undeniable involvement, but he felt ridiculously confident about the wolf’s response. They were mates, so of course they were going to get married. One day. Not soon. He wasn’t one of those people who got engaged right after graduation.

No, that would be… weird. Definitely weird.

One time, he thought about calling Derek ‘husband’ and spent the day deep-cleaning the entire house. Derek choked on the chemical stink when he came to visit and quickly dragged Stiles away on the impromptu date, which… did not help the matter.

Maybe it was early. Maybe they were too young.

What Stiles could say with a hundred percent certainty was that they would end up there one day. Rings and a white picket fence, kids and barbecue on weekends.

That is, if one certain ‘in-law’ wasn’t so bent on killing him. Two, if they added Cora.

Stiles frowned. “Who is Cora’s mate?”

“Cora doesn’t have a mate.”

“But—”

“They haven’t bonded.” Derek rubbed his stubble on Stiles’ shoulder and pressed him closer to his front. “They have a potential to bond. One of them has to make a conscious choice for it to become...”

“Something that we have?” Stiles suggested.

“Yeah.”

“How do we know if it’s established?” Stiles pushed his phone under the pillow, set his hands on top of Derek’s, and scratched his knuckles lightly.

Suddenly, Derek snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“What? Why?”

“We fucked so many times—”

“O-okay,” Stiles’ cheeks heated.

“— and I bit you.”

Stiles lifted on his elbows, twisted despite Derek’s hold, and narrowed his sleep-soaked eyes.

“I didn’t bite you,” he pointed out.

“Come back,” complained Derek, tugging him down.

“No, tell me,” he insisted, turning to face him. His scars twinged with sharp pain, but he ignored them. “Should I bite you? Or, what, only wolves are allowed to bite? What kind of discrimination is that? Is there a human-mate union? I’d like to make a formal complaint.”

Derek looked at him like he could barely keep up. “What?” he asked in the end.

Stiles harrumphed. “Shouldn’t I bite you as well?”

Derek stared at him. “I…” he scrunched his forehead. “I don’t know? I guess, not?”

“What do you mean you guess—”

“Well, I don’t know all this stuff.” Derek relaxed into the sheets and settled his hands on Stiles’ waist. “Do you know how rare mates are?”

“Zero point zero one percent probability?” Stiles chuckled at Derek’s annoyed huff. “If your werewolf ass doesn’t know this, then who does?”

Derek shrugged. “I bet Deaton knew.”

“Deaton?”

“Alan. Our emissary.”

“The one who dipped?” Derek hummed in confirmation. “Why did he dip?”

“I think he got possessed or something.”

Stiles spluttered. “Possessed?! That’s real?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Stiles closed his face with his hands, pushed it into Derek’s shoulder, and whined. “I know nothing,” he complained. “You swore you’d tell me everything!”

Derek’s hand stroked his waist, then moved to his back. The wolf chuckled into Stiles’ hair.

“I’ll ask Laura,” he said. “Maybe she has a bestiary or something.”

They fell silent. Slowly, Stiles breathed in Derek’s sleepy scent with a hint of sweat; his heart stuttered, rejoicing at closeness, then softened into a calm pace.

“Stiles?”

His hand on Stiles’ skin, feverishly warm. The prickling of his stubble against Stiles’ forehead.

“Mm?”

“Can we… Can we spend these few days together?”

Derek’s voice was too quiet, unnaturally so. Something pricked at the back of Stiles’ mind as he opened his eyes and leaned away to meet Derek’s gaze.

He couldn’t understand what he saw there.

“Is everything alright at home?” asked Stiles, trying to sound calm. “If it’s about yesterday—”

“No. Everything’s fine. It’s just… The school starts in two weeks, and we’ll be busy again. I need to be with you.”

“You can be with me forever, how about that?” Stiles smiled cheekily. When Derek continued to stare at him, he sighed. “Of course you can stay, Derek, why are you even asking? I’m not the one who will have to choke down a measly human breakfast and pretend to enjoy it.”

“I’ll live.”

*

“You could have at least offered him coffee.”

“Dad, he said he had already eaten at home.”

“Still.” Dad arched his eyebrows. “I raised you better than that.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles shoved the last bit of his ham and cheese toast into his mouth, took his cup of coffee, and followed his Dad’s gaze. Outside, Derek was looming over the Jeep’s hood, probably sweating his ass off in the warm jacket he wore for propriety.

“He’s a good boy,” said Dad suddenly, and Stiles bit his tongue to keep from bursting into laughter. He hummed appreciatively. “You’re calmer with him.”

At this, Stiles glanced at his father, but the old man was looking at Derek in the window. His fingers tapped the empty cup. Stiles’ stomach filled with sudden warmth that had nothing to do with coffee.

“I guess,” he replied awkwardly. Was it that noticeable? Or were his previous levels of anxiety that bad? Whatever. It was just another thing he had to thank Derek for, because it was totally the consequence of their mating bond, or… whatever it is that they had.

My personal brand of xanax, Stiles thought and coughed with a smile.

Dad looked at him and sighed. “Quit giggling and give the boy a hat.” He stood up and put his empty cup in the dishwasher, then took his newspaper from the table. “It’s damn cold outside, and I don’t want to answer to your in-laws.”

They turned at the sound of a stifled thwack and the cursing that followed — Derek, all red in the face, rubbed the back of his head and glared at the hood.

Dad shook his head and retreated into the living room, muttering something sounding suspiciously close to “Another one” under his breath.

*

“In-laws?” asked Derek quietly.

Stiles stared at the road and nothing but the road.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’.

“Okay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the smile Derek tried hard to suppress.

“Okay,” he chirped.

“Are we telling him before or after we get married—”

“I swear to god, Derek, you can’t ask me that while I’m driving—”

“— because I’m not gonna skip breakfast with you and him for the rest of our lives.”

Whining, Stiles flexed his hands on the wheel. “Let me have him in blissful ignorance until graduation.”

“You have to give your dad more credit,” said Derek. “I’m sure he’ll take it alright.”

“But—”

“Besides, it would be right to have him in the pack. You know, as an in-law.”

“Oh, so you think you’re funny now, huh?” Stiles glared at him, but Derek just smiled, amused. “No word of it to your parents. They’ll think I’m too eager.”

“Stiles, you smell like you want to climb me pretty much always. I think it’s a bit late for that.”

“Shit!”

“It’s fine,” Derek chuckled at his red, blotchy cheeks. “Werewolves smell a lot of stuff. It’s more reassuring to them than embarrassing.” He fell silent, then added, “Better this than what Kate smelled like.”

Stiles picked at the seam on the underside of the wheel with his nail. “And how did she smell?”

“Like nothing.”

*

“Stiles? Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Stiles cursed under his breath as the zombie died right under his thumb and looked up at George. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

He took Derek’s arm off his chest and stood from the couch, stumbling over Isaac’s long legs. Strong hands caught him around the middle.

“Nice save,” mumbled Boyd from the armchair.

Derek grunted, helping Stiles over Isaac’s noodley figure. When he didn’t immediately return to the couch, Stiles poked him in his side.

“Your dad’s not gonna bite,” he teased. “Go watch your movie.”

Derek didn’t even look at him. “I’ll go with you.”

“But it’s your favorite.”

“I said I’ll go with you.”

Stiles huffed. “Boss baby.”

They followed smiling George through the hallway to the library at the end of it. Stiles’ gaze flickered over the pictures on the walls until he found the one he was looking for. It was a photo of him and Derek, sitting on the floor of the Hales’ living room; Stiles’ goofy smile shone despite the edge of the red bite that peeked from the collar of his hoodie — it was taken not long after the incident, and he had yet to heal fully. Derek wasn’t looking at the camera — werewolves never did — and instead gazed at the side of Stiles’ face with the most adoring expression and his hands around Stiles’ waist.

It was a joke — this pose and the photo itself. Erica nagged at them, and they couldn’t settle for a pose that wouldn’t look awkward; Derek kept joking about it, making the pose more ridiculous each time, and it made Stiles laugh — and that was exactly the moment Erica captured.

Stiles went red the first time he saw it hanging on the wall next to Hales’ family pictures. Him? Among all of them?

“Might as well,” said Talia with a shrug when she caught his glance. Her smile, however, was too mischievous and knowing for Stiles to bear it. It was too similar to a motherly smile that he would never see again.

“Derek mentioned that you wanted to know everything,” said George, walking over to his desk. It was the opposite of Talia’s, full of files, books, knife-sharpened pencils, and ink-stained notebooks. A computer lay in the middle with its lid closed. Right at the edge, there was a stack of books, old, rusty, and dusty.

Stiles’ cheeks heated.

“Well, when you say ‘everything’...” He rubbed the back of his head, making his hair stand up in different directions. Derek settled on the armchair near the window with a bored expression; if George thought his son was weird, he didn’t show it. “I just feel like at some point, Derek would get sick of me asking ‘what?’ all the time.”

“I won’t,” muttered Derek.

Stiles rolled his eyes at him, but George chuckled.

“I got some books for you,” he said, patting a stack of books. Stiles came close, eyeing it with interest. “We have lots of ‘em, and you can read what you want, but only if you do it here, in this house.” He nodded at Stiles’ baffled look. “We can’t risk them getting into the wrong hands.”

Stiles’ gaze jumped from the stack to the shelves upon shelves of books covering every wall of the room. “You’ll have to get me a permanent pass, then…” he muttered.

“You can come any time, even if no one’s home.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed Derek grow still. He frowned at George. “Wait, I thought some of you always have to be here.”

George blinked at him for a second before glancing at Derek and back.

“Well, you know what I mean,” he shrugged and, before Stiles could open his mouth, slapped the stack of books. “Some of these are encyclopedias, guides, and such — something your internet will never tell you.” Stiles suppressed a smile at that. “I picked some on wolves, hope you don’t mind my bias toward the topic.”

“You’re saying it like I don’t share it.”

George smirked, looking proud.

And then, Stiles ruined it all by opening his mouth. “Do you have anything on mates?”

George pursed his lips. “We had,” he said quietly, tapping the table. “Peter took them all once he found his. We don’t know where they are.”

Seriously? Peter? Again? When would he not ruin everyone’s life?

“Well, maybe I can find something in there,” Stiles nodded at the shelves behind him. “Who knows?”

“Peter does,” said Derek from the corner. He had a book in his hands, but his eyes were still. “It was his library.”

Stiles felt like he swallowed a lump of ice. Suddenly, the room didn’t seem so cozy, and Stiles shuffled on his feet.

“Thank you,” he said at last, smiling awkwardly. He took the book stack from the table. “I, uh… I’ll leave them in Derek’s room.”

“That’s quite fine,” said George. “If Derek gets tired of your questions—”

“Not you, too,” complained Derek, plopping the book on the armchair and standing up.

“— you can always come to me,” finished George with his smile returning. “Perhaps, both of us will get through this mess…” He gave the library a sour glance over.

Both of them, Stiles thought as Derek led him out. Most likely, George was the only one comfortable coming here. Well, maybe Stiles would finally find his place in the Hale pack and stop being just a Derek-adjacent.

He turned to Derek. “Am I—” He stopped himself in time. Yeah, better not ask whether he was pack or not while in the house with the said pack. Because what if the answer was ‘no’?

Derek arched his eyebrow. “You’re Stiles.”

“You’re so-o funny,” Stiles smiled exaggeratedly. Derek sighed, probably regretting opening his mouth, and pushed him up the stairs. “That was so hilarious, I’d say it was your best joke yet.”

“Alright.”

“Which, there aren’t a lot, just letting you know.”

“Says the knock-knock joke grandmaster.”

Stiles gasped theatrically, and Derek had to push him harder to make him enter his bedroom.

“You take that back!” said Stiles, leaning on the now closed door. Derek glared at him and took the books out of his hands to drop them on his desk. “Knock-knock.”

“I’m not playing with you.”

“Yeah, you have to open the door first.” Stiles laughed when Derek caught him around the waist and yelped when both fell on the bed. The wolf settled between his legs, carefully holding his injured thigh out of the way, and started nibbling at Stiles' jaw. “Okay, no more knock-knock jokes. I got something new and fresh.”

“What?” Derek murmured, nuzzling into his neck.

Stiles wrapped his arms around the wolf’s shoulders and pushed his smile down.

“Ding-dong.”

At Derek’s sigh, he fell into laughter.

“Come here,” Derek grumbled in fond exasperation, grabbed Stiles’ chin, and tugged him into a kiss.

*

“I think your last emissary might have been onto something.”

Derek grumbled gibberish into his stomach.

Stiles turned the page. “I mean, all of this is very boring, which is impressive, because how the f— how on earth do you make magic sound boring? And here,” he flipped the pages to the beginning of the journal, leaning the book right atop Derek’s mop of black hair, “it’s like he’s documenting a research, all dry facts and shit, but here—” he flipped it back, “it’s like he starts to lose it!”

Derek didn’t say anything, but hummed to ensure Stiles that he was listening. It was another one of Derek’s wonderful characteristics — being able to withstand hours of Stiles’ yapping without wanting to smother him.

“Why would I find it annoying? I like listening to you talk. What do you mean by ‘why’? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I love you.”

Stiles was so gonna marry him.

“He was documenting the plants in this area, to further use it in his potions, but then it cuts off in a weird place, and after that, it’s all about spirits and demons and shit.” Stiles turned the page. “Were you close?”

Derek’s chest pressed into Stiles’ legs as he sighed deeply. “I don’t think so. It was more of a contract thing. He was in the area and agreed to look over us.”

“I think I know why he dipped,” Stiles frowned, running his eyes over the text. Derek had gone nonverbal once again, stroking Stiles’ sides. “He does talk like he’s possessed, and he’s mentioning the Nemeton a lot. Listen here: It is a sacred place, a supranatural site that holds immeasurable power… To obtain it is to obtain magic itself… Centuries of sacrifices have diminished into nothing, and I shall be the one to restore its true form. I mean, that doesn’t sound like the same dude who described the interplay between gravitational pull and levitation with nothing but formulas. And the drawings of the tree everywhere, I mean… Look, he’s no Da Vinci, but his chamomile doodles are better quality than this tree.”

“So?” mumbled Derek.

“So! Right at the end, there is almost this moment of clarity…” Stiles gnawed at his lip. “My duty to the pack has ended. My absence is the last bout of servitude. The tree must be restored. Derek, he left deliberately. He’s not dead, because the magic dies with its master, and his runes still work, but do you see? He didn’t dip.”

“Okay.”

Stiles snorted and put the journal aside. Staring at the top of Derek’s head, he pushed his fingers into the wolf’s hair and let his other hand fall to the wolf’s cheek. The flames from the fireplace flickered over his relaxed face. Stiles wanted to shield Derek’s eyes, even though he knew the wolf wasn’t sleeping.

“You don’t give a f—” Stiles glanced in the direction of Talia’s office, where she locked herself in with her husband. “A damn. Do you?”

“Not right now,” said Derek.

Ever since the incident, he’s been really quiet. Broody and gloomy, Derek walked around scaring everyone into thinking that he was a bad boy. Leather jackets didn’t help, nor did his scowls and glaring. He wasn’t the happiest since the fight with Peter, but Stiles hoped it would get better.

Instead, the opposite happened.

Stiles stroked Derek’s jaw with his thumb, softly, back and forth. His other hand pressed to the wolf’s shoulder, finding it relaxed. Stiles knew it was only because he was here, tucked safely in the confines of Derek’s arms, right where the wolf could guard him.

School should be easier now that Derek was in all his classes. Stiles would attend his practices and games. They would be together so much Derek would get sick of him (he wouldn’t). They would be fine. Everything would be fine.

Derek caught his hand and pressed it to his face, his nose stuck into Stiles’ palm. The wolf inhaled greedily, wafting his hot breath over Stiles’ skin, then pressed his lips to the palm’s center and left them there.

Stiles’ mouth twitched at the beginning of a smile.

Suddenly, the door clicked open. Such an innocent noise, yet he startled, his head swiveling toward Talia’s office. Derek’s body turned rigid, his face contorted in a wolfish snarl.

“Sh,” Stiles’ hands went to the wolf’s shoulders, pinning him to the place as much as he could. Damn his heart, racing against Derek’s ear. “It’s okay.”

Talia met her son’s red gaze calmly and lifted her chin. “The moon ascended,” she said. “We’re going hunting.”

“M’ staying,” muttered Derek. He went to settle back on Stiles’ chest, but the boy slid his palm under his cheek.

“Nope,” Stiles chirped, cupping the wolf’s grumpy face. “You’re gonna go and catch some thumpers with your family like a proper werewolf on a full moon. Capiche?” They glared at each other until Stiles kissed his forehead with a huff and pushed him off. “Go.”

Derek’s face tensed. If Stiles were to place his hand on the wolf’s chest, he would for sure find his heart racing.

But they couldn’t go on like that. They needed to part sometimes – no matter how tightly the anxiety coiled in Stiles’ stomach at the thought — because as much as he got used to the Hales’ diet, there was no way he wouldn’t hack up at the sight of the trashing bloody bunnies in Derek’s teeth.

At last, it was Talia who spoke up.

“Derek,” her voice was quiet but firm, “there is no one in Beacon Hills except for us. You know that.” Derek’s jaw clenched. “Besides, he has to get used to it.”

Did… did she mean Stiles?

Talia shifted her eyes to him as if she had heard his thoughts. “Someone has to be in the pack house.”

“Mom.”

“Preferably at all times.” Talia ignored her son’s warning. Why was he warning her? “Even in our absence.”

“Mom!” Derek rose from the couch. His hair was in disarray, his shirt was wrinkly, and the pink lines on his face took but a couple of seconds to smooth out. Yet, his voice, his very presence lay on the room like a heavy weight. Perhaps, Talia was the only one immune to its pressure.

“I’ll stay.”

The elder Hales turned to Stiles, though Derek remained still. Stiles pushed the blanket off and stood up, catching himself on Derek’s hand when his legs wobbled. Thankfully, his thigh didn’t ache. Stiles looked at Derek, rubbing his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said with a forced light smile. Derek shifted his eyes onto him, which was a win. “I’ll make Mac’n’Cheese and just chill in your room.” I’ll be happy and safe hiding in your den. He grinned encouragingly. “I need you to eat, you know. Only Isaac can survive on bean sprouts.”

“Hey!”

Stiles winked at the guy as he walked past and out of the door, followed by the rest of the younglings. He patted Derek on the shoulder, grabbed the emissary’s journal, and walked backward into the kitchen, snapping his fingers at the wolf.

“I better hear you howl, dude!”

“Don’t call me—” Derek sighed without finishing. He raked his hand through his hair, ripping it away in frustration, then stormed out of the house.

Stiles winced. George smiled at him in sympathy as he walked past, and Talia whispered a tired “thank you” before following suit. Soon, the door closed, and Stiles was left alone.

“Mac’n’Cheese it is,” he muttered and went into the always spotless kitchen.

*

Derek returned an hour into the hunt, when the moon was still round and blinding. He tasted of desperate fervor and fresh blood.

Stiles didn’t fight when Derek pushed him onto the bed. He accepted the wolf’s hot kisses and bared his neck when Derek descended upon it.

Take it, all of it. All of me. There is nothing that I will not give you.

Stiles held onto Derek’s hand when the wolf pushed into him, biting his lip and breathing harshly into Derek’s cheek. He kissed the wolf’s face all over, even when he shifted, and pressed his lips to the sharp fangs. Whether it was the moon or the mood, something told Stiles that Derek needed him pliant. And so he was.

Derek’s claws dug into Stiles’ thighs as he held them apart. He drove his hips in short but hard snaps, as if he couldn’t bear to part with his mate for that long. His weight was a welcome one, even though Stiles felt like he couldn’t breathe at times.

He didn’t care.

“Derek…”

Oh, how much Stiles loved him.

He held the wolf through it all, wrapping his arms around Derek’s back, pushing back onto his cock, stretching and yielding. Stiles kissed his cheeks, his lips, his temple — anything he could reach — and moaned when Derek latched onto the bite on his shoulder.

“Ah!”

Derek’s thrusts grew erratic, desperate. He growled — a low vibration that thrummed through Stiles’ entire body. At the last forceful snaps that left Stiles wincing, Derek gripped his hair, turned his head aside, and bit him.

It wasn’t a spark that spread inside Stiles’ veins. It was fire, a flame so hot and all-consuming that it sucked all oxygen out of his lungs and left him choking. It singed the lining of his stomach and sizzled his skin.

They lay, gasping. Stuck to each other with sweat and Stiles’ come, pinned to the bed with Derek’s weight. Derek’s hips flexed in small circles unconsciously as he came in large, hot spurts.

Overheated, sticky, and red, Stiles smiled and rested his cheek against Derek’s temple. The wolf’s sharp, rapid breathing coated his neck. Stiles’ twitching cock lay trapped between their stomachs, his thighs aching from the stretch.

“I’m not giving you back,” said Derek. “Not tonight.”

Stiles chuckled and pushed his fingers into the wolf’s sweaty hair. God, he smelled fantastic. Derek and sex, sex and Derek. All settling inside his lungs.

“Not going anywhere,” Stiles murmured.

Derek held him tighter.

*

“Um, there?” Stiles pointed.

Derek pushed his finger several degrees to the left and smiled. “Now you guessed it.”

“Ha ha.” Stiles pursed his nose at the snowy sludge beneath his shoes as he trudged through the woods. “Do I really have to know the way? It’s not like I would willingly go there, you know?”

“It’s pack property.”

“So? What would I even do there without you?”

Derek’s steps were silent behind him. Stiles didn’t know how he managed it, considering that the forest floor was littered with twigs.

“You just have to know,” the wolf replied. “Everyone in the pack does.”

Stiles glanced at him, noting the wrinkle between his brows. He licked his lips.

“So…” he drawled. “I’m pack.”

He did not mean for it to sound like a question, yet it did. Stiles’ cheeks flushed. He went to pick at his nails only to remember that Derek forced him to wear gloves.

“You think we just let anyone stay alone in our house?” asked Derek.

“N-no…”

“Of course, you’re pack. Keep up.”

“Keep up,” Stiles mocked him and yelped when Derek pinched his ass.

“Watch where you’re going,” the wolf rumbled.

With an exaggerated harrumph, Stiles turned back to the path. The sun spread across the forest in a milky fog, painting everything in dreary grey. The cold pinched at Stiles’ thighs, fingers, and nose, making him wish he had stolen a scarf from Isaac.

“Where are the wonder triplets, by the way?” he asked, stepping over the fallen log. He had a feeling that they were getting close, though Derek refused to tell him. “I wanted to bully Boyd into making me pancakes.”

Derek didn’t answer at first. In fact, he was silent for so long that Stiles turned to look at him and tripped on a branch. The wolf grabbed him upright just in time.

“They went to visit Boyd’s grandma,” muttered Derek, reluctantly releasing his elbow. “They’ll be gone for a while.”

“Oh? Does she live far?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stiles started to turn to look at him, but squeaked when Derek pushed him forward. “Look, you found it.”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and stared at the grey patch of the ground with a giant stump in the middle. His insides clenched at the memory of his last time in this place.

“Ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog,” Stiles put his hands on the sides and chortled at Derek’s sigh. “Come on, I need a break.” He marched to the stump, pulling his backpack off, jumped on it, and sat down in the middle with a groan. “I got hot chocolate for me, jerky for you, big guy. Chop-chop.”

“You realize you’re sitting on the sacrificial site, right?” Despite his grumbling, Derek came to sit across from Stiles. He took the jerky from Stiles’ hands and ripped off a piece with his teeth.

“Eh.” Stiles shrugged, hiding his smirk behind his thermos, and put his ankle across Derek’s shin. “I am no virginal lamb anymore, thanks to a certain someone.” He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed at the look Derek gave him.

Without a word, the wolf offered his hand palm up. Stiles put the thermos between his legs and put his frozen hands into Derek’s grip, shuddering at its warmth.

“Mm,” he smiled. “What would I do without you?”

Derek didn’t answer, just folded his other hand over Stiles’ knuckles and rested them on his knee.

*

“This is for you, sir.”

Dad arched a skeptical eyebrow, but took Derek’s offering.

“What is it?” he asked, turning the package over.

“Venison, sir. It’s lean and it will be good for your health.”

Dad glanced at Stiles with his lips pursed in annoyance, but the boy lifted his hands palms. He had no idea Derek would arrive with presents today. Was it another wolfish thing? Or, did he miss an anniversary or something?..

“Boyd knows some recipes,” said Derek, shoving his hands into his pockets. Thank fuck Dad liked him, because Derek looked more like a bad boy with each passing day. “I’ll ask him.”

“Thanks, son.” At least, Dad was genuine. The old man went to put it into the freezer with Derek following him like a duckling. “Didn’t know George went hunting.”

“Both of us did,” said Derek, ignoring Stiles’ vigorous cutting-the-throat gestures.

“You don’t say?” Dad muttered with interest.

Stiles silently banged his head on the table until a palm caught his forehead. Derek didn’t even glance at him as he did so.

“My sisters join us usually,” he said instead, watching as Stiles’ father rearranged the contents of the freezer. “But Laura’s still in New York, and Cora went to visit her.”

Stiles pulled Derek’s hand away from his face. “And you didn’t?” he asked.

Derek shrugged. “It’s girly stuff.”

Stiles arched his eyebrows. Cora and ‘girly stuff’ did not exist in the same universe. One time, Erica wrestled her into putting make-up on, and in the end, Cora wiped it all off, complaining that her mouth looked like a dumpling; Erica didn’t talk to her for two days.

Dad began interrogating Derek about gun safety, which the latter endured with surprising excellence. George must have instructed him on what to say, because Stiles doubted Derek had ever held a gun in his life and probably never would. When Dad forced them both to eat soup, Derek bore it bravely, not wincing even once as he swallowed what Stiles knew was an oversalted fatty concoction to the wolf.

Oh, the things one could do for love…

Stiles took pity on him in the end and gulped down Derek’s tea when Dad turned away. He scalded his tongue and throat in the process and would’ve cried if Derek hadn’t caught his hand to take the pain away.

“My hero,” Stiles coughed, blinking the wetness away.

Derek shook his head. He did not release Stiles’ hand until the end of lunch.

*

“…said I get it.”

Startled, Stiles opened his eyes. He blinked until the blueish blob materialized into a stream of moonlight spilling from the window.

“No, I’ll stay the night,” grunted Derek, sitting at the edge of Stiles’ bed. The t-shirt stretched across his tense shoulders. “I’ll join you in the morning.”

He hung up. The phone squeaked in his hand.

Carefully, Stiles put his hand in the middle of Derek’s back, spreading his slim fingers.

“Hey,” he croaked. “Everything alright?”

Derek sat still like a stone with his head hanging low. When he turned his eyes onto Stiles, they blistered with redness.

Stiles’ heart picked up pace, barely awake.

“Der— oh, okay.” He swallowed and wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders when the man plastered himself to him in a blink of an eye. Something definitely happened, fuck. “M’ here. Wanna talk?”

No answer.

“Alrighty then.” Stiles rested his head back onto the overly warm pillow and gently stroked Derek’s back. “I can shut up.”

“No,” Derek blurted into his neck. Stiles stilled for a second. “Tell me something. Anything, I don’t care.”

Stiles’ stomach clenched. He licked his lips. “Okay, um… The Mothman was most likely an owl. When this whole story happened, a farmer shot an abnormally large snowy owl. Everyone was surprised at how big it was; it was in local newspapers and stuff. So, an owl, right? It flies without a noise, screams like a freak, and can attack people. Fits! But what about the eyes, you ask? The owls have what is called tapetum in their retina. It’s the thing that helps them see in the dark and, coincidentally, the thing that makes their eyes shine if you point a bright light at them. The first people who claimed to have seen the Mothman did so from the car, and they had their headlights on. Then you’d ask how people could mistake a six-foot creature for an owl, and well, I have an answer for you. Some scientists made an experiment, and long story short: turns out, if you put a white, red-eyed owl-sized cutout in the bushes near the road, people would greatly exaggerate its size, because it’s so sudden.”

Derek’s heart drummed against Stiles’ chest.

“I learned all that when I was researching you,” added Stiles, pushing his fingers into Derek’s hair. “But hey, that Mothman town is now thriving because of tourism! So… yay?” Stiles swallowed against a tight throat. “Also, did you know that there is an owl woman in Mexican folklore? La Lechuza. There are also sirens in Greek and a sirin in Russian. So, who knows what they saw, for real? Maybe there was a feather people convention happening.”

Stiles researched a lot, actually. It started with red-eyed creatures, then spread from there. He got stuck on werewolves for a long time and a good reason, but then it grew like a snowball and became an avalanche. It reached the catalyst when Stiles himself was bitten, and… nothing happened.

At least, for now.

Maybe he was turning into something, but extremely slowly. What was it, two months? It took two weeks for the caterpillars to turn into butterflies. And he was a bit bigger than a caterpillar.

“I think I’m gonna start my own journal,” Stiles wondered. “Damn, I’ll have to learn how to draw. Can you draw, big guy?” Derek shook his head minutely, and that was better than silence. Stiles would take it. “No group project, then. Maybe I should ask Cora when she comes back.”

Derek tightened his hold, squeezing Stiles almost painfully around his waist. Stiles grunted but did not fight him. His face grew patchy red from the werewolf’s heat, and his neck would have a mean beardburn in the morning (which Derek would undoubtedly lick away).

“You know I’m here, right?” said Stiles. “Whatever it is—” It was Peter, there was no doubt about that, but perhaps not here — Derek learned his lesson, he wouldn’t keep it from Stiles, not when his father had a nightshift again. “— we’re going to go through it, okay? As long as we’re together—”

Suddenly, Derek surged upward and grabbed his jaw. Hot lips descended onto Stiles’ mouth, biting, licking, claiming. Hot, fast, and deep — in that moment, Derek was everything a predator incarnated — an all-consuming hunger.

Stiles opened his lips readily. Their tongues slid against one another with slick, vulgar sounds and even hotter breath. Derek’s claws dug into him, and Stiles whimpered from the pain that he couldn’t help but find pleasure in.

The wolf tore himself off with the same vigorous desperation as when he started the kiss. Stiles only managed to gasp before Derek started kissing his scrunched-up face: his splotchy cheeks, his eyelids, his nose, and forehead. He kissed Stiles’ jaw and bit it, holding it between his teeth as if he wanted to shake it, then lowered onto Stiles’ neck.

Stiles lost count of the number of hickeys Derek left on him that silent, trembling night. His shoulders and clavicles looked like someone had tried to strangle him, but found Stiles’ whimpers too precious to waste.

He thought they’d fuck, but Derek stopped himself at Stiles’ stomach. His shuddering breath weaved across Stiles’ navel. His eyelashes fluttered upon the skin.

If it weren’t for their bond, Stiles would have interrogated him. He would have taken Derek by his shoulders and shaken him until the guy answered all his questions. But now? Now the thought of upsetting him more, of causing his mate more distress wrapped around his throat and made sure he would shut the fuck up. Stiles swallowed an acidic, burning vomit of questions and poisoned himself with premonition.

“Sleep,” said Derek in a rough voice. He straightened and lay on Stiles’ chest, wrapping his healed thigh around his own waist.

Stiles waited for him to say more, but after minutes of silence and Derek’s thundering heartbeat against his ribs, he closed his eyes. He doubted he’d fall asleep, but his mate’s presence calmed him too much to stay awake.

Somehow, he was sure that Derek didn’t sleep a wink.

*

In the morning, Derek watched Stiles eat breakfast with an animalistic obsession.

The guy grunted but a couple of words since waking up and followed Stiles around, breathing down his neck. Despite the pit in his stomach, Stiles put on a cheerful mask. He got them dressed and cooked breakfast with Derek glued to his back. When it was time to sit down, Derek took an opposite seat, put his chin on his folded hands on the table, and watched him like a goddamn dog. Except, it wasn’t the scraps that he wanted.

But what?

At the first howl, Stiles jumped. His head swiveled to Derek, his heart dropped into his stomach.

But the wolf didn’t spring into action. It was someone familiar, then. Talia or George.

“Wh—” Stiles choked on words when Derek stood up.

The wolf’s face paled, turning into a hard stone.

“Come for a walk with me,” he suggested, his voice quiet. He offered his hand.

Stiles looked at it, then shifted his glance toward his face. Alarms rang in his mind, shrill and loud.

He could feel it in his gut that something wasn’t right.

He took Derek’s hand.

The wolf did not hurry. With his jaw set hard, he helped Stiles put on the jacket, put his phone into the pocket, waited patiently until Stiles tied his shoes with shaking fingers. He clenched them hard inside his own hot palm, and for the first time, it didn’t make Stiles feel better.

Everything was grey: the ground, the trees, the sky. The monotone canvas of the cloud stretched from one horizon to another, hiding the sun, yet blinding. Stiles blinked a couple of times, following Derek’s lead with his eyes shut.

They did not walk far. Stiles could still see his house.

Some walk.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?” asked Stiles.

Derek’s neck bobbed as he swallowed. His fists clenched by his sides; he forcedly relaxed them when he met Stiles’ hard gaze, but Stiles did not forget.

“We’re leaving.”

Green eyes against the ashen face.

Stiles felt like he was going deaf. His heart jumped into his throat, constricting his breathing, his stomach in a pinch.

“We?” Stiles rasped, knowing the answer.

Derek nodded. “Me and my family.”

Not ‘pack’. Because the pack included Stiles.

Tremor settled into Stiles’ fingers. He blinked and blinked but couldn’t see Derek’s face.

“T-to visit Laur—”

“We’ve been tracking Peter all this time,” said Derek. His voice was quiet and detached, in the way it never was. Like his throat was tight, too. “One of our allies has finally spotted him.”

Last night. The call.

“Okay,” Stiles nodded. If Derek needed him strong, then… then… “When are you—” he cleared his throat. “When are you coming back?”

Derek didn’t answer. The muscles bulged in his jaw. His breathing was weirdly, strangely calm.

“I do not know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I could be gone for years, Stiles.”

Days, weeks. Stiles expected months, but…

Years?

“How hard is it to catch one dude?” Stiles’ voice trembled as anger sizzled inside. He stepped closer to Derek, and the wolf didn’t lean away. There was this mask on his face, stupid and impenetrable, and this was not his Derek. It wasn’t. “He is just a wolf, Derek.”

“You don’t know Peter.” Derek shook his head. “But I promise you—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“— that I will catch him. That I will kill him.”

“Derek.”

“Baby,” Derek breathed in the softest voice Stiles had ever heard from him. One could kill with this softness.

“Don’t you dare.” Stiles shook his head.

The wolf grasped at Stiles’ trembling hands. Stiles tugged the air into his lungs, but it refused to go in.

He could only look into the green, the lovely green. His life, locked inside those eyes.

“Remember I told you that I will do anything for you?” said Derek. “I meant it. Your life, your safety is all that matters to me.”

Stiles barked a hysterical laugh. “So you’re leaving Beacon Hills?!”

“I’m leaving you.”

The words slammed into Stiles’ mind. He shook his head. He could have trashed, if it weren’t for the circle of Derek’s hands on him. Those hot, strong hands. That green.

“No,” Stiles whispered.

“He is a direct threat to your life. I cannot let him live any longer, do you understand?”

“Then take me with you!” Stiles yanked his hands, but Derek held them. “I’ll be the bait, I can shoot, I can—”

“I don’t want you to come with me.”

Stiles blinked at him. His mouth opened and closed.

“What?” he breathed.

“You have your father. School. You have an entire life to live.”

Hot, angry tears slid down Stiles’ cheeks.

“I don’t want it without you!” yelled into Derek’s face. He yearned for one emotion from that man, just one to slip out of that mask, but Derek hid it all. “You are my life, you are my fucking mate, Hale! Don’t tell me all of this was nothing!”

“Stiles, you are human.”

“Oh, fuck you…”

“Listen to me. Listen!” Derek growled for the first time, tugging him close. Stiles’ eyes stung, they burned, yet he couldn’t look away, was afraid to blink. “Whatever you feel, this residual thing, it comes from me. From my side. Once I’m gone, everything will be okay.”

“What are you saying?” Stiles could not believe it.

And there. The flicker in the stone, the microscopic crack.

“I’m saying,” Derek’s voice shook, too, “that I am letting you go. You are free, do you hear me? Free from me, from this bond. Don’t wait for me. If you find someone—”

“Fuck you.” The breathing became harder and harder to accomplish.

“— don’t hold yourself back. Not because of me.”

The tears scalded his skin and his throat.

“Is that what you think of me?” Stiles spat bitterly. His chest heaved. “That I’ll just hop onto another dick as soon as the door closes, is that it?”

“Of course, not.”

“Or do you think that I feel nothing? Or that since I’m human—”

“Stop this.” Derek released his hands but caught his face, shaking the hysteria off him. Stiles clutched at his wrists, digging his nails into the wolf’s skin. “Did you not hear what I said? I could be gone for years, and I don’t want you to feel guilty for… For anything.”

“Fuck you, Hale,” Stiles snapped his teeth, sending Derek reeling back. “You want me to say the same, huh? Want me to let you go? Well, fuck you, buddy, you’re mine, do you hear me? Mine! If you look at someone, if you even think of someone other than me, I will fucking kill you.”

Derek, strangely, smiled. It was a barely there thing, a burst of sunlight in winter fog. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why?”

“It’s you or no one,” he said softly, looking all over Stiles’ angry, red, tear-stricken face. His throat clicked. “I will never want anyone else. Not anymore. I’ll always belong to you.” He swallowed. “But it’s… It’s okay if you don’t belong to me.”

“Liar.”

The pretense shattered in Derek’s eyes, and just for a moment, Stiles saw what he was hiding. It was the same wolf that fucked him on the full moon. The same man who left his marks on Stiles’ skin last night.

But Derek was strong. Stronger than him. Perhaps, he wouldn’t be okay with that, but he would let Stiles go. He really meant it.

“Maybe,” Derek smiled unkindly. “But I’ll still do anything for you.”

“Stay,” Stiles begged as his throat closed up.

But it was for nothing. He felt it in his bones — this bond with Derek, already stretching thin. Derek made up his mind. There was truly nothing more important for the wolf than the life of its mate.

And even Stiles himself was helpless here.

“Breathe, baby,” Derek stroked his cheeks. “Like that.”

“Don’t—” Stiles sucked in desperate breath. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and Stiles shook his head to make them disappear. He had to keep looking at Derek, he had to…

His nails dug into Derek’s wrists, drawing blood, but the wolf’s hold on him was feathery light.

His eyes, green. Like nothing in this town.

“I love you, Stiles,” said Derek, his voice trembling at last. When another howl, more urgent this time, broke the forest’s silence, he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Promise me not to go into the woods alone. Promise not to do anything stupid.”

Stiles couldn’t breathe. Panic squeezed around his throat.

“D-don’t—” he choked in a dry, listless voice. His knees trembled.

“It will be alright,” Derek cooed at him, and since when… did he do that… “Promise to breathe for me. For both of us, okay?”

He placed his palm to the back of Stiles’ head and tugged him close. Stiles felt the familiar sleepiness that came with the pain pulling. He was too distraught to fight it. It was dark in the crook of Derek’s throat. The wolf’s veins beat against Stiles’ temple, the heat of his skin indistinguishable from Stiles’ tears.

“I love you,” Derek murmured, again and again, holding him, stroking his back and his waist.

Stiles felt like all his old wounds opened at once, and he could do nothing but bleed out here, in Derek’s arms.

It was over. Love, life, meaning… over.

This was the end.

He couldn’t even say I love you back. What a stupid lamb.

Stiles’ lips pressed against the wolf’s skin.

His gums itched unbearably strong all of a sudden, like they never did before.

With the last surge of panic-fueled, desperate adrenaline, Stiles unclenched his jaw and bit Derek’s shoulder.

Blood flooded his mouth, bitter but full of euphoric relief. It lasted for one second before Derek gasped and yanked him back.

And now… Oh, now there was no mask.

“What did you do?” the wolf asked, horrified and panicked. The bond settled between them, grounding and clicking into place — established now, for eternity. Derek’s hands shook, gripping the hair on the back of Stiles’ head. “Oh, Stiles…”

But Stiles couldn’t speak anymore. The blackness took over his vision, cinching his throat into the needle’s eye. The last thing he saw was blood, bright and hot, soaking into Derek’s shirt, and the bite that didn’t close.

You’re mine, thought Stiles as the consciousness slowly left him. Mine.

He felt Derek’s hands on his body, his neck, his cheek. The wolf’s heat, all over. The cold ground beneath them, the bright sky behind his closed eyelids.

Derek’s voice lulled him under as he was talking (to Stiles? to somebody else? he couldn’t tell). His sharp orders to breathe forced Stiles’ lungs to expand and contract. Without him, Stiles would be dead.

Derek had to know that, right? When he leaves, he has to know what it would do to Stiles?

Maybe now he would.

Stiles leaned into his mate, trying and failing to soak him in. He gulped breaths and choked on them as if they were water, sinking down and down. As long as Derek held him, Stiles did not care about drowning. He would inhale that deadly water until there was no air left.

There was no air without him, and no life. Stiles wouldn’t want it anyway in that case.

Soft sheets under his body. The smell of the leftover breakfast. Lips on his forehead, his cheek, his mouth.

Derek let go.

Stiles did not resurface.