Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1499609.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Danny_Mahealani/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski, Danny_Mahealani, Vernon
      Boyd
  Additional Tags:
      Knotting, Oral_Sex, Anal_Sex, Rough_Sex, Rough_Oral_Sex, Top_Derek, Top
      Derek_Hale, Top_Stiles_Stilinski, Cock_Slut, Slutty!stiles, Post-
      Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Triggers, PTSD_Derek, Marine_Corps,
      Iraq, Alternate_Universe_-_Werewolves_Are_Known, Character_Death
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-21 Updated: 2014-07-13 Chapters: 4/? Words: 6631
****** Be Of Service ******
by thewolfsbane
Summary
     Derek has arrived back from his third tour as a marine in Iraq. He's
     numb, most likely suffering from PTSD. So, first night back, he heads
     to a bar and accidentally picks someone up. This is a story of
     recovery, love and pain.
     Features Slutty!Stiles and Werewolves are known (but not liked).
Notes
     Please note all referenced to the Marines are researched and not
     experience.
     Please critique my work! But don't be too mean as I am a marshmallow
     of tender feels. Also, I write in British-English being from New
     Zealand, so if some of my phrases need to be Americanised, please let
     me know! Other than that, enjoy!
     Also, Beta required for my horrid writing. Clearly this chapter isn't
     beta'd so excuse the fact I change tenses all the time. It's a bad
     habit.
***** Arrival *****
Derek had known one tour would change him. One tour is enough to change any man
or woman. Seeing your platoon fight, lose, die; it creates a crack in your body
as if it were created from fragile glass. After the death of his family, he
needed an output for his anger; somewhere where he could expel his sadness and
rage and the Marines seemed to be a wise option. While Derek was not a
patriotic man, he knew his resentment could be dedicated to something more
useful then pining around home or killing Argent hunters. Even if the Argents
broke the law but were not being reprimanded, he knew he should not uphold
justice himself. Were’s were still gaining faith with society even though
Wolves had been known for years, he didn’t want to be the one to break it. He
lay low, completed training and was deployed. Were’s were kept in separate
platoons and sent to more dangerous areas. None of them argued, for they knew
why. Why risk mere mortals, when Were’s who are less prone to death and can
heal fast, can deal with it.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Derek sat in the cab, listening to the hum of music drifting from the driver’s
seat. He had refused to place his seabag in the trunk and used it as an armrest
instead. Derek felt like he had not been in Beacon Hills for decades, but had
only been eight months. The trees ran by just as they always did and the same
houses scattered the streets. Surprisingly, nothing had changed, but everything
had all at once. This was the third time he had arrived home under such
circumstances. And every time, it had grown worse. Derek could not recognise
things that were once so familiar. The faces he once said hello to, were now
just hazy stains on a bloodied sheet.
“Sir.”
Quickly returning to reality with the aid of voice, he noticed they had stopped
outside his loft.
“I said we are here.”
Derek gathered his bag, shuffled out of the car, slipped a twenty to the driver
and said thanks before standing on the path outside of his loft for some long
period of time.
Time. Time was strange and odd to Derek now. He used to have nothing but the
moon to guide his sense when his watch was lost in the desert terrain of Iraq.
But now he knew what time it was, he could see it go by too quickly. It simply
vanished.
His home hadn’t changed all too much; still that musty shade of grey, still
empty, still unlived in. Derek threw his seabag onto the floor and stared
bleakly at his surroundings. The phone began to rang. He questioned if he
should answer it. He did.
“Derek?” It was Cora. Oh, how Derek had not realised how much he missed the
voice of his sister until now.
“Cora.” He whispered.
“Derek? Home safe? I can’t talk long.”
“How’s South America treating you?” He asked.
“Good. I missed it. Beacon Hills wasn’t what it used to be.” She laughed.
“Look, I’ll call you when I get better range. But, I’m glad you’re home.”
Derek exchanged pleasantries and hung up.
 
Derek had not allowed himself to drink a single sip of alcohol in his absence.
He found the longer his tour, the better the booze tasted when he got home. And
this theory proved correct again. Derek’s poison was whiskey, and he managed to
get 12 pegs before feeling something, but his werewolf self wouldn’t allow the
feeling to last long. But in one spur of a moment, Derek decided to visit a
pub-turned-club he used to visit when he was happy; before all of this marine
bullshit.
Why a club? He didn’t know. All Derek knew was that although his tired eyes and
unshaven face would prove different in a club full of young, sweaty teenagers’,
the music and the alcohol would make him feel temporarily alive. The club was
only a block or two away, so he opted for walking.
 
Much like all the things on his arrival, the club was still the same. Blue and
pink neon lights adorned the outside and much the same on the inside. The music
was loud and thumping; which made Derek feel a little on edge. He would jump at
some of the sudden noises; they reminded him of sounds on the battlefield. But
when numb, the sounds did not affect him as much as they would sober. He
already regretted being there; and he wasn’t even inside. This was so unlike
him now, he didn’t do things like this. Derek felt stupid; he wasn’t a teenager
anymore, but he did have the stamina.
 
Derek was the youngest sitting at the bar which was littered with prowlers
looking for young boys and girls to take home. Derek did not have these
intentions, but it probably looked like it as he sat amongst the much-too-old-
to-be-here types. But Derek did not want to get up and dance or make a fool of
himself just to make it seem like he fitted in more. Derek just wanted to
pretend like he was sociable and able to tell anyone who asked (not that anyone
would) that he had been out the first night he was back.
 
He stayed there for an hour or so, drinking scotch after whiskey, watching
people dance well or not. Observing the way everyone grinded against each other
and were not fazed by the exchange of sweat. Derek shivered at the idea.
 
Eventually, Derek decided he must leave and headed for the door as he was
appearing to look much like one of the lurkers beside him. But just as he
reached the door, a boy, probably far too young for him, stumbled into the club
with a friend and bumped passed Derek. Derek was fascinated at the slender and
mole sprinkled boy. The way he so simply took to the dance floor and let loose
compared to the other patrons. He was so fluid and moved gracefully; he became
the music. His friend, dark skinned and tall, rubbed against the boy easily and
they seemed to be enjoying themselves. The neon lights flashed and the music
rushed through Derek.
“Danny, you didn’t tell me you could dance!” Derek heard the boy yell.
“Are you kidding? I live in these places!” Danny replied, equally as loud.
Derek was flustered all of a sudden. He hadn’t been so uneasy about seeing
someone for a long time and the music began to get to him. All of a sudden,
everything became fuzzy and his breathing was quick. Derek blamed the alcohol,
even though it rarely affected him. He decided to go and douse himself in water
before leaving; wandering back to the bathrooms. Derek gazed in the mirror.
“Pull yourself together.” he whispered to his reflection.
Just then, a familiar faced boy pushed open the bathroom door and headed to the
mirror next to him. Derek peered over, trying to be subtle but ultimately
resulting in the same look being returned. His dog tags fell out of his shirt
and he quickly tucked them back in.
“Army boy.” The boy laughed, washing off his hands in the basin.
“Marines.” Derek corrected, making sure the tags were securely in his shirt.
Derek hated the attention the marines brought him. He usually said he went and
worked on boats on Malaysia for months and only came back in the off season.
Derek frequently got away with the lie.
“Ah. Cute.”
Derek thought about how there was nothing cute at all about being a marine, but
decided to brush the inconsideration off.
“Yeah, I guess. I’m Derek.”
“Why are you introducing yourself to me, Derek?” He laughed. “But hey, I’m
Stiles.”
Stiles turned his back to the mirror and leaned his ass on the basin, his hips
curving insatiably. Derek did that same, wiping his forehead and sighing.
“Too much out there?” Stiles asked.
“I don’t do well to loud noises.” Derek answered.
“You don’t like loud noises and you’re at a club? Wow.”
“Yeah, well, I thought it would be fun. Wrong choice.” Derek rubbed his
temples.
They sat in silence for a bit. Why the hell was this kid still sitting here?
Derek was consumed in thought, disregarding the fact that this striking young
boy was sitting in touching distance. Derek felt the warmth drifting over from
the now apparently soaked Stiles. He’d obviously been to multiple clubs that
night, probably covered in various types of liquids; not just sweat. What was
the time if Stiles had managed to get around?
It’s 1am? How?
“We could make it fun?”
Stiles’ voice dragged Derek out of his own head.
“I’m sorry?” Derek said, confused. Stiles looked at Derek suggestively and
Derek quite frankly did not know what to do. He hadn’t come here for a fuck.
Not his intentions at all. But boy, did this kid have an alluring and inviting
look in his eye. His gaze comfortable, but rough, and Derek craved that.
Stiles stood up from his basin and sauntered over to Derek, let Derek’s legs
come between his own and ground himself against Derek in an adorable straddle.
Stiles inhaled deeply and Derek’s breath hitched.
Stiles had never been with an older guy. It was unexperienced teenagers for
him, which he guessed made him unexperienced, so was extremely eager to try a
bit of this man in the bathroom.
“What about that boy out there?” Derek let out. Stiles laughed and reassured
Derek that he was just a friend.
They stood there, in that very position for a few minutes; Derek feeling Stiles
grind on him, breathing against his neck.
 
“We are in a bathroom.”
“Great observation, Private Know It All.”
“That’s Corporal to you.” Derek smirked. Stiles touched noses with Derek,
tempted to kiss, but did not. They rested on each other.
“But seriously, Stiles, this isn’t classy.”
But Stiles didn’t seem to care. He was unremitting.
“We can go back to mine.” Derek offered, running his hands down Stiles’ back.
“Come on, boy. Hop off.”
“Alright, alright.” Stiles eventually caved, stepping back off Derek. Stiles
eagerly skipped out of the bathroom, staring back at Derek to make sure he was
following. He made for the door while Stiles went and updated Danny at his new
circumstances, but he was quickly reunited with Derek.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“No car?” Stiles questioned.
“Was I meant to have a car?” Derek shrugged.
“Cars are usually what I get taken away in after I get picked up.”
“If I recall, you picked me up.”
“True.”
“I only live around the corner.”
 
The two exchanged in quiet banter as they made their way to Derek’s loft.
Stiles attempted to grab hold of Derek’s hand along the way but Derek lightly
brushed it off. He didn’t want Stiles to get the wrong idea. He had only just
come home, and right now, Stiles was just a welcome home fuck. Derek didn’t
think he would get it this fast, though. But he wasn’t complaining; a young,
lean and gorgeous boy, probably good in bed by his remark about being picked up
and hopefully well and pleasantly endowed.
 
They reached the lobby and hopped into the elevator that led to Derek’s garret.
Stiles advanced on Derek and they kissed for a while, even when they had
reached the loft. Stiles was avid, constant and a cute kind of needy. He
continually returned for Derek’s taste and Derek was happy to provide.
 
“Come on, Stiles. I’m sure we can find something more comfortable than the
elevator.”
 
Derek pecked at Stiles all the way into his home; his hands wrapped around
Stiles’ small waist and lips leading him to Derek’s bedroom. Stiles pushed
Derek onto the cold, unslept bed and straddled Derek at the crotch. He began to
sensually and relentlessly dip up and down on Derek’s now more obvious arousal
like he did in the bathroom. Only now did Stiles realise that Derek was a
werewolf.
 
“I like to tease. Especially for a wolf.” Stiles grinned, watching Derek bite
his bottom lip and bow his head to watch Stiles rock unrelentingly; he had
never been with a wolf, but he had heard stories of knotting and how painfully
delicious it was.
 
“I can tell.” Derek growled. His eyes glowed momentarily, but he pulled it
under control. Derek was very good at monitoring himself; he knew when to stop,
how to stop. But Derek could not help his knotting. He throbbed inside of his
jeans. Derek was trying to hold himself back as he had not been touched since
the last time he was in Beacon Hills. He was sensitive and couldn’t stop it.
 
Stiles bent down and pecked his lips down Derek’s shirt before crawling off of
his crotch and skilfully undoing Derek’s jeans and sliding them off. Derek sat
up and clutched Stiles’ face with his hands. He began to kiss the corners of
Stiles’ lips before savouring the taste of his mouth. Derek couldn’t help but
think of how beautiful this boy was. He had seen many teenage boys in his life,
but none were as outstanding as this.
 
Stiles smirked and rocked his head out of Derek’s hands and returned to his
work. He allowed for Derek’s splendour to spring out of his underwear and
Stiles was pleased. He ran his tongue around the tip and Derek threw his head
back onto the pillow. Oh god, this felt good for Derek. He hadn’t felt
something this good in months, let alone feel anything. He was always so numb
and so this was everything to him.
 
Stiles’ tongue continued to do this for a minute or two, barely tickling the
tip of Derek’s penis.
“Put it in, boy.” Derek snarled. “Put it in now.”
Stiles chuckled and plunged Derek’s cock into his mouth. Stiles took to Derek’s
knot so easily in his mouth. He let the tip of Derek’s cock smack the back of
his throat and liked the feeling of choking a little. Stiles pulled his own
shirt off his body, only letting go of Derek’s dick for a few seconds to do so.
Derek rested his hand on Stiles’ head, guiding his mouth up and down his shaft
and sometimes over his knot.
“Oh god.” Derek spoke lightly, feeling himself needing to have a release.
“They’re bigger than I thought.” Stiles sat up and spoke. Derek simply gazed up
at him.
“I wonder if I can take it.”
“Most can’t on the first try.”
“Is that a challenge?” Stiles growled.
“Go on then, boy.” Derek purely sneered.
Stiles keenly hopped off the bed and turned his back to Derek so when he slowly
and mischievously pulled down his pants, Derek saw his ever ready ass.
 
Such a tease.
 
Stiles snuck back onto the bed and bestrode Derek, rubbed his own cock for a
moment, before spitting in his hand and rubbing it into his hole as a temporary
fix for lube. Derek drew in a breath as Stiles sunk down on Derek’s cock. Derek
quickly wrapped his fingers around each of Stiles’ hips and intended to teacher
Stiles, but he knew what he was doing. Stiles jolted up and down on Derek and
they both began to groan at each other; Stiles occasionally wincing.
 
“I’m going to try. Okay?” Stiles whispered and Derek only nodded. Stiles slowly
slid down Derek’s shaft and met the top of his knot. Stiles tried to shimmy
over it, but he flinched each time.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Derek cooed.
Stiles tried again, avid to prove Derek wrong. He ran back down the shaft and
tried again, but he just couldn’t do it.
“Seriously, don’t hurt yourself, Stiles. It can be relieved by other means.”
Derek advised. Stiles gave up on the knot and continued to swing himself up and
down Derek’s cock until he came all over Derek’s belly.
“You’re not done?” Stiles gasped.
“It’s not that easy.”
Stiles realised Derek’s knot was still present, so he asked what to do. Derek
proceeded to flip Stiles over and began to slam himself into the tight asshole.
Stiles grew hard again and began to moan loudly, bringing Derek closer to
climax. Although, Stiles couldn’t take his knot, he still was succulent enough
to please Derek; until he pulled out, hearing a sweet pop as he came off, and
came hot and sticky all over Stiles’ ass. He panted and grated his teeth
together.
“Jesus Christ.” Stiles huffed, having obviously come again; onto the sheets
this time.
They rolled onto the sheets, and all that was heard was deep breathing. Stiles
laughed and Derek wondered why.
“I don’t know, I just don’t know what would happen if people knew I fucked a
Were.”
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Derek woke to the sound of his dog tags dropping on the kitchen bench. His loft
was so open he could see the kitchen from the bedroom.
“What are you doing?” He asked, seeing Stiles fumbling to be quiet, fully
dressed and being acting to comfortable for Derek’s liking.
“What’s the black one?” Stiles held up the tags he had dropped. Derek became
cautious. He hated talking about this.
“It was my friends.”
“Vernon B-“
“It means they didn’t make it.” Derek hissed, trying to enforce the fact he
didn’t want to talk about it.
“What was it like?” Stiles asked, oblivious to Derek’s tone.
“Did you kill anyone?” He added.
Stiles was beginning to show his young side. The side where war was ‘cool’ and
the side that didn’t realise it wasn’t. While Derek didn’t know Stiles’ age, he
was now beginning to think teens. No, he knew it was teens.
Derek got out of bed, wrapped the sheet around his waist and headed to the
kitchen. Stiles was still dangling the tags in the air.
“Well did you?”
Derek snatched the tags and slammed them on the bench.
“You should go.” Derek spoke quietly.
“What?” Stiles questioned.
“You should go. Now.”
Stiles was confused, because he didn’t know what he had done wrong. Derek
walked to the front elevator gate and opened it, signalling Stiles to get in;
and he did. Derek flung it shut with simplicity. He ambled back to the bench
and gazed at the black tag.
 
 
Fuck.
 
***** Apology *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Derek had headed back to bed, clutching the rusty metal of the tags. He felt
dirty. It wasn’t like him to bring people home; let alone most likely underage
teenage boys. It was almost like he had committed a crime…or maybe he did? This
is when the paranoia starts. 
 
Was the boy trying to have underage sex with Derek to catch him out? It was
rather evident that while werewolves were known, they were not liked. It was a
frequent headline in the Beacon Hills news that a mole would be placed in a
werewolf hang out to see what werewolves would do to them so they could be
persecuted. But no matter how much Derek talked to himself and overthought
about the whole situation, he was simply drawn back to the delicious sex he had
partaken in. But then his eyes fell upon Boyds' name and he began to remember. 
 
A quiet but boisterous soul, Boyd was. It took them both a while to warm up to
each other after being placed in the same platoon. Initially to Derek, Boyd was
no more than another wolf looking for an escape. His look on Boyd changed one
night when they all restlessly set up camp in the reminisce of a broken down
building. Derek remembered seeing Boyd welling up on his stretcher. He had
asked if he was okay, if he needed to talk, and a simple reply was said. 
 
“I’m only doing this for my mom.”
 
And it was quiet for a bit, just Derek standing over the boy and confused as to
what to say.
 
“She’s low on money. She tries to love me. I thought if I gave her money, you
know.”
 
Derek realised; he’d been changed not born, and his mother wasn’t fond of it.
Derek lowered himself and sat on the broken cobble next to the bed and looked
the boy straight in his eyes.
 
“It’s a gift. Just because she doesn’t know what it feels like to be us, just
because she’s seen her son bare the moon, doesn’t mean you should feel bad.”
Derek had said. They stayed up for hours, talking and sharing and attempting to
console each other in the shitty refines of the war. From then on they were
friends, Derek was a father figure to Boyd and Derek constantly blamed himself
for the accident.
 
Derek’s eyes shifted open. He had fallen asleep again but his subconscious told
him to wake when he dabbled too much into his own memories. It was dark again,
but he could see that tags had ended up on the other side of the room at the
base of the wall. There was a small dent in the wall as if he had thrown them
there. Derek gingerly clambered off his bed and picked them up, looping them
around his neck once more. 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
What were the odds that the same mole scattered boy would be at the club the
night after? Derek didn’t know. But he felt like he had to apologise or do
something as a way to make it seem like he wasn’t the new resident freak that
had just come back from war.
 
Stiles was here. At least Derek could smell that he was, anyway. Stiles’ scent
was so strong and sweet and it was ever so invigorating. He walked in and it
took only a moment to see that Stiles was occupied by another. It didn’t really
hurt Derek; nothing did anymore. He just thought he would be courteous and
leave. What says freak more than lurking, right? But as Derek rehashed his
footsteps, a gentle hand tugged on his shirt as he was half way out the door.
 
“Hey.” 
 
Stiles voice was only just audible over the music. Derek turned back and
gestured him to go further out of the door with him. Just out of reach of the
music, Derek looked at Stiles.
 
“Hey, look,” Derek scratched his head. “I’m sorry about the other night.”
 
Stiles sort of squinted and wobbled a little on his feet.
 
“Oh, you’re drunk.” Derek spoke. “It was nice meeting you Stiles.”
 
“I thought you didn’t want to see me again.” Stiles pined.
 
“I never said that.” Derek said.
 
“What’s wrong with you?” Stiles blurted out. 
 
“What do you mean?” 
 
“I’m stupid for asking about the tags. I get that. But kicking me out after I
had your dick in my mouth, now thats just rude.” 
 
Derek couldn’t help but laugh while Stiles stayed straight faced and staunch at
what he just said.
 
“Okay, yeah, that’s why I’m apologising.”
 
“Look. I get you have some traumatic shit going on up in that cute little head
of yours, but I saw you and I thought ‘hey, why not let this guy have a break’
you know? And it was thrown right back at me.”
 
Derek was taken back. He wasn’t traumatised. No. Of course he wasn’t. Or at
least if he was, he hadn’t realised.
 
“I just wanted to help.” Stiles added.
 
Derek felt like a hole had been ripped through his stomach and right out
through his back. The pain or the sympathy that he could or should be feeling
was just flowing right through him and he didn’t feel any of it. 
 
“You know where I live. I’ll have you any time.” Derek murmured before turning
to walk home.
 
“If I get tragic,” Stiles laughed. “Can I come sleep at yours? I’m meant to be
driving but-“
 
“You’re not driving like this.” Derek scowled. “You’ll kill someone.” 
 
Stiles shrugged as if he was sober enough to drive.
 
“Do you have a cellphone with you?” Derek asked.
 
Stiles fumbled around and pulled out his cracked iPhone 3G from his jeans
pocket. He shook it in the air as well as stumbling a bit. “Well ah yes I do,
kind sir.” 
 
Derek snatched the phone from Stiles’ hand and began to put his number into
Stiles’ contacts.
 
“You text or call me and I’m here to get you, okay?” Derek said, handing the
phone back to the drunken boy.
 
“Yes, Sheriff!” Stiles said, saluting as he wondered back into the club. Derek
shook his head and his phone went off suddenly.
 
‘I think your stupid.’
 
Unknown number with poor grammar. Stiles.
 
‘*You’re.’
 
Chapter End Notes
     Apologies for the wait! I'm writing Ch3 as we speak!
***** Mess *****
Chapter Notes
     Please pay attention to the tags from now on as they will be coming
     into play.
Stiles was just about ready to go; he was woozy and numb. He drank and drank
and continued to dance into the early hours of the morning. 
He managed to check his phone and saw that the clock read 3:05. He fumbled
through to his inbox and saw he had no new text messages.
 
‘i,m reayd’ 
 
Stiles typed and sent the jumbled message to Derek (hopefully). He was sweating
and was more than gone thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol he had
consumed. This was Stiles’ outlet. It was summer and he had the freedom to do
what he pleased. 
Stiles aimlessly wondered outside to wait under the shelter of the neon lights
from the harsh winds of Beacon Hills.
 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Derek had been waiting up for a text from Stiles. He didn’t sleep much anyway.
Besides that he was concerned for Stiles’ wellbeing; if Stiles was in that
state when he was there only a few hours ago, imagine what Stiles would be like
now. 
And eventually his phone beeped and he read the messy text. It sort of made him
smile at how much drunk Stiles attempted to type. 
Grabbing his leather jacket, he wondered to the elevator. The night was wet and
windy so he decided it would be safest to escort Stiles to his home in the car;
sodden pavements and wobbly legs didn't go well together. 
 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“Hey pretty boy,” a man murmured close to Stiles, startling him. The shadowy
figure lurked close beside him, deep breathes echoing through Stiles’ shivering
skeleton.
 
“What are you doing out here all alone?”
 
Stiles shuffled away slightly from the man, closer to the lights of the club.
 
“I’m waiting for a friend.” Stiles managed to say.
 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Derek pulled out in front of the club and smelt Stiles right away. What grabbed
his attention more so, was that the delectable boy he was once had was pinned
under another on the wall beside the club; the man running his palms over
Stiles’ crotch and thighs. 
Derek sighed and thought this was some sort of stunt from Stiles to show that
he wasn’t a one person boy. Stiles seemed to be that sort of type that would do
something like that just to remind Derek of what he was or wasn’t going to get
into. 
He reached for his keys to start the car but just as he did, Stiles’ anxiety
hit him in an intense wave. A cold and acute pain that felt like the whole
world was falling from beneath him. Derek wound down his window to get a better
look past the foggy, wet window. And just as he did, he saw Stiles flail and
attempt to push the man off of him whilst he was pinned underneath. Stiles’
groans and murmured screams were barely audible under the forced lips of the
attacker. 
 
“Get..get off me…” Stiles cried, attempting to arch his back off the wall and
push the unwelcomed  body off of his own. 
 
Derek swung his door open  and sprinted towards the assailant. Derek’s hands
grabbed his shirt and threw the man onto the brick of the opposite wall.
Derek’s eyes flared blue when he realised the man was also a wolf. The predator
rose from the pavement and growled.
 
“Don’t come any closer!” Derek boomed. Stiles had slid down the concrete wall
and buried his head in his knees. He was wincing, and it made Derek angry at
what Stiles had to feel and endure at the hands of the low life pig; especially
because Derek could comprehend what Stiles was feeling too. The man wiped his
nose from the now apparent blood dripping from his quickly healing nose and
growled once more.
 
“He’s your pretty mate is he?” The man scoffed, then proceeded to smell the air
around him. “Oh wait. No he’s not.” 
 
“Back off.” Derek growled, his back towards Stiles in aid of protecting him. 
 
The man cackled before floundering away into the darkness of the streets.
Derek waited until he saw the mans shadow dissipate from sight before making
his way to Stiles and crouching down beside him.
 
“Stiles,” he began, looking at Stiles’ head of hair as it lay buried deep
within his own hold. Derek wrapped his hands around Stiles’ temples and lifted
his red but washed out face, damp cheeks under Derek’s thumbs.
 
“Stiles.” Derek repeated. Stiles eventually looked up and met Derek’s eyes. Any
human could look in those eyes and see the sadness that Stiles’ bore inside of
him; Derek did not need any of his wolf instincts to spot that. 
Stiles quickly drew his head back into his knees as if he was ashamed to look
at him. Derek could hear him crying. It was more of an agonising sob. Derek set
one of his knees down and scooped his arms underneath Stiles’ cold  bones and
cradled him up into his chest; making sure he was being careful in the way he
was touching him. The last thing Derek wanted to do was scare Stiles even more.
Stiles lay his cheek onto Derek’s warm chest and listened to the hum of his
heartbeat. 
Derek walked to the car warily and strategically opened the front door to his
car. He set Stiles down and buckled Stiles in then shut the door. When Derek
made it back around to his side, Stiles was sitting up straight and looking at
Derek in an odd sort of manner. Stiles reached over to him and rested his palm
on Derek’s crotch. Derek looked at Stiles confused, and Stiles began to rub at
Derek.
 
“Stiles,” Derek spoke, shifting Stiles’ hand off of his crotch. “No. It’s
okay.”
 
“Isn’t that all I’m good for?” Stiles whispered. “Being used?”
 
“I don’t want to use you.” Derek affirmed, reaching out to Stiles face and
resting his palm on Stiles’ cheekbones. Stiles sunk low into his seat and out
of Derek's touch. He turned to face the window and lay numb in his seat,
watching the streetlights pass by swiftly in a numb trance as Derek drove him
back to the loft.
***** Snow *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay. So. Yeah. I don't know but here you go. I understand this
     chapter might be out of the blue or something, but I felt it kinda
     worked but as I said; I don't know. Please let me know what you
     think. Your comments help me to keep going. <3
     (As per request from tumblr peeps, I warn you that PTSD themes/
     potential triggers may be present for some next chapter.)
Stiles stayed for a few days. They didn’t really talk much, though. Derek
passed Stiles contently dozens of times a day and left as he due please as
Stiles quietly padded around the cold, concrete floors aimlessly. Derek dare
not talk to Stiles unless spoken to in the hopes of a quick healing, like Derek
such did. All Derek craved, all he wanted to do was ask what he needed to do.
Derek hadn’t really experienced this sort of thing. Most of the men he welcomed
into his home, would only stay for the night. Stiles reeked of sadness. 
Derek was slightly off guard at the other presence in the house, although. It
was odd knowing that someone could be around the corner or in his sorry excuse
of a kitchen eating food he didn’t even buy. Derek didn’t really mind, it
wasn’t a big deal, but he wasn’t so sure if he liked it. The only other person
he had had in his house was Cora and Peter.
It took five days for Stiles to up and leave without warning, but Derek was
only surprised for a night before returning to his old routine. He went for a
run. He ran to the Nevada border and back.
 
 
 
 
===============================================================================
 
                                4 months later
                                        
===============================================================================
                                        
                                        
                                        
 
Being a werewolf never paid well. No matter what profession you got into, there
would always be a policy in place saying that any other species that can
acquire a position in said business other than human will be subjected to lower
pay rates. The human activist groups always got their way. The argument was
that the Were could do too much and it didn’t even take energy, so if the Were
got the humans work, humans would be out of the job. And there was only one job
going around this time of year for Derek. 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Derek ran his fingers sourly over his tight-fitting grey singlet to get the
melting snow off of himself. Beacon Hills, snowing. What a sight. 
Derek walked to the next tree, steadily gripping his axe. He was following a
young boy who was avidly shouting “It’s the right one, mom! This tree!” as his
mother trudged warily behind nodding and cooing at him to slow down and stop
bothering the lumberjack. 
 
“Stand back please.” Derek smiled to the boy, and he excitedly ran back.
 
“Call it!” Derek added, yelling towards the kid who clapped his hands
furiously.
 
“Tallyho!” The boy yelled and in one magnificent swing, Derek successfully
bated down the tree. The boy traipsed back to Derek and followed him as Derek
carried the tree down the snowy bank and towards a trailer the family had
brought with them. 
 
“Merry Christmas.” Derek smiled to the boy, before the mother grabbed the sons
shoulder and told him not to talk to strangers. 
 
“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to-“
 
“Don’t talk to my son.” The lady scowled. She handed him fifty dollars, sixty
dollars short, before getting in her car and driving away. Derek didn’t really
understand people like her. He was just trying to be cheery or whatever. That’s
what the humans did and what Derek was told to do. 
 
“How much are the trees?” A voice murmured behind him. 
 
“Depends. Small trees are $80, medium can be around $100 to $120. If you are
looking for a large one, we only have a few left and all three are $200.” Derek
recited, afore turning around to see a wary and worn Stiles. Derek shifted
slightly and Stiles realised too. 
 
“Stiles.” Derek said. 
 
“Can I have a small tree please?” Stiles replied. Derek remained quiet for a
moment, reflecting on the tired and shivering boy that stood infront of him. He
didn’t ask questions. Derek simply lead Stiles to a small tree, watched Stiles
debate with himself for a moment before nodding and Derek cutting down the tree
like he did for every other customer that wondered into the snowy field.
 
“Do you need me to put it in your car?”
 
“No, I’m not going to be taking it very far.” 
Stiles fumbled for his wallet and slipped eighty dollars into Derek’s jean
pockets. Derek dropped the tree to the ground and watched Stiles as he grabbed
the trunk and began to drag it away . 
 
“Hale!” Derek turned to see his boss standing on the hill behind him. “Let’s
shut shop for today.” 
Derek nodded and returned his look to where Stiles was standing, but he was now
replaced with a deep trail in the snow in which Derek lost the boy once more.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
It took a moment for Derek’s car to start. He only drove the damn thing to fit
in, otherwise he would be running home. About half way back to the loft, Derek
saw him again. Still dragging the same, sad looking tree, Stiles was evidently
angry. His face was pink; arguably from the cool temperatures but possibly from
the unremitting angry whimper he was portraying. Derek slowed and pulled over
in front of Stiles. He sauntered out of his car and waited until Stiles met up
with him. 
 
“Hey,” Derek spoke, concerned. Stiles continued passed Derek.
“Hey!” Derek repeated, jogging back up next to Stiles. “Stiles. What the hell
are you doing?” 
 
Stiles stopped briefly and looked up at Derek. 
“It’s for my dad.” He puffed. As Stiles took a few breathes, he accidentally
let go of the tree and saw it hit the ground. Stiles looked in despair as some
of the  branches snapped. “Fucking hell!” He yelled in an outburst.
 
“I’ve got it.” Derek said, attempting to reach for the tree but being smacked
away by Stiles. Stiles crouched and took the tree again, walking similarly. 
 
Derek followed Stiles until they reached the Beacon Hills Cemetery only a few
hundred metres away. Derek stopped at the gate and watched the peculiar boy
walk through the sea of graves dragging a Christmas tree. The green of the
needles was the only colour that dawned in the array of grey and white. Even
Stiles wore a dreary grey shirt and black jeans; he almost looked as if he
belonged as a headstone. Eventually, Stiles stopped at one the was overlooked
by a magnificent marble angel; praying down at the rotting body that rested
beneath Stiles’ feet. He leant the tree agains the hip of the angel and fell to
the ground; sinking into the snow. 
 
Derek walked slowly to the grave, seeing that the angel was of impeccable
condition compared to the others scattered around. Almost as if it was new.
 
“Dad really liked Christmas Trees.” Stiles laughed, throwing his head back in
the air manically. Derek couldn’t help but smile until he saw that the stupid
smile turned into a blubber.
 
 
                                       ~
                                   STILINSKI
                     January 19th 1965 - November 5th 2013
                      Always the sheriff of Beacon Hills
                                       ~
 
Another grave rested next to the new one; almost identical but with the date
January 1st 2004 for a lady named Claudia Stilinski. 
Today was the 16th of December 2013. Derek realised that within the time that
Derek hadn’t seen Stiles, his father had died. His wife, Stiles’ mother,
resting beside him. Together again.
 
“I just thought it’d be kinda funny, but…But now I’m here. It’s just kind of
sad.” Stiles whispered. Derek sat down on the opposite side of the grave and
gazed at Stiles intently. 
 
“I’m sorry.” Derek spoke.
 
“Don’t be. I’m the one who dragged a Christmas tree up to my dads grave. I
should be sorry.” Stiles began to laugh again.
“You know, one time, when I was a kid. Man, I was probably ten or so. Anyway, I
was at school and I was playing…Oh, what was it…I think it was lacrosse? Yeah.
It was the first game I ever played. And my dad was there. And I was benched
for the entire game so dad was kind of annoyed at coach but whatever and my
best friend Scott handed me a cactus. I was so confused and he just said throw
it. And of course, being the idiot that I was and am, I just threw it and it
landed…oh man,” Stiles burst out into a torrential downpour of laughter.
 
“It hit coach in the face and my dad just stood up and said “What a prickly
situation, Coach!” and I couldn’t stop laughing.” 
 
Stiles sat laughing intently for a moment until his laughing turned into a sad,
low cry. He put his face in his hands.
 
“Do you need to come back to mine, Stiles?” 
 
Stiles just nodded, using his forearm to wipe his face. He seemed to have
regained his composure rather quickly. Derek stood up and extended his hand to
Stiles in which Stiles gladly took it and stood too. They walked through the
thick snow, back to Dereks car. 
 
Stiles glanced up at Derek, his breath creating a cloud in the icy air.
 
Stiles placed his palms onto each of Derek’s cheeks and said nothing, but drew
him into a deep kiss. 
 
Finally, Stiles spoke.
 
“I need this.”
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