Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1012605.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Allison
      Argent, Melissa_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Stilinski_Family_Feels, Romance, Feelings,
      First_Time, Love, Trust, Hurt/Comfort, Underage_Drinking, Hurt_Stiles,
      magical_connection, Attempt_at_Humor
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-21 Completed: 2013-11-22 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 19067
****** Happy Together ******
by RoughMoon
Summary
     ‘This is my life and this is my body, and I want to live it the way I
     want, share it with the person I decide.’
Notes
     I sometimes feel the Sheriff is really easy and accepting of the
     Stiles - Derek relationship, so, although I love him, this
     conversation started to take shape in my head and then the rest just
     followed.
     This is supposed to happen sometime before session 3, so there is no
     Cora, no references to the alpha pack and absolutely no Jennifer.
     Anyway, this is a fic about feelings and relationships mainly, so not
     a lot of typical canon action here. There are some flashbacks, but I
     tried to label them or use italics, so I hope it is not confusing.
     Warning: graphic depictions of Hale fire in first chapter.
     I hope you enjoy it and THANKS for reading!!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** John & Stiles *****
"Dad, you know we don’t really have to talk about this, right?"
It’s late afternoon, a bit before dinner time, and they are both in the
kitchen, sitting at opposite sides of the table, their faces still, their eyes
low, neither of them looking forward to start talking, silently hoping the
phone would ring or someone would appear at their door forcing them to postpone
this. Of course, nothing of that’s going to happen.
With a resigned look in his eyes, Stiles finally sighs and opens fire.
"Listen, I’ve made up my mind and I know what I want. I will be legally an
adult in three more months, so I don’t think there really is a point on making
this so painful for the two of us… I appreciate your concern, I know this is
because you care about me, but I won’t stop seeing Derek because of that." He
stops there to breathe and gather some more strength before continuing. He has
finally said it, isn’t it amazing? He wanted to be firm and he thinks he
somehow managed to achieve it. He keeps hoping this won’t go so badly after
all, but he also notices his father is still not looking at him in the eye, and
that’s not a very good sign, neither his almost white knuckles… Anyway, he has
to try, he always tries, harder than anyone else, even more when he’s so unsure
about the direction he’s hitting the ball.
"This is my life and this is my body, and I want to live it the way I want,
share it with the person I decide." Hey, sometimes clichés are just the right
thing to say, and even if three billion people have said those same words
before him this is still the purest truth.
"I understand you would prefer I’d date a no-guy, no-olderthat17, no-werewolf
person, but Derek’s the one I want. He’s the one, it is that simple. It really
is. That’s why I told you instead of letting you find out from someone else, or
just stepping into us to surprise us in a compromised situation. That would
have been really embarrassing. But still, it wasn’t easy, only so that you
know, not that I expect you to value the effort. Just like when I also told you
about this whole supernatural world we’re living… and by the way, I don’t
understand why you took the entire werewolf thing so much easier than this."
The Sheriff is narrowing his eyes now and looks at Stiles quite angrily before
shootting back.
"Stop bullshitting me Stiles! Nothing’s simple here, can’t you see that? Maybe
you won’t believe me, but I don’t care so much about the guy-23-warewolf thing,
I’m worried about the “Derek Hale” thing mainly. Yeah, werewolves exist, I’m
down with it, but you didn’t decide it, not in the way you’re deciding about
Derek now. And I’m sorry, but you will listen to me. Can you please just close
your mouth for a couple of minutes? Can you do that for me, just once?"
Stiles obediently does as required, overwhelmed by the strong intent in his
father’s voice. This is definitely going downhill.
"Of course I appreciate that you decided to tell me about all this, I imagine
it was difficult for you and I know it would have been much easier to keep
lying to me, but don’t think this will cover up for everything. Even if
grateful, I still have the right to have an opinion. I would go as far as to
say it’s my duty to have one. And yes, don’t make that face, I will let you
talk, but first you will listen to me, because I’m your father and I hope you
still respect me enough to go through my points with me. At least you owe me
that, to me and to your mother."
He almost regrets those last words, mentioning his wife to force their son to
pay attention, to bare his feelings to him. Almost. But he can see Stile’s
angry and shocked face now and knows he has realized he cannot go along the
edge of this, he has to get into deep water weather he wants it or not.
"Oh, no, no, dad, this is a really cheap blow and you know it. You can’t do
this to me. Mom would have never done that."
He surely knows how to backfire. He’s a good player, he cannot deny this to
him. He can’t avoid thinking the boy could probably turn to be a good lawyer,
so smart and with the skill to kill with words.
"Sorry kid, but I will use all my weapons. I’m allowed to it, it’s my son’s
life we’re discussing! And if you’re mature enough to decide that what you want
is to sleep with a man six years older than you then you’re mature enough to
have this conversation."
Surprisingly, Stiles seems relieved now, his face partly relaxed, almost a
smirk there…
"Oh, great, now we’re talking! Ok dad, I’ll listen, but let me first tell you
this Derek-Stiles thing is not just about sex, you have to know that before you
give me “the” talk, and by the way, I already had that one at school a couple
of years ago. You’re a bit late for it… Also, if you want to know, Derek was
quite slow with that, really way too careful, shy even, so don’t think I’m
being pushed or forced into anything. I started it all and it’s been always the
needy Stiles asking for more, if this is not too much information for you…"
The Sheriff is now feeling more depressed than angry, wondering how his life
turned this way, when exactly things started to take those twisted dark roads.
But he knows when, he knows precisely, has the exact date marked in his brain
as the worst day he's had to live until now, when the beautifully drawn line of
his life started to tremble and lose intent and direction. He thinks his wife
would have known how to talk to Stiles in a different way, without threats,
without infuriating him. They are so similar! And how he wishes he could
continue that other path with Stiles now, the typical embarrassing sex
conversation between a teenager and a parent. Sadly, this is not the case, this
is not normal, nothing seems to be normal anymore in his life. Or in his son’s
life… And now that he thinks about it, that word should only be allowed in
statistics, it sounds so shitty everywhere else…
"Well, good to hear he’s not racing with this, thanks for the remark, and of
course it’s never too much information when it’s about you. But I already know
that’s not only sex, of course I know, don’t be silly, son. First of all, it
rarely is only about sex, regardless what people say, and second, I’ve seen how
you look at each other, I’m not that blind. So, we won’t be talking about sex
now, sorry to disappoint you." The Sheriff hisses between his teeth, adding in
a low tone: "I hope that was about sex!"
That sounds so sincere that Stiles startles at it, scaring himself. If his
father isn’t worried about big bad wolf Derek and little Stiles in bed, then
what is this all about?
"No, I want much more for you, I want you to be happy, and I’m afraid it takes
much more than sex to grasp that."
Stiles moves the chair a little bit to his right, then further from the table,
then he tries to get some balance, almost falling but managing to recover his
initial position. He then tries to pull his hair, but half way to it he
remembers he just had a cut and stops, not knowing what to do with his hands,
letting them fall into his lap finally. He looks so uncomfortable, so young and
clearly vulnerable that it hurts the Sheriff having to continue with this. But
then Stiles tries to cover his insecurity with anger and irony, making things a
bit easier for John to keep pushing him.
"So, why the hell can’t I be happy with Derek, please illuminate me, oh
father!"
The Sheriff cannot but instantly reply to that, a bit sharper than he wanted.
"Stiles, this is not the time to be sarcastic, it really is not. So, barriers
down, I’m talking very seriously now." To that, Stiles lowers his eyes again,
thinking he could almost glimpse a red shadow in his father’s eyes. He can’t
help to mutter, mostly to himself "I’m damned, so many alphas around…" He’s
thinking if baring his throat would make things easier when his father starts
talking again, merciless.
"Son, can you understand rape and murder happening to you at 15, several
times?"
Ugh, that was tough, he wasn’t expecting that. These are not words his father
would use mindlessly, and Stiles felt them like a punch to his stomach. Of
course Stiles knows everything about the fire, how it started, which part Kate
played there, how it all ended and how broken Derek is about that part of his
life. Not that they discuss it every now and then, but it is there and he is
really careful about its implications in their current life. But is it really
necessary to go through that now?
"Can you imagine how it is to realize that someone hates you so much, thinks so
much of you as an abomination to do this? To plan for it and to act on such a
plan, day after day, until throwing the final grenade and killing your whole
family? Can you imagine what this does to you? Of course I haven’t talked with
Derek after he discovered what Kate really did, but sadly I’ve had long
conversations with victims of all ages who have been betrayed, who felt
responsible for making really bad decisions, for trusting the wrong person,
people with guilt so big they couldn’t raise their faces one single time to
look anyone in the eye. At the beginning they try to think that person was
crazy, ill, out of their minds, but at the end that’s not enough, you can’t
stop looking for reasons, and you start thinking there must be something else.
You start considering that maybe you deserved some of that, that maybe you are
not so innocent as you think, guilt begins to eat you from inside out, and very
slowly you start to become the person you imagine deserving so much hatred. So,
can’t you see why I’m frightened you’re there if this ends up happening to
Derek? These are very troubled waters and I don’t want you to drown on them."
"I’m not the slightest bit surprised by what has been happening to him lately,
all the problems with Peter, the issues with other packs, everything you
explained to me. With a past like that, he is bait for trouble. He probably
thinks he’s the one to blame and the one to face everything, the one to be
sacrificed, and he’s not avoiding anything because he thinks the whole
situation would be totally different without his initial contribution. Not that
I agree with this, but I can see how things might go for him."
Stiles’ face shows too much now as he cannot but realize part of the truth
under his father’s words, but at the same time he starts to regret all the
sincerity he was so proud of and begins to think that maybe it would have been
better if he had kept his father aside of that part of his life and all the
troubles they got into during the last year. If these are the consequences,
maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be so honest. He feels naïf instead.
The Sheriff now has to stop before continuing hitting him, feeling his son’s
pain himself and imagining now even more clearly what that might have been for
Derek all these years. But his priorities are still clear, so after a few
moments he remembers why he’s doing this and he goes on.
"You know I was there when the fire happened, right? I was a deputy at that
time, and I can tell you something, Stiles. In all my years of work… not, in
all my life, really, I have never seen anything so horrible, so terrifying, as
the Hale fire. You know that the thing I hate the most from my work is to see
children suffering, abused children, dead kids… Well, there were five children
in the house, Stiles, five. They haunted me for months, I couldn’t stop seeing
their charred bodies, their curled little fingers, it still revolves my soul to
think about it. Can you imagine what it is to know these are your sisters, your
brothers and cousins? We didn’t let Derek or Laura see the bodies, but I’m sure
they imagined what was there, why we didn’t let them into the house until it
was cleared from all evidences and they surely smelled it all around town. And
then, when you’re already destroyed, you discover you have been an instrument
to this, that you have been used and dumped in the bin like a broken toy. That
you, with your super senses, haven’t been able to detect all the lies, weren’t
able to save your family only because you wanted to believe so madly that a
pretty face sincerely desired you."
"And then Laura…"
Stiles stops listening now, he just can’t take it anymore. But, like a small
miracle, by the stillness of his face it seems his father has stopped talking
as well.
Tears follow the only path they know, right down to earth. You can always count
on gravity, that’s something to concentrate on, to rely on. Where is this one
going to fall? When is this one finally gathering enough weight to leave his
face? Stiles doesn’t want to think on the other images, the kids… Tears are
better, way better than that. But his father is cruel this afternoon, and now
he continues talking like he’s not aware Stiles is crying, and he can’t avoid
hearing the words, letting them into his brain.
"Do you really think you can have a normal life after this, that you can make
someone happy while you carry all this inside you? Do you want this to be a
part of your life, Stiles? Are you telling me you really thought about it and
that you believe you can fix this?" The Sheriff’s voice is pained but
determined, trained to convince, to highlight a particular line of thought
leading to the conclusion he believes is the right one.
And suddenly this is too much for Stiles, he can’t allow his father to continue
trying to manipulate him, even if it’s because he wants nothing but the best
for Stiles. He has to make it stop. Because this is not fair, he knows it,
maybe he can’t explain it as he should right now, but this is not the whole
picture, and it’s not accurate either. He’s not a fixer, but he’s strong,
stronger than what most people can see, has a determined will and a big hole in
his heart shaped like Derek’s own heart, and he knows he can take that. He will
follow his instincts with this because they haven’t failed him until now. He
wipes his tears away and raises his face to respond to his father.
"Dad, you’re not at work now! Stop treating me like a suspect, I’m being honest
here, can’t you see it? Do you think I’m taking this lightly, or that I try to
cheat on you? Do you know how hard it was to find the way for Derek to trust
me, to let me touch him? How hard it still is sometimes?"
John’s face doesn’t twitch, but softens a little, rounds a tiny bit at the
edges.
"Sorry boy, I know I’m being harsh, I know I’m intruding too much into your
private life, but now you do understand why I’m more than concerned about you
two being together. Right, Stiles? And I maybe even like Derek, I cannot but
sympathize with him after all he’s been through and how he is coping with it…"
"Just not with me, right?" Stiles’ interruption is quick and sharp like a dart.
Stiles’ eyes are angry now, disappointed. "Yes, don't think I don't get it,
it’s an old excuse for shit. So, you're saying you are really ok with whatever
minority you want to pick now as an example, but only if they stay at their
houses and don't try to mingle with the rest, and of course if they keep their
fucking hands out of your family. But if they can’t comply with these simple
rules, then they’re fair game. Derek’s nice but tainted and you want him as far
away as possible from me. Dad, you know that’s a nauseating reasoning and that
I won’t buy it."
The Sheriff sighs, doesn’t bother denying or responding to it and just
continues.
‘Listen, I’m only asking you to think about this, because I’ve seen him with
you and I don’t think he’s ever going to let you go if he can help it. He’s a
smart guy and he will cling to you for as long as you want him, I can’t blame
him for that. And I know you, I know how painfully stubborn you are once you’ve
decided on something, how loyal, so I want you to really think about your
chances to have a happy life with him before going on with this. Will you do
that for me? You’re still 17 and this is your first relationship. Don’t you
believe you should take this a bit easier? Just think about it, ok? I know he
would let you go if you tell him you can’t continue with this. I’m sure you can
still be friends…’
The Sheriff is pleading now, defeated, anger gone, his hands open, palms up.
"Dad…" And Stiles finally feels calm, knows what he wants to say, he only has
to let his tongue articulate the thoughts as they come to his brain, and
there’s not a hint of a lie in his words.
"Dad, I’ve listened, ok? I’ve listened to you and I understand why you needed
to have this conversation, but let me now surprise you with a really brief
reply from my side. Only one question, really, instead of a long list of all
the reasons why Derek is good for me, the little things I see every day that I
carefully store with my most valued memories from you, from mom, from Scott or
my friends."
The sun is now sinking in the horizon, just a tiny orange ray left trying to
get into the kitchen, offering the mildest possibility of warm to them.
"Just let me ask you this: if that would have happened to me, would you like
someone giving me an opportunity to be happy again?"
The Sheriff doesn’t reply to that, only closes his eyes and exhales softly, and
Stiles knows everything is said now.
"I’ll think about all you said, but you will also think about this, ok?"
The room has long shadows now, dinner time long passed, but neither of them is
really hungry, so they stand up looking exhausted and aim for their respective
bedrooms after a brief but quite warm goodnight hug. They both look forward to
the comfort of the night.
***** Scott & Stiles *****
Stiles is with Scott now at the parking by the school, and they’re silent,
leaning on Stiles’ jeep, waiting for the rest of the pack to join them to go to
an afternoon training session in the woods, near the Hale house. Scott’s
playing with his hoodie, zipper up, zipper down. When he finally starts talking
he tries to sound casual but is not really succeeding.
“So, are you ok? You seem kind of tired today.”
Stiles really feels tired, even more now. “What, are you observant now? Is this
because you think we’re having some kind of crises? That’s what you’ve been
waiting for, right?”
Scott asks with a real question in his eyes: ”We? Who do you mean by we?”
“Oh, common Scott, I’m so fucked, don’t you know I can see it in your
frustrated eyes, how you shut your mouth when you see me with Derek, trying to
stay calm, to stay put, saying nothing, even trying to seem you’re ok with it?
Why is everybody so against this? Did I tell you to stop seeing Allison after
we knew her family were hunters?”
Scott’s face is full of doubt now. “Well…”
“Ok, maybe a little bit, but it was more to make you think about it, so you
would understand what that would mean, not really thinking you would stop being
with her”, Stiles tries to explain.
“He’s dangerous, Stiles.” Scott is saying that like he is not dangerous, as
if he couldn’t kill any of his human friends without even trying…
And Stiles is never confessing this to Scott or to Derek either, or to anyone
else except to himself really, because he feels weird about it, almost ashamed.
But he has noticed it, of course he has, and it’s happened a few times now,
enough to mean something, to make him think about the nature of the wolf. Of
course, it only happens when they are alone and touching each other, mouth to
mouth, skin to skin, hands reaching out to try out their own limits, rubbing
hard enough to leave bruises, beyond the gently caresses and the soft kisses
they might have started with. Then suddenly Derek stops and stands perfectly
still for some moments, muscles tight, eyes closed, face separated a few inches
from Stiles’, his mouth open with fangs just insinuating, his breath unbearably
hot against his pale skin. Stiles is never sure how long it takes until he
moves again, resting his forehead against his chest, his normal self back
again, sighing and swallowing as relieved that he has managed again to not get
carried along by that primal need of claiming, of owning. 
And when that happens Stiles can’t stop thinking about that scene at the end of
Alien when the creature is so intimately close to Sigourney Weaver, to her ear,
not touching her but almost, a viscous fluid leaking from its open jaws,
waiting... Her face is frightened and she seems to be crying, and he thinks he
must be sick because he has always found that image incredibly hot instead of
terrifying, and he can’t help seeing it every time Derek has to stop kissing
him, almost trembling while he pins his wrists to whatever surface they are
leaning against, trying to get hold of himself as if he couldn’t help eating
him, damaging him, blood and torn flesh involved, unless he finds the strength
to retreat from the animalistic instincts that are trying to gain power against
his human will. 
Stiles might have a death wish, because he is never afraid when this happens,
he is only supremely excited by it, he’s blissful, and he could come only from
that thought…
Of course Scott doesn't need to know that...
“You know he has never hurt me, right? He has never lost control with me, not
in trainings, not while fighting with any of these weird creatures, not when
he’s angry, when I challenge him or when... you know, when we are together. Not
a single time, never, nunca. I’ve never been afraid of him or with him, just
exactly the opposite. I feel safe, protected, and also powerful, knowing
somehow I’m protecting him as well. Why is this so difficult for everybody to
see?” Stiles’ shoulders go down obviously as he leans into the Jeep letting go
the air from his lungs, not quite a sigh but close.
He’s not sad, no, he’s only tired, so tired he would skip training this
afternoon and just head home to crawl under the covers of his bed, even if that
means not seeing Derek today.
Scott looks at his own sneakers like they are about to sprout a fat mouth and
start mocking him.
“You can’t deny we’ve seen him lost, disoriented, so angry he almost lost
control with us, and you know he’s truly inexperienced for an alpha and what
his mistakes have cost to us. What if one day he doesn’t realize what he’s
doing and you’re so close he cannot stop himself before killing you, even if
it’s an accident?”
“I can’t tell you this is not going to happen, I just say I don’t think it will
happen” he simply counters back.
“If this is enough for you…” Scott says with resignation.
“Scott, do you remember the day we found out about Erica and Boyd? If I close
my eyes I can clearly see Derek’s transformation: his eyes, long teeth, his
claws ready to tear apart and destroy, I can hear the roars and feel the anger
rolling in waves from his body. That’s the one day I thought he was just going
to crash into town trying to find their scent and save them at any cost,
blindly breaking and killing whatever would cross his path to realize later
that it was only a student going back home after having dinner with his
girlfriend. But he didn’t do it. Do you remember why?”
“Of course I remember, I saw it from my corner of the room. I was absolutely
terrified. As Isaac was. You were the only one who didn’t try to hide the
moment he started changing to his full alpha form. I guess it’s because you’re
not a werewolf, you don’t feel the physical pull to submit to your alpha. I
hate that, you know it, it's weird and unnatural, even more when I'm not
accepting that particular alpha.... Or wait, maybe it's just too natural...
Anyway, that day I wished I was dead, I felt his roars inside my gut tearing
from inside out, and this is not a nice feeling, definitely not one I would
recommend.”
Thinking for a moment about the irrationality of Scott's issues with
Derek, Stiles almost whispers, “Dude, you whined all the time”.
Scott seems bewildered, as if he can’t remember it or thinks Stiles is clearly
exaggerating. “Did I? Really?”
Stiles is openly giggling now. “Yeah, I’ll repeat it for you: All. The. Time.”
Scott looks further now, towards the end of the parking, eyes full with images
that have nothing to do with the harmless rows of cars, fear an unwelcomed old
friend visiting his mind and his guts again. He remembers Stiles getting close
to a wild Derek, a raged animal with bared fangs, strong claws and profound
roars, eyes red and unfocused, any trace of the human deeply buried, lost, only
a real wolf there, a black enormous shape with red eyes, an unreal image even
for Scott after all they had been experiencing since that all started. And he
sees Stiles approaching the salivating animal, step by step, slowly but
decidedly, softly whispering Derek’s name.
When he returns to the present moment and finds his words again he discovers
he’s stuttering. “I, I’m sorry I was too terrified to go and stop you, I swear
I wasn’t able to move a hair.”
And he shivers when he remembers Stiles letting himself fall limp in front of
Derek’s clawed paws so that he couldn’t ignore him, couldn’t help but to smell
the exposed vulnerability. “I was sure you were mad, suicidal.” And the images
change now, Stiles going even crazier by exposing his neck to the wolf so that
he could sense the bared submission, forcing him to return to some kind of
human consciousness and decide what to do with that distraction, that creature
who was offering himself as prey with no apparent reason. And when the wolf
lowered his snout to sniff Stiles’ throat, his mouth open showing all his white
teeth, Scott had to shut his eyes, had to seal his eyelids because he was
unable to see his best friend dying that way.
Until he heard the tiny sounds the animal’s tongue was making while he was
licking Stiles’ cheeks, his nose, his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Derek was
quietly whimpering while slowly returning to his human form.
“That’s probably the silliest, stupidest thing you have ever done in your life,
including dragging me to the woods to see if we could find that missing half
corpse.”
Stiles’ eyes are lost now as well as Scott’s.
“But it worked”, he says softly.
Scott winks and winces. “Yeah, it definitely worked, he suddenly went back
being a soft little fuzzy puppy. Like if he ever was! So, you took a great risk
and you managed to survive, against all probabilities. That doesn’t mean it was
a great idea, one you should repeat.”
Stiles is smiling now, a soft and little smile, a bit sad maybe. “I’m sure he
was, once. A little puppy, I mean”
Scott shakes his head in disbelief to that. “I don’t know, Stiles, I’m starting
to think you have special lenses in your eyes that make you see a Derek nobody
else can see.” 
Stiles looks down now, but he's definitely not blushing. “You know how they
call this, man? Being in love, I think...”
A sigh escapes Scott's mouth involuntarily. ”So, then, I get now you’re not
having a crisis, right? Everything’s still shining in paradise…”
Stiles hesitates, reluctant to think again about the discussion with his
father. “No, not really, but it’s only my dad being kind of… worried, a lot
like you are. Well no, sorry, he was far more terrifying than you, I even
thought he would make a good alpha.”
And Scott is laughing sincerely now, louder than he wants, imagining the
Sheriff as a big alpha wolf with red eyes in uniform and a police hat, a pack
of officers running under his orders.
He smothers the giggles before continuing with a more serious line of thought.
“I can’t blame the Sheriff, sorry, I still don’t get why you started all this,
but I guess it’s because I can’t feel Derek’ sex-appeal...”
But Stiles does, oh man, he does! He noticed it almost immediately, and not
only how insanely attractive Derek was. If he thinks about it, that probably
came later. The first thing he recognized was the way he relaxed into the
safeness he felt every time he was with Derek. And then, something much more
subtle and difficult to define, he sensed the desperate need Derek had for
someone saving him from himself, to listen to him and to talk to him, someone
who would dare to loudly disagree with him and confront him. Someone who would
stay. And somehow Stiles understood that he could be that person, that they
completed each other in a strange and profound way, and he decided he would
fight for that, patiently but fiercely.
Scott’s words seem to come from a faraway place, slowly reaching some meaning…
“And ok, even if I’m not attracted to guys I can see he's strong and handsome,
of course I give you that, but dude, he’s weird, I can’t imagine what you two
talk about when you are alone”
“Sometimes we talk about you, Scottie”, says Stiles now openly grinning.
“Shit”, Scott replies, not as happy as Stiles is about the answer.
“Yeah, shit”, he echoes dreamily. Yes, that’s one of the reasons why he pushed
for that, maybe the most important one. Because Derek never spits the shit he
is forced to swallow, never turns his face away from pain, always goes straight
to hell if that’s the right thing to do. Even if Stiles’ father thinks this is
to compensate the guilt he has insight, he still is the bravest person Stiles
knows and he loves him for that and wants to be as close to him as he can.
Stiles has used denial so many times, for so long, that he cannot but admire
the person who does exactly the opposite and still survives it. Now he only has
to find the way for Derek to deal with nice things as bravely as he does with
the bad and ugly…
Stiles saw all that pretty quickly after they met, but it took him a while to
dare approaching Derek with his true feelings showing in his open hands. He let
things take their time while trying to reduce the distance between them inch by
inch, word by word, until it felt ok to spend time alone together or to brush
their arms while preparing pack dinner or seating in Derek’s sofa. And once it
was spontaneous and natural if sometimes Stiles would stay after training or
pack meetings to investigate something or to discuss plans with Derek, then it
was also comfortable enough for them to order pizza and simply watch a movie in
companionable silence after it.
He can still feel the overwhelming sensations of that first night when he
mustered the courage to go beyond that and risk his little triumphs, when he
steeled himself enough to face the reject he dreaded in case it came. Because
he was counting on the worst option, of course, that’s just the way he is. But
he wasn’t able to continue like that, he had to try one more movement, had to
be sincere and survive whatever would come after.
He will never forget anything that went on during those few hours that night,
uneventful as they would have seemed for anyone looking at them from outside
the window. But to him, his life was changed forever after.
He went to Derek’s place after school to show him some research he completed
that morning before leaving home, and after a few hours discussing possible
scenarios they were both tired and wanted nothing else than relax with a movie
or a game, so Derek suggested ordering Japanese and watching a classic 80’s,
Blade Runner, one of his favorites. Stiles called home and when his dad asked
if he was staying for the night he had a strange sensation curling around his
stomach and just said “yes, probably, if it’s ok for you”, sure that Derek had
heard the entire quick conversation. When he hung up he felt suddenly nervous,
but discarded the feeling and moved to the kitchen to start preparing for the
dinner and movie plan, talking lightly about the film’s special effects, the
music, if Derek remembered Deckard’s ex-wife called him ‘Sushi’ and any other
stupid details that came to his mind, until the routine calmed him and he let
himself enjoying what he already had, blocking any thoughts about other warmer
possibilities.
The evening went well if only quite silent, and when they moved upstairs to go
to bed, Stiles went to one of the spare rooms automatically, grabbing one of
Derek’s shirts from his drawer to use it as a pajama. But once he was alone in
the spare bed of an empty room he started thinking about when he would have
another opportunity like this one. So, feeling his hands getting colder by
every step that led him to Derek’s room, he silently opened the door and kept
walking until his shin touched the bed, where Derek’s shirtless silhouette was
clearly visible under the moonlight.
He didn’t speak, just moved closer and sit there, vigilant of Derek’s shinning
eyes. Very slowly, not even breathing, he softly placed a hand on Derek’s round
shoulder and let it there, immobile, feeling the warm, surprisingly silky skin,
and the firm muscles under it. After a few seconds that seemed long minutes he
ventured moving his fingers really slowly, letting them caress just as they
craved to do. Derek didn't move at the beginning, but after a while he raised
himself and sit on the bed, side by side with Stiles, calm and still, letting
him touch as he wanted, experimenting him: how his stubble felt under his short
nails, how soft his hair was, the way his back arched, allowing his fingers to
draw his spine, sinuously rounding each vertebrae, applying small pressures to
sense the bones under the flesh. Eventually, he let his lips press very light
kisses to Derek’s smooth back, following the black lines of his tattoo with his
nose, sniffing Derek’s musky smell, brushing his shoulders with dry and warm
lips only, almost chastely, keeping tongue and teeth tamely to himself. He even
kissed his chest once or twice, but never his neck, no there, not yet.
All his senses were fully awake, and he felt careful, delicate, sensitive and
precise, as if he was cable walking above a wild distant river. Derek didn't
move, didn't say anything, didn't encourage his feathery kisses or even react,
but neither moved away or told Stiles to go, so he just continued. After a few
minutes, though, Derek motioned Stiles to the bed with one of his big warm
hands, placing him by his side but not fully touching him; only their legs were
in contact and the hand he had used to push him was now heavy on his hip.
Stiles stilled, not daring to do anything else or say a word, not sensing
rejection but unsure about the rightness of his acts, wondering if he would
later regret them or not. He felt electricity through the skin of his back and
although he thought he wouldn't be able to sleep for more than five minutes
that night, he finally managed to relax with Derek’s regular breathing on his
neck and the soothing heat coming from his body.
Suddenly he opened his eyes to the morning light, feeling Derek completely
plastered to his back, one arm across his chest, a possessive hand pressing his
shoulder, legs comfortably entwined. Stiles then felt his heart racing, his
breath troubled, his stomach clenching, afraid he was implying too much from
the probably involuntary contact.
And as if he could hear those thoughts, Derek then moved and took his head with
his strong hands, turning it towards his own face to kiss him without
hesitation. A full, sure, passionate kiss that cleared all doubts from Stiles’s
mind.
They kissed a lot that morning, letting their bodies relax into one another,
gently, without bruises, scratches or bites, just touching, watching, smelling
and tasting, discovering how their mouths, hands and fingers seemed to have a
mind of their own, clear intentions and feelings. Urgencies would come later,
usually with a fight between Derek’s boundaries and Stiles little tricks always
trying to get more, but that morning they just lingered on each other as much
as they needed. Then they talked a little, laughed a little and kissed some
more before Stiles went back home to have lunch with his father, trying to
disguise the involuntary grin he kept seeing in the rear mirror while he was
driving his Jeep.
Stiles was surprised by how natural and free that had been and how smoothly
their relationship developed after that night, although he couldn't but
bitterly realize it was always easier when they were alone, and not so much
when Scott or the rest of the pack were around.
After almost a year he still feels this way.
***** John & Derek *****
The grocery store. Of course, there he is. If you want to bump into someone 'by
chance' in Beacon Hills, you just go to the big, central grocery store a few
times during a week and eventually you will run into the person. It’s just a
probabilistic exercise.
He can see now Derek moving around the different sections, determined when he’s
approaching a certain area, slow when deciding what to pick, seriously
considering each choice, reading labels and changing brands. He wonders if
Stiles has anything to do with that, if he’s also criticizing Derek’s fridge as
he does at home after John has gone shopping. He hopes so. It’s an unnerving
habit, but he knows he will miss it as hell if one day he can buy all the fat
burgers in the world without hearing one single complaint from Stiles. The
thought hits him without warning, and even if it seems excessive it’s still
true. He doesn’t want to lose his kid. At all. In any way.
He moves closer to the young man.
"Hey Derek, how are you?"
Derek stiffs when he hears John’s voice, but tries to reply naturally.
"Sheriff. Erh, good, thanks. You?"
"Not too bad. So, would you mind if we have a word or two?" he replies,
directly enough.
If Derek is surprised he is able to disguise it quite well. "No, of course
not."
After a pause he continues. "…You mean, now?"
The Sheriff sounds professional when he keeps talking, and Derek almost expects
a formal accusation, but what comes out is a bit friendlier. A bit… "Yes
please, if you are finished here and have some time now you could follow me
and… But, what I’m saying, you know the way to my house very well, don’t you?
Let’s not pretend you don’t, please. So, don’t follow my car, let’s just meet
there in a while, ok? Anyway, I can invite you to a beer, right? Is that ok for
you? I work the night shift today, so this afternoon I’m free, and Stiles won’t
be home for a couple of hours yet."
There’s no easy way out, so he just accepts his fate, as he always does. "Ok, I
will stop at my apartment to drop this and I can be at your place in twenty"
"Good, I’ll see you there then". The Sheriff seems satisfied and ready to let
him go.
"Bye"
They both like to economize words and hate wasting time, so the entire
conversation takes about half a minute.
The Sheriff goes back to the parking lot without buying anything and heads
directly home. When he gets there he stops one moment at the door because he
can’t remember driving there, and he’s so surprised that he even goes back to
his car to touch the hood and check if it’s warm or not.
At home, he allows himself a drink and seats, waiting for his son’s boyfriend
while he thinks about what he wants to hear himself saying, and, most
important, what he does not want to say.
He remembers now Stiles leaving this morning with his red hoodie and he is
suddenly thinking about that time when he was six years old and the three of
them went to the mall for a Saturday morning shopping. School was about to
start and Stiles had grown up quite a lot that summer, so they had to prepare
and buy all kind of underwear, pants, t-shirts, etc, as half of the families
from Beacon Hills were doing that day. They went from one area to the other,
selecting the items that were nice but not expensive, the ones that looked
strong enough to survive Stiles’ ADHD for at least a couple of months. When
Stiles saw a plain red bright sweatshirt he felt in love with it immediately,
grabbed it and put it in his mom’s arms in a wink. They both shared a look, but
had him trying it just to show him that it wasn’t the best color choice. With
his pale skin and weedy arms that red color didn’t look good, he seemed kind of
sick really, very noticeable but definitely sick. So, they told him, softly,
kindly,  nicely, patiently, then firmly and finally angrily, until it became a
tour de force over a silly disagreement and the final test for their parenting
skills. They offered him a nice navy one, a stripped one, a very expensive one,
sweaters with Batman designs, Spiderman or just any other one in the shop. And
of course it ended up in an embarrassing tantrum in front of many people they
knew, tears and snot in Stiles’ face, angry brows on them and a rushed trip
back home without the red sweatshirt and only half the other things they still
needed. And, which is Stiles’ favorite color now? Red, of course, the brighter
the better… So, he knows that trying to convince him against something he
really wants can be counterproductive, to say it nicely. A shot in your face,
really.
He comes back to the present when the doorbell rings, and when the Sheriff
opens Derek is standing there, resignation and acceptance personified.
"Come on in and take a seat. Do you want a beer or anything else?"
"Yes, thanks, beer is ok." Derek then seats down at the sofa, remembering the
last time he was there, a quiet and easy night when they cooked some pasta and
then watched a movie while the Sheriff was working. Stiles had fallen asleep
before the movie was finished and he had carried him upstairs to his bed and
stayed with him, kissing him softly, until he heard the patrol car parking
outside. So domestic and comfortable, so precious, so far away...
Since it seems to work for them, the Sheriff goes straight to the point. "Look
Derek, I see you came here to withstand what I have to say and then leave and
try to ignore it but…"
Derek cuts him sharply. "I won’t stop seeing Stiles if you ask me to, but I
will if you convince him to tell me so."
"I guessed that, yes. But that’s not why I asked you to come here."
"No?"
"No, I want to talk, and that means I expect answers, you know, actual
communication. I know you’re not good at that, and I’m not either, so let me be
clear. I don’t like this, but I don’t want Stiles to go away. I have seen this
happening to so many families I can’t count them. Disagreements, stubbornness,
little things and other not so small issues that are never discussed, never
solved, that only get buried and piled one on top of the other until it’s
impossible to see through them anymore. Then there’s college, a job in another
state or any other excuse, and suddenly they only see each other once or twice
a year and feel ok with a couple of phone calls each month. Solitude. Coldness.
I don’t want this."
He doesn't seem to be waiting for a comment on that, so Derek doesn't speak,
and after gulping some more whiskey the Sheriff goes on.
"It wasn’t easy to raise him, you know? Well, I’m sure you can guess, since you
have become so close to him. If he’s that annoying at seventeen, can you
imagine the way he was at five? Or at eleven, after losing his mother? In a
matter of days he no longer was the smart-mouth you met. He didn’t complain, he
didn’t ask, he didn’t play, he didn’t cry. Of course, he never laughed.
Anything, for long months. He was a kind of robot. And I couldn’t mourn her as
I needed because I was so worried about him, trying to find a way to crack that
iron surface, changing from one therapy to another, talking with other parents
who had suffered similar situations, drinking at night when he was finally
asleep."
"And you know what broke that? My blood tests. One day he found the results of
the yearly checks we do at work in the table and went crazy worried about it.
He started to research healthy diets, how to prevent high cholesterol, whatever
could help my heart to be in good shape. He printed a different one every few
weeks and pinned it to the fridge, bought everything, even if it had to be
online, learned to cook it. And I think he found out that stress and worry were
also risk factors, so he knew he was causing it and decided he had to change
his attitude and try to go back to his previous self, or something similar.
Because she will always be with us, but in a different way, and neither of us
can go back to whom we were before, but that was still acceptable. And I was so
sincerely happy and relieved to finally see a change in him that I followed all
the stupid diets he suggested and have been eating crap for years. I even like
some by now…"
John is now lost in his past, drinking slowly, opening his heart to someone he
intended to try to send away. But instead of that, he finds an unexpected
comfort talking to Derek because he knows he’s probably the only person in the
world who cares about Stiles as much as he does. Almost. And it scares him to
realize he wouldn’t explain this to anyone else. But they’re not friends.
Finding a gold ring on the street doesn’t mean you can wear it and become a
married person. But he can pretend for a while. And who knows, maybe the
answers will come from himself after all.
"So, Stiles and I have been pretty close until now, and, you know, that’s what
keeps me alive. I was really scared a year and a half ago when I saw our
relationship change, all his excuses, his lies, the pain in his eyes when he
saw I wasn’t believing him but that I wasn’t challenging him anyway. I tried to
find evidences of anything that would explain it: drug abuse, bullying at
school, sex problems, whatever. But I couldn’t find anything, not a joint, not
a condom, I couldn’t smell alcohol, his grades were ok. He only had a bunch of
new friends, a lot of homework to be done at Scott’s, and you, of course, he
couldn’t seem to stop talking about you, in a bad or good sense, but always you
there. So, it wasn’t that difficult to put two and two together and relate the
recent changes to that new acquaintance my son had. Hopefully for you, before I
jumped into too many conclusions Stiles decided to explain the whole
supernatural situation, and then I understood many thinks, but not all. The
thing is that I was so afraid of all the physical threats and real dangers he
was facing that I couldn’t worry too much about it. But I knew there was one
piece missing, and things finally made sense when last month he told me you too
were together. My underage son was dating Derek Hale."
He turns his face now to lock his eyes with Derek’s.
"And you must be wondering now why I’m not a happy father seeing his only child
paired with an older, murder accused, without a job, dangerous werewolf,
right?"
Wisely, Derek doesn’t reply or move his eyes. He doesn’t even blink.
"Well, the keyword there was “dangerous”. Because being with you he is meant to
be affronting situations that are clearly beyond his physical possibilities.
And you might try to protect him, but there will be one day when you don’t get
early enough to him, or there is a mistake or anything else, and then what?"
"Also, I want to be as honest with you as I was with him. Your past. This is
dangerous in another wholly different perspective. I know that in your short
life you have had to face what fifty people together don’t in their whole life,
and that’s not fair. But…, and believe me, I know I’m really cruel here..., I’m
more worried about Stiles than I’m sorry for you…, and I seriously question if
you are equipped at all to be in a healthy relationship anymore."
"Are you?"
With a big effort, Derek forces himself not to react viscerally to the
Sheriff’s previous words and quickly decides raw sincerity is the best option,
so he swallows hard and goes for it. "Sheriff, honestly, I don’t know it, I
can’t guarantee we’ll be happy forever after, but I think we deserve to have
the chance to try."
He elaborates a bit more, feeling he’s trying to walk through a swamp. He talks
slowly.
"You know, I forced myself for long months to forget about Stiles in that way,
to keep him as a good friend only. Being always careful not to encourage any
closer approach, any warm feelings, despite it was clear for everyone that we
both wanted it. And why? Because I was asking myself those same questions
without finding a good answer to them. And you know what made me change my
mind? Stiles. Because, honestly, I don’t think I could endure a relationship
with anyone else. You’re right, I’m damaged. I’m working on it but I’m still
shredded. I have nightmares almost every night, I’m scared shitless at many
things even if I try to disguise it with angry faces, I am socially inept…"
At the end, he has to use Stiles’ words. He’s so pathetic…
"And when I told him that, you know what he said? “I know you’re broken, but
all the pieces are there, no one is missing. So we’ll work together to sew
them, and maybe the result is very different from the way you were before the
fire, but it will be you anyway, and it’ll be our work.” And I’m human, partly
at least, so I want this, I won’t deny I desperately want it."
Derek seems really young now, and the Sheriff remembers he’s only twenty-three,
that he should be fresh from college, trying to find a good job, planning his
life, thinking about all the options open in front of him with the support of a
big, loving family. Instead of that, he has lost everything, has nobody except
a too-smart-for-his-own-good boy, a few pseudo-friends who give him only
worries and responsibilities and the father of the said boy who is trying to
get rid of him. What the hell is happening to this world when these kids are
thrown face first into this kind of nightmares?
And then he realizes that if he keeps hoping for the worst, only the worst will
come.
He’s processing that when he notices Derek is still talking.
"I understand that you don’t trust me, but I think you should trust your son. I
trust him, I learnt to do this almost blindly, because things always turn
better when I do it."
The Sheriff is about to reply to that, but the words die in his mouth when he
sees Derek’s expression suddenly changing, his eyes going red, pointed,
focusing on something only he can hear or feel.
Derek’s face is pale, all the blood is drained from his lips. He can see the
Sheriff’s mouth moving but he can’t hear a word he’s saying.
"Derek, what’s going on?"
Trapped, Stiles is trapped. He knows it as he knows the Hale house is a burned
empty shell. He closes his eyes and sees his little sister trapped in the
basement, coughing, the temperature rising… He can’t, he just can’t let that
happen again, he won't accept it. If Stiles is dying there, wherever that
“there” is, he will let death take him as well. This time he won’t agree to be
the survivor, not again. He’s paralyzed, he feels the world crumbling down and
doesn’t know how to start breathing again. He slowly thinks he’s a worthless
idiot because he’s planning what he’s going to do if Stiles dies instead of
trying to do something to save him. But he feels his limbs as foreign, owned by
someone called panic.
Only one or two seconds have passed.
"Derek!"
The Sheriff’s voice cracks the surface of the bubble that has abducted him for
what seems like an unbearable amount of time. 
"Stiles, it’s Stiles, he’s in danger, I can feel it, I have to go." He can
breath again, can talk again, is already starting to move, to run.
John is not questioning how he knows, he's only reacting to an urgent threat.
"Where, where is he? Wait, I go with you!"
Derek stops without really wanting to, his hands pressing hard the table to
prevent himself to keep running.
"No, I can’t take a car, I don’t know where he is, I have to follow my
instincts, let my senses guide me until I find him. Sorry, I’m sorry, I just
have to run. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Call Scott."
He is about to vanish, but he turns his head to the shocked Sheriff one last
time, locks his eyes on John’s and says, so soft it’s barely a whisper: "Trust
me, please."
John’s defeated.
Derek’s running now, running for his life, disoriented at the beginning but
sensing a direction as he moves, listening to the pain in his chest, feeling
the ring in his ears growing as he gets closer to the main road coming from the
school. He approaches it and can now distinguish some trouble there, cars
closer than they should be. He can smell the ugly scent of burned tires, and
smoke, smoke as it’s ever present in his dreams, the poison that turns them
into nightmares.
When he gets by the area, the police are already there and he can hear distant
sirens approaching, probably more ambulances and fire trucks. Somewhere in his
head a thought says that Stiles’ father will probably be aware about this very
soon, might be already coming.
Today’s fog is so thick that he can’t clearly distinguish what’s happening, but
the pavement is slippery, so that’s one of these awful chain car crashes, with
lots of vehicles mounting into one another. Stiles heart rate is difficult to
locate among the people there, all of them reeking fear and nerves, some
crying, police officers yelling instructions, trying to move the cars that are
ok from the area, convincing some other people to stop being idiots and leave
the broken machines and get away from the dangerous fire as fast as they can.
He panics for a while when he can’t place Stiles’ heartbeat, but then he
finally picks it, crazy fast and irregular, but close, not a real sound but a
call, a physical pull that gets clearer by every second. He tries to keep
unnoticed, moving outside of the worst area and approaching the place where
Stile’s pulse feels stronger. Evil as it is, at least the fog helps him to
advance without anybody paying attention to him. And he can now see the Jeep,
separated to the main area where the accident started and where everybody is
working now.
The Jeep was probably hit by a big expensive van that he vaguely notices there
and that is quite ok. But the Jeep took the worst part of it and now it’s not
the way a car should be. It probably rolled over a few times before stopping,
and one side of it is on the road and the shape is no right, is no longer
square. Two wheels move on the air like perplexed paws, the blue paint is
scratched everywhere, the ceiling lower than it normally is, the windows are
all broken and the metal is twisted in strange ways, leaving a painfully small
space inside the vehicle, a torture cell where he thinks he can see some red
clothes unsuccessfully trying to get out of the car.
Stiles
***** Kate *****
SIX MONTHS AGO...
They are drinking a soda in an almost deserted cafe outside of town, and Stiles
is amazed and slightly pissed off that Derek wanted to come here of all places
in a Saturday evening instead of staying at Derek’s apartment happily making
out or at least going to the movies or… just spending time at whatever any
other place that is not this cold and depressing hole. While he sips his drink
he starts to drift off wondering how it even resists the economic situation,
because it doesn’t seem probable that it bursts with activity during the week
days either…
"Stiles…"
Derek’s hushed and low, heavy with worry voice makes him come back from solving
the country’s problems about unemployment and big chain brands versus local
small commercial activity. The dark haired boy seems really worried about
something and Stiles doesn’t need an enhanced sense of smell to see he’s even
slightly panicked. Realizing Derek has been even quieter than usual this
afternoon, he feels his heart rate spiking and sweat covering the palms of his
hands. He's not dumping him, right? He would have noticed something... Or not.
Oh, dammit!
Derek inhales profoundly before talking.
"I have something to tell you, something I want you to know, although talking
about it makes me feel my guts are made of cold mercury... slowly melting
inside my body."
Boy, that’s an image! If the situation wasn’t so tense Stiles would have
commented the sickly poetry of it and how did Derek come up with something like
this. But he doesn’t want him to feel this way, and absolutely never because of
him, even if it's because, because...
"Are you leaving me, Derek?"
"What? No, are you stupid? Of course I'm not breaking up with you! On the
contrary, I... I really care about you and that's why I want to talk with you
about something. Do you have doubts about us?"
Of course... he just loves when words become fucking boomerangs!
"No, no, I don't have any doubts, I'm happy as a jingle bell, or I was until
today at least... But, you can't deny this is strange, coming here, your
face... It's the perfect scenario for a break up! So I was only being logic!
Ok, good, I got it, I'm a hysterical teenager, can you go on now that this is
established?"
Derek looks at him, rolls his eyes and sighs, still not talking.
"Ok, wait, you don’t have to explain anything, Derek, don’t feel like you owe
me something or that I need to know everything about you, because I don’t. And
you can relax, because I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to, despite of
what I can find out about you. Don’t think you have any obligations to explain
something that is so obviously painful for you, because you haven't."
But Derek is an obstinate thick log sometimes, and he knows his efforts won’t
pay off no matter how hard he tries.
"No, don’t think I do this for you, no... I... I do it because it’s a part of
my life that I never ever talk about although I know some people know it, your
father one of them because Chris told him, and I want you to hear it from my
lips, because I couldn’t stand it if someone else finally explains it to you, I
would know the instant you knew it and it would be so awful to imagine someone
else revealing that to you, I would feel so coward and filthy that I prefer to
talk now no matter how difficult it is."
He’s chaining words so closely that he’s barely breathing, and he doesn’t give
Stiles a chance to say anything else before he continues.
"Please, I know you won’t like this, but, please, don’t touch me while I’m
talking, don’t try to meet my eyes, don’t interrupt me or I won’t be able to go
on."
Stiles stills in his seat and kind of understands now why they are where they
are, in a public place where they have to keep a relatively decent distance
between them, solitaire enough so that no one else, human or werewolf, will
hear them while they talk.
Derek takes a few moments to imagine he is somewhere else now, in a closed room
with white walls and no windows, no one there with him, where he can talk
almost without feeling the weight and danger of the dark words he is spitting
like they’re made of venomous gas.
"I met Kate Argent a couple of months after I turned fifteen, one after the big
party my parents held for their twentieth wedding anniversary…"
Some minutes have passed after Derek has finished talking, his eyes still lost,
frozen in an indefinite point on the dirty green wall in front of him, and
Stiles is yet unsure about the best reaction now, if he should go to Derek’
side of the booth to hug him tightly or stay where he is and ask questions
about what he just heard or just start touching his hand softly without saying
anything at all. Anyway, if he keeps thinking at the end the only option will
be to quickly rush to the bathroom to throw up while he wishes this unbearable
wrath had reached him the only time he saw Kate alive so that he could have
helped Peter killing her.
Finally it is Derek who sighs and with an effort focuses his eyes in Stiles
again, softly kissing his temple across the table and taking his hand to hold
both of them up together.
***** Stiles *****
He hates being trapped, hates the impossibility to move, hates how his nerves
escalate until he can’t breathe or think coherently. He tries to calm down, but
this is just not possible, he’s an idiot to even try, he’s going to lose
control any minute now and go crazy until he dies here, burned, smashed or
suffocated by the smoke. This is so claustrophobic and he is so disoriented in
time and space that he could vomit if his stomach wasn’t totally closed. He’s
not sure how much time has passed since he heard the squealing noise and tried
to stop his car, if he passed out for a while or not or in which position he
exactly is. He can hear the cries, the shouts, feels the broken glass cutting
his back, the cold steel bracing and numbing his leg, cruelly breaking the
skin, the pressure in one shoulder. And he has learnt enough from movies, TV or
his father rambling about work at home to know that this is extremely
dangerous, that this can be a hell on earth in a few minutes if the gas in one
of the cars ignites. He has to get the hell out of here and just start running
as fast as his legs allow him and get as far as possible from this. But when he
tries to move this suddenly seems as feasible as an hippogriff coming down the
sky to liberate him and to pick him up to move him to a safe place. But hey,
werewolves… This could be a nice hope and a fun image if it wasn’t about to end
in a full panic attack so soon… Only that he cannot indulge himself to a panic
attack now, it seems a luxury at that precise moment and he is crying because
of the sadness of that thought.
He’s simply terrified. He doesn’t want to die this way. He doesn’t want to die.
Full stop. But he doesn’t want to go this way also. He doesn’t want fire to be
involved with his death in any possible way, it’s just too horrible, too
painful, too twisted and anyway, there’s so much he still has to say, too many
places to go, so many people to get to know, to hate, to ignore or to love and
he couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t have the opportunity to do those things. How
can this be it? After all they have been through it’s a fucking car accident
what is going to finish him? Such a cruel irony! He just can’t believe it,
can’t let this happen. It’s not fair, it’s… Well, that’s probably what
everybody who can see their own death coming would think, right? But he doesn’t
know what to do now, how to get out of this trap that his lovely Jeep has
become.
His eyes feel strange, too big, burning and watered from the smoke, the strong
smells and the tension. His nose is running but his mouth is coated and dry,
his throat tight. He knows he should try to focus on getting the hell of out
here instead of pitying himself. But how? He can’t move his damned leg. Fuck!
He just can’t, it’s totally immobilized, it’s like if a damned rocky mountain
is on top of it from knee to ankle and there’s no way he can set it free. He
needs help, but his phone is out of view, is probably anywhere out of reach
now. He has been yelling and his throat is sore, but the fireman who came is
gone now, hopefully coming back with more powerful tools this time. He just
hopes it’s not too late when or if he ever comes back… And why he didn’t want
to take the bite, again? Stubborn, so-stupid-he-thinks-he’s-smart Stiles! It
would be so different, so easy now! He could be saving people instead of being
one to be saved, a body to be recovered from the burning steel mass of his car,
to be identified... People crying at his funeral. Shit, tones of shit, that
crap is not useful now! He’s inside a vicious circle, too clever to keep
dwelling on the situation but too imaginative to not to. He has to cool down,
just a little bit, enough to think and try to come up with a plan, anything
that can get him out of this nightmare.
So his first thought goes to his father, obviously. He has to do this for him,
has to get the fuck out of here because he just can’t leave him alone. His dad
has been able to put up with many hard situations in his life, always trying to
be strong, trying to be fair, to do good even when he felt betrayed by life, by
a world he believed was predictable and understandable or by his own son. But
Stiles knows this will be too much, this will destroy him and his last resource
is going to be that bottle hidden inside a drawer in his desk. If he dies he
knows his father won’t be able to climb out of that bottle again… Stiles
believes he should have a better relationship with his father and when he
realizes he will probably never see him again, won’t have the opportunity to
explain things a bit better, to hug him again, he feels guilty and desperate,
drowned in panic and sadness. He then forces himself to stop these thoughts
before they keep spiraling down because they make everything worst, they make
him weak and defeated and he doesn’t want these to be his last feelings at all.
Then he thinks about Derek and is relieved for one second because he calms down
immediately, feels his brow relaxing and stops swearing so much. He tries to
keep that feeling and closes his eyes despite the urgency of the moment. With
some effort he can manage to shut down the current chaos and see only images of
the two of them together, alone. He remembers those moments when they don’t
have to pretend to be a strong alpha, a cool and controlled partner, a smart
friend or the always resourceful human, only Stiles and Derek sharing
insecurities, desire, fear, laugh or love. No past or future, only the moment
they share. When they are alone he can almost see Derek peeling himself until
he’s naked in the only way that’s important. No memories, no hopes, no losses
or regrets. Bared and exposed, raw but not vulnerable. Every time they’re
together they grow stronger at their core, and this is what he needs to find
now. His core, his strength.
He keeps his eyes closed and travels in time to that one night, only a few
weeks ago, when they were together in Derek’s apartment, how they had sex…
well, shit, if he’s dying he’s allowed to be sappy and totally uncool so…, how
they made love until they both fall sleep, sated and exhausted, into each
other’s arms.
He had finally found the way to convince Derek that they could go as far as
they wished, that he wanted everything from him because he didn’t regret a
single minute they had shared, he only wanted more of that and they both
deserved to be together, to be happy in any way they could imagine. He just
wasn’t able to keep any reserve anymore. And after a kiss as his only answer,
Derek was finally knocking down his carefully own built defenses, taking him to
his bedroom upstairs without taking his eyes out of his face, carefully
undressing him after placing him on the bed.
Stiles felt his skin crawling, the muscles in the back of his neck tensing, his
pupils contracting, because he wanted that, had begged for it, but was
frightened to the bone as well. Of course he didn’t think about himself as a
virgin anymore, after all the fantastic sex they’ve had during the last months.
They had been experimenting a lot since that first morning but had never gone
further than kissing and touching and licking and sucking every part of their
bodies, mainly because Derek was quite insistent on gong slow but also because
Stiles was learning and enjoying too much to pretend he was already bored and
needed more excitement. Penetration was just one more thing, not necessarily
the best, but was something they hadn’t done yet and topics and culture and
education and society rules and codes still have some weight, so this felt like
some kind of milestone for him even if he wanted to be cool and pretend it was
just another thing that he wanted to try. But, what if it didn’t work, or if he
couldn't bear the pain? He was inexperienced and weak and lanky and had almost
no control over his body, so he was scared he would disappoint Derek and make
their first time at that a complete disaster. Could that spoil it all? There
was still plenty of room for failure, and Derek seemed so confident whenever
his body was involved, even if he didn’t have that much sex experience either…
But then Derek’s soft hands started to move without restrains all around his
body, caressing everywhere, pressing, teasing, taking time with every parch of
skin, building up the emotion, the desire to melt into each other, and he
forgot all his fears as he discovered the sudden need to lose himself inside of
Derek's arms. Derek was kissing his mouth like nothing else in the word would
ever matter again, and that was enough to soften the spikes in his brain, now
drunk from the lack of oxygen and the excess of dopamine. Definitely the best
he could do was to try to relax and let himself go, ride the lust of the moment
and enjoy what was offered there, letting his feelings drive and searching what
seemed to bring Derek to the edge. Derek’s mouth was soft and warm and wet and
a bit overwhelming, just like his whole body felt on top of him, lips moving
from his mouth to his ear to his nipple to his navel, leaving incandescent
railroads on its way from one excited corner of Stiles’ body to another. His
tongue wiped out and sealed any doubts he could still have about them, his
insecurities about the two of them together, about their improbability, about
his young shaky self.
Stiles didn’t utter a word for a long while, although the sounds his throat
produced were far more expressive than any complex sentences he could ever
compose. For a guy that could ramble about anything with anyone during any
length of time, he was surprisingly able to stay silent when the situation
required it. And that was definitely the case then. He had a much better use
for his tongue than articulating words at that moment and all his attention was
focused on his other senses: the touch, the smell, the noise, the unique tastes
of the mixed fluids their two bodies created.
So when Derek moved his hands to his ass, looking at him as asking for permit,
he just nodded, letting his head fall back, trying to relax after the initial
tension that involuntarily took over the lower parts of his body. Noticing
that, Derek carefully rolled him into his stomach and started massaging him,
his shoulders, his arms, his neck, slowly pressing his spine, heating every
inch of skin with his hands, unknotting the tension until he was boneless
against the mattress. He then lovingly caressed his ass cheeks, slowly opening
them, moving his head to press his face there, softly biting him and letting
his stubble scrape that tender skin, making it sensitive only to later apply
his tongue as the best cure.
Stiles was breathing hard against the pillow, moaning, trying to turn his head
to at least glimpse how Derek was touching him when a sudden cold sensation
around his hole told him that he had started lubricating him and that something
foreign, a finger, was carefully entering his body. He gasped and instinctively
pressed around it, but Derek gave him the time to adapt, to relax again until
he found the right sensation and focused on it, feeling his body expanding as
his muscles released the need to fight. Derek then kept opening him, and he
slowly found himself accepting more, asking for more, and before he could think
enough about it to panic, the tip of Derek’s cock was pushing his entrance,
carefully getting inside of him, inch by inch, briefly stopping for a moment
when he couldn’t restrain a soft cry, to later continue until they were pressed
one against the other and he could count Derek’s heart beats against his back.
Derek stayed still for what seemed to be a long time, both of them panting
together, with Derek’s wet lips and tongue working around his neck while his
hand moved until he could find the length of Stiles’ hard and leaking cock and
could start to clumsily caress it.  He then tried a new position and started to
move just a little, until Stiles pushed back with him, finding an uneven rhythm
that seemed to be good for both of them. Then he truly thrust into him, harder,
with open eyes and possessive hands, guided by Stiles’ pleasure whines and
moans. And once the pain subsided and Derek was still coming inside of him,
Stiles felt strong, invincible, complete in all possible ways. It was not a
revelation, or the best orgasm he had had either, and he later discovered he
preferred to be on his back with knees and calves pressing into Derek’s back as
if his life depended on that, being able to look him deep in the eyes. But that
first time he felt he wouldn’t trust anybody else in his life as much as he
trusted Derek in that moment. And he knew he was trusted as well, a reciprocal
current of feelings echoing his own through their melting skins.
So as he now finds that feeling he focuses solely on it, takes strength from it
and holds his breath trying to steel himself against the pain until he can
somehow dissociate from his leg, as if it was a piece of wood he has to move
from his way before he can go back to his family and friends.  And using his
other foot as a strong point of force and fixing his hands in a solid piece of
metal that he blindly finds, he slowly starts to move his left leg out of the
car seat that is trapping him, blood soaking his ragged jeans.
Yes, he can do this, if he doesn’t think about the dizzying pain and the
disgusting sensation of his own flesh tearing apart, he is going to do it.
Sweat is going down his temple, getting mixed with his blood and tears. But
he’s about to do it, it’s almost there, he is freeing himself, he needs to keep
pulling just a bit more and it will be it. And yes, finally, the leg isn’t
possessed by metal anymore, is his again, sliced and bloody and wrecked, but
fully his.
His body is free now and he could go. If only someone could pull him out of
here, could separate the steel mess the door of his car is. He could live, he
could go back to Derek and to his father. He’s shaking, sobbing, happy and
desperate and feeling so, so lonely, overwhelmed by the pain that is coming
back in waves now as a dark menace while he tries to shout, to yell, realizing
he’s so exhausted and weak that is only able to cry softly.
And as this thought is formed in his brain he blacks out and is not able to
scream or fight any more, his blood slowly pooling under him.
***** Derek *****
SIX MONTHS LATER...
Derek opens the door of his apartment to find a grinning Scott and a slightly
bouncing Allison waiting there. He smells alcohol and sweat and teenage
hormones, and, mostly from Allison, the euphoria that comes after having had
way too many drinks.
"Where’s Stiles?"
"Hey, hello Derek! How are you tonight? It’s nice to see you too! I thought you
were already civilized by now, but I see that you skipped the ‘How do you
initiate a nice conversation” lesson. Can we come in?"
Scott is talking with a silly smile painted across his face, and Derek doubts
if slapping him now would give him the information he wants quicker or not… He
decides it probably won’t serve well his purposes, not matter how satisfying
that could be, so he lets them in instead and replies with infinite patience.
"Hi Scott, I see you had a great time hanging out with your friends. Can you
please now tell me why Stiles is not coming with you?", and he breathes now,
trying to fill his mind with images of sunny meadows covered with a dense layer
of green grass peacefully undulating with the breeze.
"Hey, don't get so mad, man! We had fun, yeah, remembering old times, talking
about this and that. I don’t know, time passed, drinks were finished and
replaced, and… But you should have come, it was so good! This is bonding time
really, and you always tell us how important it is to cultivate it! Besides,
they weren't even driving..."
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and explains for the twentieth time: "You
know I don’t like these places, there are too many people, too many smells and
noises, and I don’t enjoy drinking. Also, we agreed that you would come here
after a while, not that you would spend the whole fucking night there. And you
do remember you are still underage for drinking, right? I don’t want to know
how or why you got those fake ID’s, but I think we should talk about it,
because you’re putting yourself under the spotlight, and I thought it was clear
we don’t want that, right? Also, what was Stiles thinking? He could put his
father in a very compromising situation! If sometimes I forget I’m dealing with
stupid teenagers you always manage to remind me in a very effective way!"
He’s disappointed and angry because he really wanted to have Stiles here
tonight, even with Scott and some of the others around for some time, laughing
together, playing some stupid games... and then keeping Stiles for himself,
taking him to his bed, their bed, to find new ways to ruin the sheets, to
mangle them until they form a cozy and warm nest where they would sleep until
late morning. But now he will have to spend the night alone and cold. Even if
he is never really cold, literally speaking, but...
"Well, I don’t really know dad, but I think you weren’t so sensitive about the
underage issue some time ago, when you discovered you liked Stiles to do a kind
of research that involved more of  your muscled body than computers…" Scott
replies with a smug smile painted all over his face.
Derek’s eyes flash red now, and Scott is losing steam when he sees it. After
all, he’s not drunk at all…
Derek's voice is cold and menacing when he replies sharply: "I thought you
liked to play dumb here, Scott. Are you sure you know how to go with the
smartass role?"
But Scott is cool running tonight. "Ok, don’t take things so seriously, dude, I
think we just lost track of time and we didn’t realize things were going that
far. Anyway, suddenly the two weak humans started speaking funny and I wasn’t
able to understand them anymore, I mean, even less than normally, so I decided
it was probably time to retreat and go home."
"So?" His patience is not infinite, but it seems that with a little help he’ll
be getting something coherent finally, there’s some hope here… And it
materializes when Allison talks now, even if it’s closer to a mumbling between
giggles than actual words.
"Then Stiles said we should take him to his dad’s instead of here. He said he
was so drunk that he only wanted to pass out and that you wouldn’t like to see
him in that state, that we should take him to the Sheriff’s place."
Shit. And they think it's funny... Is this going to be a reasonable exemption
if he kills them both? But wait, she goes on...
"...so we did. And when he got there he was making so much noise that the
Sheriff awoke and came down to open the door and started asking what was Stiles
doing there, that he thought he was spending the night with you"
Allison is trying to continue but she is almost bending over with laugh. After
a few tears and deep breaths she finds the way to talk again.
"And do you know what he said? He said he was useless tonight, and that he
preferred to go crash home instead of bothering you with a useless drunk body.
Derek, he told his father he was useless to you tonight. Can you imagine the
Sheriff’s face when he heard that?"
Allison is now producing a series of high-pitched and incoherent noises that
make it difficult to understand what she’s saying.
"And then John demonstrated he’s as supernatural as you two here are, because
instead of kicking Stiles in the ass he just said that he didn’t understand his
son’s reasoning, that if you loved him so much you should be happy to clean his
vomit, that he is going to call you the minute Stiles pukes in his room. So now
you are warned, and I wouldn't take my shoes off if I were you, in the state he
was."
And isn’t it pathetic? Because he really wouldn’t mind, he would prefer to have
Stiles here even if he was drunk and passed out. He is never useless, and he
likes to take care of him anyway. Allison is still babbling so he connects
again with what she’s trying to say.
"Also, by the way, be ready tomorrow to receive an impressive amount of funny
or disgusted faces anywhere around town, because I heard a few windows opening
and saw some faces avidly listening to the juicy conversation. This is Beacon
Hills, so half of the place knows this by now and tomorrow morning, or, well,
this morning really, everyone in town will be able to reproduce an enhanced
version of what really happened and mock you with it."
But somehow Derek doesn’t seem to find the hilarity of the situation as they
do… So, instead of laughing he just narrows his eyes and shouts at Scott,
involuntarily spitting as he yells.
"Scott, do you know who is useless? Do you, Scott? Well, you are
useless, you should know better than to let them drink so much! Don’t you think
you should have been able to control the situation a bit better?’
And maybe some of the alcohol did reach Scott’ system, because he doesn’t seem
intimidated by Derek’s harsh words. A bit bored and tired, if something, but he
still manages to respond quite fondly.
"Well, I think that’s why I finally decided it wasn’t such a bad idea to get a
grumpy Alpha after all. I can see my mistakes, and you should have accepted
them as well when you admitted me in your spotless pack."
When she hears that, and before Derek can form a reply, Allison opens her mouth
to talk, staring at Scott with big dark eyes full of surprise and wonder.
"Scott, baby, you know I love you with all your mistakes included, with all
your flaws and issues. Honey, nothing is going to change that! What is what
they say? That you love someone for their imperfections, not in spite of them,
right?"
Derek's eyes are now widening until they're about to pop out of his face. Is
Allison talking seriously or just mocking Scott to his face? And Derek is
amazed that he can't really say. He's listening to her heartbeat and trying to
smell her emotions, but everything is very confusing and he can't be sure if
she is just naif beyond measure or the best actress he knows. In any
case, Allison will swear tomorrow that she is never ever drinking again in her
whole life, but right now she is just euphoric, she’s at the point of swearing
undying love for every soul she finds on her way from Derek’s apartment to her
place, and even more for Scott, of course.
And evil or not, boy, she is drunk… 
"You know Scott? I even love you for your beautiful boxer face? I never said
it, but I think it’s just adorable. You remind me a bit of a Picasso painting,
the auto portrait with the big eyes… you know which one I'm talking about,
right?"
Did she winked?
Well, probably danger just turns her on... because now Scott is really pissed
off.
"Time to go home, Allison! Let’s go, you’re in no condition to talk." He's
grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door, and Derek is not sure if
there's a little malicious smile in her face or not. Her eyes are definitely
shining, that's a fact...
"Why, because I just compared your face to a famous work of art? Are you… what?
Angry?"
Derek is finally laughing now while he's closing the door, can’t help it. He’s
still not sure if these two are really meant for each other, but they are
definitely having a great time while finding out, and that’s more than many
couples can say.
And he didn’t have Stiles tonight and probably won’t see him until the
afternoon, but at least they are all here, alive and getting stronger, and
lately things have been pretty easy compared with one year ago, or even six
months before, right after the accident, when he thought his life was about to
be devastated for a second time.
~
SIX MONTHS AGO...
"Are you a relative?"
"Uh.. no, not really, just a... a friend."
"Ok, then maybe you can call his parents and tell them we are taking him to the
hospital. They can ask for him at the ER."
‘"Sure, of course, I’ll do it. Thanks."
Once the agent has left he realizes he doesn’t even have the Sheriff’s number,
that he will have to call Scott to ask him to contact Stiles’ father and tell
him that he is alive and flying to the hospital. He fidgets with his phone
while he sees the ambulance getting smaller in the distance.
He didn’t tell them he was Stiles' boyfriend or his partner or simply lied
saying he was a family member, and he didn’t even try to use his alpha
authority to get into the fucking ambulance without any other explanation. He
just thought Stiles was in the best hands, was going to the hospital where he
could get the help he needed now. And he even convinced himself that nothing
else mattered, that he was ok and this was the only way things could be, the
way they should be. 
So right now he is wandering outside the hospital, pacing and waiting for a
call from Scott, not daring to go inside to find a rejection he wouldn’t be
able to face after the day he's had. He keeps listening to all the noises
coming from inside the building, the casual conversations, the hurried steps,
the coughing, the soft cries, trying to get a hint of what was going on with
Stiles, but getting nothing from his effort. What he wasn’t expecting was a
call from the Sheriff.
"Derek. It’s Stiles’ father, we are in room 101, I thought you would like to
know. In fact, I thought you would have found your way here earlier…"
And now he is inside a room where an unconscious Stiles is recovering from the
blood lose and the transfusion he needed, from all the scratches and bruises
and cuts covering his whole body, but mainly from the big wound along his left
leg, the one that liberated him enough so that when Derek got to him he just
had to remove the door of the Jeep to take him from there, a few seconds before
that whole area went on fire.
Scott is there, as well as the Sheriff and Melissa, and they shouldn’t be all
allowed to be there for so long, in fact only Stiles’ dad has the legal right
to stay for the night. But Melissa knows that family is much more than papers
and finds the way to sneak Scott and Derek inside without being noticed,
werewolf hearing ready to detect when someone else is coming for regular checks
on Stiles.
They spend the night having brief naps on the uncomfortable hospital chairs,
pacing and stretching their limbs while waiting for any changes, and when he
goes down for a little breakfast in the morning of course it is when Stiles
decides to open his eyes with a deep and harsh breath. Scott sends him a rushed
'awake' text and when he storms back to the corridor where Stiles’ room is, the
door is closed and there’s one doctor checking Stiles' vital signs and talking
with the Sheriff, so the rest of them have to patiently wait outside until they
are told. At least now visits are allowed and they won’t have to hide anymore.
Thanks for small mercies…
When they finally can go back to the room, Stiles is nothing more than a long
flat motionless protuberance on top of the hospital mattress, face and hands
almost whiter than the sheets. He lost a lot of blood and despite the new one
he received yesterday he is still very weak. His dad is by his side, and
Melissa is working with the medical devices still connected to his body. Scott
gets closer to him immediately to pat his head affectionately, squeezing his
shoulder and smiling softly.
Derek feels terribly out of place, like he is intruding at a very intimate
family gathering, and hesitates before moving towards the bed, looking for a
second at the Sheriff before timidly approaching Stiles. He awkwardly shuffles
across the room until he reaches the bed, looking at the sunken eyes of the boy
lying there, brushing his cheek with care with the side of his hand and
lowering his face for a quick kiss on his forefront, obviously not expecting
the bold reaction he immediately generates. Because Stiles clearly didn’t want
subtlety there, or wariness or a tiptoe approach of any way, if one would tell
by the strong pull at Derek’s arm and the way he throws his arms around his
neck and his back as if he is drowning and Derek is his only chance to survive.
He buries his face on the crook of his neck, eyes strongly shut, dipping the
fingertips of one hand on his hair while he strokes his shirt with the other,
claw-like. Derek can't fight it, doesn’t want to, so he just gives in and lets
himself go into the hug, not giving a shit about what the other’s will think
about it.
This is an end-of-the-world hug, a speaking hug, one that says things like "I
thought I'd never see you again, I thought I wouldn’t touch you again, I
thought we were both dead.” Working in a hospital Melissa has seen this kind of
hug many times, but never with someone she cares so much involved on it.
Because Stiles is not her son, but she has known him since he was four and knew
and appreciated his mother and is close to his father, so he’s not only his
son’s best friend, he is someone she loves. And Derek… well Derek is Derek, and
she is smart enough to realize that Scott probably wouldn’t have made it
without Stiles and Derek by his side, even when he didn’t want the later or
disagreed with both.
Scott is blatantly looking at them while their upper bodies and heads are so
intricately entangled, and something hard and cold seems to melt inside of him,
a frostbite made of his own stubbornness and his proberbial lack of empathy. He
continues staring and when he sees Derek so exposed he starts to think that
maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to allow him to be part of his life as well, to
formally accept to be part of the pack, at least temporarily. Derek has
obviously made mistakes, but maybe he’s not the only one, and probably his
intentions weren’t that bad after all.
The Sheriff is suffering, because he’s the one who can better understand the
meaning of that hug, the kind of deep affection that he once had even if it
couldn’t last long, and he knows what it is like losing it, how life has
forever lost its colors for him and wishes with all of his heart that Stiles
doesn’t have to hurt that way. But of course Stiles would be looking for this
kind of relationship, because he’s nothing but his mother’s son. And hopefully
Derek is less breakable than most, less likely to vanish leaving an empty hole
impossible to be filled again.
When Stiles finally lets Derek go he doesn't even try to conceal the wetness of
his eyes or the goofy smile that he is wearing or the warm light that fires on
his gaze. He just starts chattering with all of them with a rough but relieved
voice, loosening to the comfort of having them all there, safe and close.
Scott is asking Stiles’ dad about the accident and the other injured people
when Derek approaches Stiles again and carefully places his hand under the bed
sheets, very softly touching his injured leg. Dark lines start to crawl along
his arm while his face contracts as he takes the pain from Stiles. John is
facing them while he talks with Scott and his face goes blank when he sees
Stiles’ features relax under Derek’s touch.
"I didn’t know you could do that", he tells Scott.
Scott turns to see Derek removing his hand from Stiles’ leg, his face slowly
returning to his normal contained expression.
"Yeah, well, it’s not something you would do at anytime or for anyone. It
hurts, you know?" He replies with a slightly guilty face. After a few moments
of hesitation he goes back to the crash, asking if any other students were
hurt.
During the morning they are told Stiles will need a few days at the hospital
but that he will be released as soon as he feels stronger and the medication
has had some time to act, so they are all feeling good that this time the “only
natural” threat has been overcome and they are coming out of it almost ok.
Well, not for the Jeep, of course.
So John is now questioning Derek while thoroughly examining his own hands:
"Derek, can I ask you something? Could you please take my son to and back from
school for a few days once he can go back? Only until we find the way to
replace his Jeep… I could tell him to use his bicycle, but with that leg I
don’t think it is the best option."
Derek can’t disguise the smug smile on his face, and Stiles chuckles when he
catches it. "Not problem at all Sheriff, I’m still trying to figure out which
kind of job I should be start looking for, so I’m still the only owner of my
time."
That really catches John's attention and is now looking at Derek with sincere
interest. ‘Great, thanks. It’s good to hear you’re thinking about your
professional future, besides being the leader of the local pack. Tell me if you
want to discuss any options, ok? I might have a few ideas, or at least I could
share some information with you, since I know most of the companies and jobs
around’, and he hesitates for one second before going on to a more personal
land. "Also… you can call me John."
"Ok, John, and thanks, I will take you up on your offer." Derek is the perfect
image of formality, reliability and politeness now, even his eyebrows seem
thinner, tamed...
But the Sheriff is really uncomfortable and clearly not finished. "Great,
and... thanks to you. I... I would like to apologize, because I might have been
unfair to you, although I hope you understood my motivations. I still think
this won’t be a bed of roses, but what is, anyway?"
He sighs and looks at the window, obviously in a hurry to finish and fly from
there.
"Just don’t expect me to call you son, ok?"
Derek opens his eyes even more, but he doesn't flinch. "Of course John, that's
just right."
The Sheriff nods and looks away. "Mmm, I’m going downstairs to pick something
to eat, ok? Call me if you need me."
Of course Stiles has a say to that. "Hey, dad, just FYI, I will ask Scott to
smell your breath when you come back. So, behave, ok? Or brush your teeth
before opening the door. I lost blood, remember, not cell brains." If that's a
vengeance, nobody is going to blame Stiles.
"Dude, that was gross!" Scott mutters, and keeps asking Derek about the option
of having a real job, because he had been surprised by the statement and wants
to check if that's a real thing or just a way to impress Stiles’ dad.
John has his hand on the door handle when he whispers, ‘Not yet.’
He wanted to say it only for himself, but he remembered too late about
werewolves’ damned superhearing and now he realizes Derek had stopped talking
for a good couple of seconds after he let the two words escape his mouth.
~ 
So right now, as Derek walks to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he thinks
about these last years in perspective and can’t believe how much things have
changed, how at one point he thought he had lost everything and would never
have anything again, and then here he is, with new hopes, finding that life was
reinventing itself one more time. He will never forget the ones he’s lost, and
it’s a sad long list, but he can move on now, can finally think about the
future with an exciting mixture of expectation and confidence. Somehow the
extremely rough live he had leaving in the train depot, running from one place
to the other, hiding, risking his life and almost hoping to lose it, gave him a
dark, sick satisfaction, and he had needed it after he lost Laura. But at one
point he had to either change or die. Thankfully then he realized Stiles was
there, even if Derek wasn't selfish enough to try to be with him and had to
wait until Stiles decided to make the first move. But he wanted to be a better
person, just in case, and that sufficed for a while. He can't believe he was so
lucky that Stiles found him alluring enough to try to get closer to him, in
spite of all the barriers and spines. Or maybe it was because of them.
Anyway, he's still coming to terms with the fact that this is his life now,
that it includes a nice, functional place to crash into, a bunch of people he
can relax with, who make him feel like team and family and a boy with the
warmest eyes and the lushest mouth, who turns his word around and makes his
body react in ways he wouldn't have imagined before...
It was only a couple of nights ago but he can't stop thinking, reviving the
memories, the images. Here, upstairs from where he is standing just now. Whilst
he lied flat on the bed Stiles rode him like he owned him, all the shyness and
insecurity and doubts of the first times gone, disappeared, replaced by a
magnificent self, beautiful and splendid while moving, glowing under the faint
light with a slightly arched back. They still have to live a lot, but he swears
that until today this is the most perfect image he has ever laid eyes on, the
one he will invoke if he ever thinks death is finally getting him.
Stiles took him in one single slow thrust, already open and soaked for him,
with the look of someone who was in command, who didn’t expect anything less
than humble obedience, but only because he wanted absolute liberty to worship
the object of his desire. He was swagging and enjoying the pleasurable
suffering he was creating for Derek, reacting to his every little whines and
loud moans, adapting his movements and smiling all the time with an open mouth
and narrowed eyes, biting his own lips and letting Derek see his tongue darting
outside, a wet promise for later. He got Derek crazy close to release only to
then relent to an excruciatingly indolent pace and going abruptly stronger a
second later, everything while he stroke himself obscenely, offering himself to
Derek but not allowing the lying man to touch him. He mastered Derek and could
focus and work on his sensations until he made him forget his own name or his
lover's name. Derek always thought he liked to control everything and now he
discovered that the best he had ever felt was being at the mercy of another
person, trusting another body to make the right decisions, to drive him,
letting Stiles take Derek to places he didn't even know they existed at all.
He could only try to root there in flesh and soul.
It would have been extremely easy for him to take Stiles by his hips and take
the lead, forcing the rhythm and speed the way he liked. But he was in heaven
and didn’t want to alter anything, so he just tried to grip the bedpost with
his hands to immobilize them while he let himself being pushed to the edge
until he lost all contact with any reality that wasn’t their sweaty jointed
bodies. And when he came, for a few moments he felt his and Stiles' bodies on
the air, supported by his hands and feet only, while Stiles' cum landed all
over his chest and face.
And until then Derek thought sex was about genitals and orgasms... maybe biting
as well, in his wild dreams. Fuck it! So stupid, so simple... Now he knows
that's only the tip of an iceberg full of lips and tongues and hands and
nipples and eyes and delicate fingertips… and the vast universe of movements
and sensations you can create with them... and he was taught that by a boy
under twenty who has been sexually involved with him only. Some things are
really innate...
He knows he wouldn’t have any of this with anyone else, that Stiles is the
silver thread that knits all his pieces together, the one person, apart from
his mother, who has always believed in him without doubts or fears, and he
would do anything to keep him by his side. Because despite his own fucked life
Derek still refuses to believe in fate, he’s the owner of his own decisions and
faces the consequences with either pride or remorse, but he will allow an
exception with Stiles, because maybe this is his only chance, the one the
universe has put in his path in order to reconcile him with something bigger
and stronger.
So, destiny or not, he is clever enough to acknowledge the uniqueness of what
he has and to understand that these kinds of opportunities are scarce and
precious. He feels a warm sensation in his chest that he doesn’t know if it’s
gratitude, affection or a strange sense of elation, but he wants to chase this
feeling, catch it and cage it and keep it forever, safe and protected inside of
him.
***** The Forest *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
They are running through the woods at night, naked under a silvery blue
moonlight that gives them the aspect of wild beings, ruled by nature, owned by
nobody.
They go deeper and deeper into the forest, not following any trail or path,
confident that Derek’s instinct and knowledge of the place will keep them safe
for as long as they want to be there. They are not intruders, just part of a
world that might have been forgotten for too long, and they easily blend with
it without disturbing any of its permanent, mostly silent, inhabitants.
Stiles marvels at the fact that werewolves don’t inexorably end up following
the cry of the wild and get lost there, never returning to what is called
civilization. He feels his chest expanding with freedom, here. Things are
simpler, pure, and for the first time he thinks it would be good to accept the
bite and disappear in the deepest of the woods with Derek, living in the
mountain without the pressures of the city or the fear of human predators. But
then he remembers his dad, Scott, Allison, Isaac, Lydia and all the others, and
knows that they will come back, that this is just a nice temptation that won’t
become true, at least not for a long while. But tonight he can feel the pull of
nature clear and strong in his heart and he thinks he understands his furry
friends a bit better.
He’s not a wolf and doesn’t know if he will ever be, but has been running with
them for long enough to spontaneously behave like them in many ways, and
sometimes he feels closer to the animal part of his being than to the rational
side of his brain.
When Stiles is too tired to keep up with Derek’s pace or when the terrain is
too rough for his thick now but still human bare soles, he easily climbs the
back of the werewolf and allows his strong friend to carry him for a while. He
smiles and raises his chin to the wind, smelling the scent of the trees, the
mud, the distant water, enjoying the sensation of their bared skins rubbing
against each other. Even if he can’t clearly distinguish them with the blur
light, he thinks that the fall leaves are the same warm brown color as his own
eyes and that some of the trunks have the green gray tone of Derek’s, and the
cheesy comparison gives him a warm sense of belonging inside his chest, of
being where he is meant to be, the only place he can be absolutely free.
Then they find a clearing surrounded by thick pines and crossed by a thin
stream with chill clear water and they stop, astonished by its serene
beauty. Driven by the pure joy of being there together they start playing
unashamedly under a cold crescent moon, chasing each other, jumping and rolling
over the wet grass until they are panting, holding hands, rubbing their noses,
clumsily kissing until they stop and lay down to rest, relaxed under a distant
shelter knitted by a thousand stars. Suddenly though, one of them is up again
and cheerfully resumes running, letting his feet take any direction, closely
followed by the other, their footsteps and breaths and little whines the only
sounds breaking the still of the night.
They don’t need words to communicate, their bodies and eyes are more than
enough, and sentences would seem strangely out of place here, would break their
connection with the moon and the moist soil under their feet, the trees and the
cold stones that have gained their right to be there over centuries of slow
movement and adaptation, that deserve all the respect and care the two of them
can muster.
Finally they find a small, mostly dry hollow at the feet of a big white fir,
covered with moss and fallen leaves, and Derek takes Stiles by his waist,
gently pushing him down with him towards the rich smelling bed. And he caresses
his back and kisses his head and his shoulders, mouthing at his neck to obtain
the primitive comfort of closeness, of basic skin to skin contact, like little
children and animals still know how to do. Stiles counters with as much love
and care until they both fall asleep, Derek hugging and covering most of
Stiles’ body to keep him warm during the rest of the autumn night. Before
closing his eyes, though, Derek briefly reaches down to brush that scar in
Stiles left leg that he is so fond of, so proud.
And until the morning sun slowly awakes them by turning blue and silver into
light orange, Stiles will hold Derek’s hand tightly with his own, fingers laced
as a permanent reminder of a bond beyond any rules.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry, I know I took way too many licenses in this chapter, but I
     liked the way it was coming and didn't want to alter it with
     unnecessary (?) logic...
End Notes
     Since I'm an insecure writer and not a native English speaker, any
     corrections or comments are more than welcome!
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