Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4063540.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinksi, Scott_McCall, Sheriff_Stilinski, Melissa
      McCall, Lydia_Martin, Alan_Deaton, Isaac_Lahey, Danny_Mahealani, Kira
      Yukimura
  Additional Tags:
      Fluff, Angst, Sexual_Content, Relationship(s), Friendship, Hurt/Comfort,
      Humor, Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-02 Updated: 2015-06-05 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4299
****** Perhaps there's hope for Beacon Hills yet ******
by ChristianJ
Summary
     Stiles just couldn't believe his luck: He had the exclusive privilege
     of sitting next to the 'legendary' werewolf Derek Hale on a late
     night reconissance mission following reports of ominous and varied
     supernatural elements from the county police. Seriously; the Universe
     must hate him.
Notes
     Hello! I haven't actually written much in the way of fan fiction
     before, this is very much my first delve. I admit, I haven't really
     ventured that much in to 'fandom' in general - I still get a bit
     confused by the whole concept of 'shipping'! ^_^.
     The inspiration for this story came to me idly during a conversation
     with a group of friends, so the initial direction may not be that
     immediate.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Star Wars... Really? *****
Stiles just couldn't believe his luck: He had the exclusive privilege of
sitting next to the 'legendary' werewolf Derek Hale on a late night
reconnaissance mission following reports of ominous and varied supernatural
elements from the county police. Seriously; the Universe must hate him. What
had made it worse was that he hadn't even been warned about the dark, or the
cold wind, or the fact that they would be sat outdoors in the damp for at least
two hours. In the forest. Alone. With Derek - who held an unwarranted and deep
hatred of him.
Derek had his eyes closed for most of the time - that's why they were out here
- listening for any suspicious noises. He had neglected, however, to mention
why Stiles had to be there. Stiles assumed that he must've been a sadist or
something. Why else would he feel the need to torture one of the only people in
the town who he could actually talk to about his werewolf-y experiences?
All of this idle sitting had driven Stiles mad. He'd used almost all of the
battery on his phone playing games, untied and retied his shoelaces dozens of
times, paced all around the forest and even attempted ill-fated conversations
with Derek. Following one of his many explorations deeper into the forest, he
laid his back against a nearby tree, crossed one leg over the other, and let
out an elongated yawn. He posed "Anything on the radar, mission control?" to a
meditative Derek, receiving a "Hmmph" in return. Not even a word. Just some
weird exhalation. Great. "Ahhh... You see, your moody grunts and narrow
eyebrows don't work on me anymore, Derek. I'm going to need a little bit more
of a response from the guy who's had me waiting here for hours." Stiles
produced a caricature of Derek's frowny, tough-guy face as he waited for a
response.
Derek opened his eyes and moved to face Stiles, but retained a neutral face.
"Funny. You're not scared of the... Big. Bad. Wolf? I've read all the stories.
How brave you must be. Perhaps that's why I called you out here?". Satisfied
with his retort, Derek followed with a flash of fangs and a low growl.
Stiles nodded mockingly, feigning laughter "Gooood one. I didn't know you even
had a concept of literature - and besides," Stiles crossed his arms, mustering
his best Yoda impression "Fear leads to anger; anger leads to hate; hate leads
to suffering."
"Huh," Derek shifted, lifting an eyebrow and tilting his head, but retaining
his typical unimpressed expression "Star Wars... Really?"
"Whoa, dude. You're like blowing my mind right now," Stiles, energetic as ever,
gesticulated an explosion from his head, "You actually know some pop culture!?
Who are you?" prodding Derek in the arm with a single, inquisitive finger "What
have you done with Derek?"
Derek scoffed at this, brushing Stiles' hand away. "There's no need for
celebration, twerp. They were my father's favorite movies. Practically my
childhood." A brief moment of wistfulness appeared on Derek's face before he
ground the back of his teeth, resuming his dismissive expression.
After a few minutes of blank, borderline existential stares and the ambience of
wind against the tree tops, Stiles eventually broke the silence with a devilish
grin "You're totally a Jar Jar fan, aren't you?".
Hearing Stiles' obviously sarcastic tone, Derek replied "Yeah, almost as much
as your love for little Anakin - you have the impression right down to that
whiny voice of his.", breaking into a small smirk.
Stiles was truly astounded by what he'd heard; He'd anticipated one of Derek's
typical arrogant displays of aggressive 'banter'. He delivered, of course, but
it almost felt as if they were having an actual conversation with actual
joking. And Star Wars, like, his favorite series of all time was being
referenced to his face. By Derek. He'd tried for years to get Scott to watch at
least the original trilogy - what's not to love, right? They're classics! But
here he was, essentially accusing Derek, of all people, of heresy. He shrugged
slightly "Yeah, right. You lo-ove this whiny voice. Come on, then. Who's your
favorite Star Wars character, seriously?" He was eager to capitalise on this
seemingly 'once in a lifetime' conversation. Finally, he thought, perhaps
there's hope for Beacon Hills yet. And the chance to talk to Derek, of course.
Maybe they could finally drop some of the animosity - It was getting hard to
think of witty comebacks being on his toes after all this time.
"I haven't given it much thought," Derek took a moment to contemplate. "I
suppose it'd have to be Chewbacca." He could see Stiles failing to conceal his
amusement with a frown, so he felt compelled to explain. "When me and my sister
were little, it always seemed like our Dad was watching the original trilogy. I
must've watched it passively like a hundred times. When we played in the woods,
our enhanced hearing often idly picked up on the TV - it was actually quite a
good training exercise - but more often than not, we'd get confused because of
Chewie's... sounds? I can even remember thinking that he was a really powerful
werewolf. You should watch them again and just listen to his 'dialogue'. For an
actor just making a silly noises, his performance is actually quite visceral.
Sometimes we even thought one of our pack was in trouble when they escape from
Hoth in 'Empire." He smiled; there was no way Laura could've genuinely be
fooled by that, she must've just been playing along. Derek hadn't actually
intended on articulating some giant justification for his decision to name
Chewbacca as his favorite character, but it kind of felt nice knowing that
Stiles could at least sympathise with both the werewolf and the Star Wars
aspect of his little story - he hadn't met too many 'supernaturals' since the
fire that were really interested in popular culture. They mostly just brooded
and plotted their evil plans, and it seemed like most normal people just
watched the Star Wars series once, on a re-run, when they had nothing else to
do on a lazy Sunday.
Stiles was astounded by this. Derek Hale could genuinely smile. And he loved
Star Wars as much as Stiles did. He felt like pinching himself. Seriously. They
must've been ambushed or something. Maybe they were knocked out or Derek had
been trodden in some wolfsbane. Could wolfsbane induce some psychedelia? He
digressed, though that clearly warranted some investigation from Deaton. "So if
you're Chewie, that must make Han, surely?" He winked, cracking a playful
smile.
"Don't get cocky, kid," Derek was now properly grinning. Up until now he hadn't
had anything in common with the weedy little spazz, yet he had just willfully
quoted Han Solo to him. Perhaps he was hallucinating on wolfsbane.
"Dude, seriously. Blowing. My. Mind. I didn't know you were actually
interesting! This changes everything!" He made the explosion gesture again.
Derek looked as if he was actually entertained. His face looked happy and
everything. Stiles could probably count the amount of times he'd seen Derek
legitimately smile on one hand. And most of those times it was usually when
Stiles had gotten something wrong or had tripped over. What an unbelievable
asshole. King of the Assholes; President of the Asshole Association. Other than
this shock discovery, the only other thing he really had going for him was his
physique... and his hair. And his surprisingly modern fashion sense. But God
help him when he's all wrinkly and old.
Before they had the chance to further geek out, the moment's silence was
claimed by the basic ringtone on Derek's phone. "Scott. Any trouble?"
"Nope! We've sweeped the place. I've called Deaton; he's had no new customers.
Did you and Stiles hear anything?"
"No, it looks like they weren't looking for trouble."
"Alright, we'll head home then. Hey - do you think you could hold off any
random supernatural events 'til friday? All of these late night run-arounds
you've been taking us on aren't doing any good for my grades."
Derek tensed his brow and sighed. "Yes, Scott. If trouble comes, I'll just tell
them to reschedule for non-school nights."
Unsurprisingly, Scott ended the call with a "Thanks, jerk."
Derek turned back towards Stiles with a slightly apologetic frown "Uhh... Yeah.
I may have wasted your -"
Stiles interrupted with a "Asshole."
- time," he scratched into his hair as his eyes shifted away "Sorry, Stiles."
Stiles curled the corner of his mouth and nodded slightly in appreciation. "At
least we've discovered that you actually have some redeemable, human
qualities."
Derek's expression dulled. "Don't push it," he beckoned with his hand "Come on,
I'll give you a lift home. Wouldn't want the Sheriff coming to arrest me.
Again." Stiles caught a glimpse of Derek's smug smile on their brisk walk back.
He wondered whether he'd actually get used to seeing Derek using a more
colourful range emotions. He clung on to the hope that he would - For all of
his blatant faults, Derek had seemed like a decent guy, for a brief moment, at
least.
The drive back was relatively quick at that time of night. The car was silent
as both men sank into their thoughts; Derek had felt somewhat guilty for having
taken Stiles with him. It turned out that perhaps there were some 'redeemable,
human qualities' in Stiles too. He admitted that he hadn't exactly treated
Stiles like a person, more of a plaything. Though equally, it was rather fun to
see what he'd do once he'd been wound up. He sighed as he silently agreed that
perhaps it'd be more worthwhile to make some sort of effort in talking to him.
Soon enough, Derek pulled to the side of the road and unlocked the car doors.
Stiles opened the door and began to shuffle out, but not before Derek could
offer a pat to shoulder accompanied with a sincere "Thanks." and a hand raised
in a motionless wave.
Fortunately, most of the lights in the houses were still on, meaning that it
wasn't late enough for Stiles' dad to reprimand him. He had sworn, after all,
that he wouldn't bunk off school tomorrow on the condition that he could go
help with pack business.
***** A Light in the Dark *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles ventures back into his dreams.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Stiles had hoped that his exhaustion would carry him to a restful sleep that
night. The last couple of weeks following the whole ‘Nogitsune debacle’, he’d
found it increasingly hard to sleep uninterrupted. He no longer felt the
presence of the spirit’s consciousness tugging him down towards the murky,
black recesses of his mind, but that didn’t seem to relieve him of the burden.
Following his survival, an innate instinct, morbid curiosity or perhaps another
influence had often led him there in his dreams, and sometimes even in idle
thought.
It was always the dead of night. He’d be at the edge of a forest, approaching a
broad lake smothered in the moon’s kisses. The air was still; a mist could be
seen unfurling over the silver of the lake. The water was never cold, nor did
it object with sound upon entry. His clothes never dampened; his trainers never
became soggy, his jeans withheld their normal position. He’d feel a low hum
ringing in his ears as he ventured further. The stars would mock him and avert
their gaze, leaving only the moon to pity him.
Initially, the lake itself was always shallow. He’d reach the centre
effortlessly within only a couple of minutes. The hum would devour his
thoughts, leaving him alone with the broad moon, which seemed to envelop the
sky. Eventually, a feeling of dread would be conjured in the pit of his
stomach, as he’d feel the world closing in around him; the forest would float
away into nothingness as if it were ink marbling in water. He’d scream and rave
into the night until finally the moon itself would be swallowed into the void.
He’d search in vain for that lost treasure, but only ever found his own echo
wailing back at his cries. The waters would then rise and he would sink into
the black abyss, his voice left floating at the surface.
This is where all of the revolting dust floated, it clogged his vision. The
Nogitsune had been vanquished, but the scars remained. During the brief time
they’d been united, the dark spirit had relished in torturing Stiles with
occasional access to his own eyes. It wanted him to see the pain he was
inflicting on so many innocent lives; he would drink in the colour of the
world, just to be reminded that he would forever be condemned to the darkness
of the lake. In their union, the Nogitsune freely rummaged throughout Stiles’
mind, becoming inspired by the sinister motions that would bubble to the
surface of the lake. Stiles figured that was how the Nogitsune seemed
effortless in the execution of his plans – he could always adapt based on
Stiles’ knowledge and memories.
But in the wake of the Nogitsune’s endeavours, its mind had bled into the lake.
This is what had consumed Stiles’ subsequent dreams. He could see and feel
everything it had done with resounding clarity; Allison’s death perhaps the
most prominent. Stiles understood that he had never been even remotely blamed
for her or any other person’s demise during that time, but he still clung to
that guilt, at least during these dreams, where he was haunted by the remnants
of the Nogitsune: Even in defeat, it had found victory.
What Stiles had seemingly neglected, however, was that this Nogitsune was
ancient. His footprints were a stain that had corroded into the very fabric of
the world. Occasionally, he would slip into the eyes of those who came before.
It had worn many faces, and shattered many minds. Stiles was never proud to
admit that, in truth, the repetition of these disturbing events could only ever
do so much damage; he felt as though he’d been reliving the tragedies of his
life for as long as he could remember – the Nogitsune was only a continuation
of this. He was comforted by the notion that logically, harming a damaged thing
was a somewhat superfluous activity. He conceded that yes, this would obviously
further mutilate that… thing, but at least the satisfaction and effects derived
from that damage would be to a lesser extent. On the first few nights, this is
all that he had needed to allow his guilt and loss to float away; the lake
would ebb with it. The heavens would shine, the stars would dance and laugh
above him. The forest would stir and the moon’s gaze would shroud him once
more, granting him the peace of an empty dream, or lift him back to
consciousness. But in recent times, and tonight especially, he confessed that
this argument was flawed. He had been broken for a long time. The Nogitsune had
fed on his darkest thoughts and ripped open an otherwise healed wound. Just
knowing that he had the capacity for such sinister thoughts disturbed him to
his core.
When he could no longer bear to swallow the foul, torturous concoction of his
own fears and the remnants of the Nogitsune, he would awake in a panic. It felt
as if he’d actually been drowning and water lingered in his lungs as it had in
his mind. His own voice and the comfort of the sky escaped his grasp.
It took several minutes of steady breathing to calm Stiles back to a normal, if
that was the correct word for a sufferer of anxiety and ADHD, state of
consciousness. He had weathered the storm that had come for him, for that he
was glad. But now he was left alone, clutching at his duvet. It was times like
these that he lamented his father’s conversion to a single bed following his
mother’s passing. He could really do with one of those warm Stilinski hugs.
Though, after everything he’s been through, he understood now more than ever
why his father hated the feeling of that empty space next to him. Usually,
people, including Stiles, always found it inside them to complain about the
size of their bed. But he realised now that the sensation of being surrounded
by nothingness was not one of comfort. For him, it felt as though the void
possessed the potential to absorb his very being. He was truly alone. He
assumed that’s what his father felt too, having spent so many years next to the
woman he loved, when she was gone, that space was an empty reminder of what had
been.
Unable to lie comfortably in that knowledge, he found himself pacing around his
bedroom. His eyes had adjusted just enough to make out the figures in the
posters that plastered his wall. After some careful examination, he was drawn
to the soft light that pierced the window. He drew his chair against the wall
and kneeled on top of it. He rested his chin against his folded arms which lay
on the windowsill. He was enthralled by the night sky and how it blanketed the
world below. The pale white in the stars would glance off of windows, and
grazed the orange of the streetlights. His slow breaths clouded the view in
front of him in a haze of condensation. Soon, the faintest promise of blue
indicated that the night was drawing to a close, much to Stiles’ relief. He
watched with eagerness as the black and white retreated from the orange and
blue, as night turned to day.
From that point, the hours blended together until he felt it was time for
breakfast. After fulfilling his daily ablutions, he ventured downstairs. To his
surprise, he found his father sleepily drinking a cup of coffee against the
counter. He greeted him with a groggy “Hey, kiddo,” and straightened his
posture. Clearing his throat, “Good sleep?” was all the Sheriff could muster in
this drowsy state.
“Uh, yeah. You?” It might not have seemed like it, but Stiles hated lying to
his dad. The whole ‘werewolf thing’ almost killed him inside. They had always
shared their secrets. He felt as though these… nightmares, however, were too
inappropriate for him. He really didn’t have it in him to pile even more stress
on top of the mountain his dad was burdened with.
“Not bad. Back’s killing me, though. It’s looking like another full day at the
office for me. Maybe some rest’ll do it good.” He smiled into his cup. “Fancy
anything to eat before I go?” Stiles shook his head and grabbed an apple from
the fruit bowl. He moved into the kitchen and started assorting the pills that
he’d require for the day. “Alrighty, then. I’ll be off,” He finished his coffee
and scoffed the remainder of his breakfast, moving over to Stiles and giving
him that Stilinski hug that Stiles had yearned for in the hours prior. He
patted Stiles’ hair and headed for the front door, coat swung over his
shoulder, and exited. Stiles sighed as he readied himself for a full day at
school.
The day blurred past as lessons blended together in their usual mundane way.
Somehow, Stiles had found himself sat in the cafeteria going for a record
attempt at seeing how many of Kira’s grapes he could fit into his mouth, much
to the delight of those around the table. Such was his life in recent times –
he’d become even more absent minded than usual – but always found solace in his
friends (He was the best at telling jokes, after all). Nonetheless, he had no
idea what had brought him to this situation. Had he been dared? It didn’t
really matter, though, as soon enough he could really fit no more grapes in
without choking, “Seventeen!” according to Kira and Danny. Fortunately, Lydia,
who seemed both appalled and entertained, was on hand with tissues to wipe away
all of the saliva that had dribbled down him.
Even though what he’d done was gross, by his standards at least, Stiles had a
brief moment of contentment as he looked around the table. Lydia was stifling
glee as she finished with the tissues, pushing them to the centre of the table.
Isaac had stood up to avoid one of the tissues that had accidentally blown his
way, picking up the small ball and inspecting it. His laughter betrayed his
wrinkled nose as he pointed out a significant pool of drool oozing down the
tissue. Then there was Danny and Kira, holding each other in fits of hysterical
laughter. Though the two of them had only joined the ‘pack’ recently, it was
clear that they were perfectly suited to Stiles’ level of humour. Scott was
noticeably absent; Coach had him caught up with lacrosse tactics. According to
Isaac and Lydia, Malia had been put in detention for, well, he couldn’t
remember why, but this was Malia after all. He looked out from behind his
friends to the other tables in the cafeteria that stared back in disgust, as if
they were a pack of delusional monkeys.
It must’ve been a few minutes of absent wonder before he resumed in the group’s
interactions. It appeared that Kira and Isaac were trying to convince Danny to
take up one of their respective fighting styles; Isaac had his fists drawn
close to his face, throwing light punches into the air whereas Kira was slicing
with open palms. In that moment he realised that Lydia was ignoring this
argument, instead looking directly at Stiles with upturned eyebrows and a
sympathetic pout. “Is there still some grape left on my face?” Stiles asked,
wiping his hand around his mouth.
Lydia didn’t respond immediately, shaking her head and producing a soft smile
“Are you okay, Stiles? You seem… I don’t know… More lost than usual?” Her arm
lifted from her lap and gently rubbed Stiles’ shoulder.
Stiles appreciated the warmth that emanated from her touch. Her gentle way of
making contact was one of the immediate origins of his crush on her all those
years ago. Had she done this only a short while back, Stiles was sure that he’d
have been rendered catatonic. “I’m fine, Lydia. Seriously. Just a bit tired,
you know? I didn’t catch much sleep last n-“
Lydia sharply interrupted under her breath “I knew that wasn’t going to end
well.” She shook her head once more.
Stiles inferred that she was talking about last night’s run (or lack thereof)
around. “No, no. It’s not that, really, I-“
“Stiles,” She shushed him, patting his shoulder. “Me and Derek tried to tell
Scott that you’re not just going to be able to bounce back after what’s
happened.” A confused expression was painted across Stiles’ face. “Yesterday,
before we called you out, we met up to discuss whether you were ready for
action. I hope you don’t take any offence to this, but Derek and I can at least
sympathise with what you’ve experienced. We felt it best to let you find us
when you were willing… But Scott didn’t agree. We’re all still reeling from
Allison’s passing,” Lydia sighed and ruffled through Stiles’ unkempt hair. “I
think Scott is blaming himself because he’s the Alpha. If anything, he just
wants to make sure that you’re safe. He knows that he definitely couldn’t
forgive himself if anything happened to you. I think he wants you back so that
he can feel normal again. We tried to make him understand our view, but he
wouldn’t listen. He’s the Alpha.” She shrugged and briefly turned her head back
towards the group. Lydia lifted her head slightly before returning her face to
Stiles’ “Though, Derek did have him make one concession: That you’d accompany
him to the preserve instead of the rest of us. He told me afterwards that at
least you’d be able to breathe and you wouldn’t have to deal with any immediate
stress,” Her bottom lip faintly protruded for a moment. Lydia then dragged
Stiles into an otherwise unwarranted, but friendly hug. “But it looks like that
didn’t help much. Stiles, have you seen yourself lately? I don’t mean to be
rude, but your skin’s losing its…“ Lydia mustered a somewhat sarcastic tone
“…‘Natural Stilinski quality’.”
Dumbfounded, Stiles was at a loss for things to say. He felt a bit insulted
that his three friends were treating him like an invalid, but simultaneously
flattered by the concept. He was then even more confused by the idea that he’d
just referred to Lydia, the former ‘love of his life’, and Derek, the
emotionally detached supermodel (who still struck a quiet fear in Stiles,
though he’d never admit that to anyone) as his friends. In hindsight, though
the nightmare had still caught him, he had appreciated that meditative time in
the forest. He thought he was frustrated with Derek’s stoic nature, but it was
actually quite calming. Given that his other options would’ve been to either
stay home or run around needlessly with his overly anxious friends, he felt
grateful that Derek had stepped in.
When Lydia pulled away from the hug, he found himself looking down at his
chest. He noticed how the clothes he was wearing did hang somewhat loose, and
the skin on the back of his hand was uncharacteristically white. He smiled back
at Lydia “I’ll have to get to work on that. Thanks, Lyd. Really.”
They returned to the conversation that had apparently continued behind them to
find Isaac and Kira leaning over Danny to have an arm wrestle. Over the grunts
and strains between the werewolf and the kitsune, Danny acknowledged them.
“Don’t worry, you really haven’t missed anything. At all.” This confession
prompted laughter to erupt from the table once more.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry for the lag between updates! :)
End Notes
     Please leave any criticism from which I can continue to base my work
     (being a complete noob, it'd be best to iron out any gaps whilst I
     still have the chance). Thanks! :D
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!