Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1876077.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey/
      Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent/Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall, Cora_Hale/OMC
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin,
      Isaac_Lahey, Cora_Hale, Danny_Mahealani, Peter_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Mid-season_3, Misunderstandings, web_of_lies, Cora_Hale_&_Stiles
      Stilinski_Bromance, Backstory, Derek_Hale_is_Bad_at_Feelings, Oblivious
      Stiles, Stiles_Stilinski_Is_Bad_At_Feelings, Polyamous_Pack, Scott_is_a
      Good_Friend, Allison_is_a_Peach, Lydia_Can't_Understand_Them_All, Danny
      Just_Wants_to_Help, Beacon_High_Makes_It's_Own_Entertainment, I_Put_Money
      on_Scott/Stiles_Too, New_Mythical_Bad, Comedy_of_Errors, Angst_with_a
      Happy_Ending, the_sheriff_finds_out, Argent_Family, Argent_Family_is
      Cray-Cray, Fake_German_and_Spanish, Cora_is_Sneaky_Like_a_Fox, Cora
      Backstory, Original_Characters_-_Freeform, The_Adults_Team_Up_Too, Team
      Parent, Some_Books_Were_Damaged, Mention_of_Erica_and_Boyd_Deaths_:(,
      Alternate_Canon, hints_at_3B, F-ing_Nemeton, The_Japanese_is_Real_Though
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-01 Words: 64860
****** Science of Evasion ******
by gsmaxwell
Summary
     Derek had thought Cora had died in the fire. There was a stamp on her
     files, somewhere, with a bright red DECEASED and a life insurance
     policy processed, paid, and received. It wasn’t like they could just
     stroll into the school office and enroll midyear whoopsie-daisy do-
     over without some kind of legal explanation. However when Stiles
     mentioned it Cora looked at him like he had suggested disemboweling
     puppies.
     But, as time wore on, it became obvious that though the Hales self-
     described as a ‘close-knit family pack’ there was only so long those
     strings could last without fraying.
Notes
     So, guys, I thought it would be funny in the beginning to write a
     comedy of errors story about Cora and Stiles and Derek BUT THEN IT
     TURNED INTO THIS AND I'M SUPER SORRY ABOUT IT.
     I've been writing this on and off since the end of Season 3B and I
     figured I'd post it now that it has finished consuming my soul and
     making me cry at night. I hope you all get some entertainment!
Stiles got it. His dad was a cop. After his mom had died, he had spent most of
his time after school at the station doing homework while his father poured
over countless mountains of paper works: parking tickets, birth certificates,
death certificates, licenses, registrations, applications, paper, paper, paper,
check, check, check. Police work was boring except when something horrible was
happening and recently Stiles had begun to hate his younger self for leaping at
every radio call.
 
Derek had thought Cora had died in the fire. There was a stamp on her files,
somewhere, with a bright red DECEASED and a life insurance policy processed,
paid, and received. It wasn’t like they could just stroll into the school
office and enroll midyear whoopsie-daisy do-over without some kind of legal
explanation. However, when Stiles mentioned it, Cora looked at him like he had
suggested disemboweling puppies.
 
It hadn’t really been a problem-- at first. Cora hadn’t exactly been
forthcoming with how she had escaped the Hale fire, where she had been for the
last six years, and why she didn’t seem inclined to return to where that had
been. She had seemed perfectly content to remain locked up in Derek’s loft with
Derek and Peter, the scowling eyebrows and toothy sarcasm scarily genetic
whenever Stiles was over. It was like the Hales were one person, only they came
in different flavours of angst, sass and rage. That kind of lifestyle didn’t
need any kind of paperwork so Stiles let it slide.
 
But, as time wore on, it became obvious that though the Hales self-described as
a ‘close-knit family pack’ there was only so long those strings could last
without fraying.
 
“I’m not your housemaid!”
 
Stiles just needed a book. One little book. A book shouldn’t have had him
caught in what looked like Big Brother: The Lycanthropy Season Special.
 
“Considering the way you leave you stuff around the place makes that perfectly
obvious,” that biting voice was definitely Derek. Stiles had been on the
receiving end of that particular level of distain many times. “And don’t think
I didn’t see you sneak in last night.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t sneak if you weren’t following me everywhere!” she snapped.
 
“I’m your Alpha! You have to listen to me!”
 
“You’re notmom!”
 
The air in the room had gone from heated to intense fury level ten as Derek’s
eyes glowed red and his growl shifted to a low, thundering roar. Cora’s eyes
changed yellow and there was a horrible ripping sounds as Derek threw the book
he had been holding in his hands against an exposed pipe. Stiles glanced around
wildly hoping that someone else was home, someone less susceptible to razor
sharp claws and adolescent tempers, to intervene but there was only Peter
watching with a gleeful smirk from the winding staircase.
 
“Okay, enough!” Stiles closed the door behind him with a bang, startling the
two back to full human. Stiles hadn’t thought he had been particularly stealthy
but from the surprised looks they had been too involved to hear his approach.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I could have been anyone! There’s a pack of
Alpha werewolves out there, hunting for your blood, in case you’ve forgotten.”
 
“Stay out of it,” Derek snapped. He grabbed the presumably offensive shirt off
the ground and threw it at Cora’s face. “And you, clean up after yourself.”
 
Cora growled but Derek stomped off before she could leap at his throat.
 
“Jesus,” Stiles let out a breath. “Who’s the teenage girl in this apartment? No
offense, Cora.”
 
She wasn’t even listening to him. Her eyes were trained on the gaping stone
wall that Derek had left through. In the little time she had been here, Stiles
had only seen her go from Quiet Anger to Violent Rage without any space left on
her emotions barometer. Her lips were still curled in a snarl and she almost
seemed to be vibrating like a wire about to snap. He couldn’t stare for long
though because she glanced at him, the needle quickly tipping somewhere in the
familiar red. “What are you looking at?” she snapped.
 
“Nothing, what?” Stiles said quickly.
 
She rolled her eyes at him. “He’s such an ass sometimes. Dickhead!” She shouted
the last word into the next room but if Derek replied it was inaudible to
Stiles’s human ears. “What are you doing here anyway? Does the high school let
you out early if you get declared incompetent?” she spat out the ‘high school’
like it was a dirty word which made Stiles raise an eyebrow.
 
Stiles bit his tongue and counted to three slowly before continuing. “Just
looking for a book. The book Peter promised to lend me,” he glanced to the
stairs where Peter, who had obviously gotten bored as soon as the yelling had
stopped, had started to retreat up.
 
“Oh, yes,” Peter paused and slowly let his eyes drift from Stiles to the
whirlwind of paper scattered around where Derek had been standing. “You should
ask our Alpha about that one.”
 
“For the love of God,” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose because there had
been important, not yet digitalized information in that one. He looked up at
Cora who was still glaring furiously at the empty space Derek had left.
 
Besides the scattered papers over the ground, the place was looking
surprisingly clean. The battered desk Derek liked to lounge over as if he was
some kind of CEO had been moved. A couch was there instead on top of a muted
area rug that almost blended into the concrete. Someone had obviously put in an
effort to set up some kind of kitchen with a hot plate and mini fridge next to
a counter running along one wall and one of the pipes hooked into a free
standing sink. There were even dishes in the dish rack and a shiny new wood
table with chairs occupying the place.
 
If Stiles didn’t know better he would have thought someone was trying to make
this place homey, despite the literal bare and exposed bones of the building’s
foundation. He glanced at Cora, wondering if this was some kind of girl nesting
instinct but, as she dropkicked the shirt spitefully onto couch with more
deadly force than cotton blends deserved, that seemed unlikely. Stiles
swallowed hard and she glanced at him because he knew his heart was starting to
beat faster as a horrible, probably regrettable, idea formed.
 
“Look, I’ll spring you from the clutches of your prima donna brother if you
help me piece this thing back together.”
 
Cora snorted and filling tore her eyes away to give him an indignant look. “Why
would I help you?”
 
“I’ve got Chinese on speed dial, the first season of Lost Girl on my Netflix,
and a house devoid of parental figures tonight.” He tried to look as non-
threatening as he could. “It’ll be… fun.”
 
She looked at him, starting slowly from his wore sneakers up his body like she
was registering every frayed hem and newly announced pimple in a database. He
immediately regretted his offer but before he could try to make an excuse she
seemed to come to a decision. “Good Chinese. The one with the crunchy spring
rolls downtown.”
 
“Got it,” Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He
could feel that little voice in his head going, what the hell, man, I thought
we had solved this death wish thing a while ago, but he squished it down. The
Alpha pack was here and Derek was the only thing standing between him and a
nasty evisceration. He needed the man focused, preparing, and ready to do his
stupid heroics instead of cramming six years of sibling rivalry in the space of
a week. If that meant spoon feeding some spring rolls in to the mini she-wolf
then so be it.
 
She grabbed a canvas bag by the couch. Whatever calculating look he had thought
he had seen had vanished, leaving behind the bristly demeanor she usually
exuded. “And what the hell is Netflix?”
 
The Argents had been good for one thing at least. A digital bestiary was genius
and Stiles had copied it onto his own hard drive. He had painstakingly gone
through it, adding translations when he could, sticky notes where he couldn’t,
and organizing it in a way that made sense to him. He had been adding to it as
well, in the little spare time he had. Fortunately, Derek’s temper hadn’t
ruined too many of the pages and they carefully pieced them together in order
on the scanner one by one. The floor was littered with paper, a default setting
for his room these days, so they had abandoned the bed and chair and were
sitting cross-legged, knees almost touching.
 
“So,” Stiles finally broached the subject when Cora had been sedated with fried
rice and her spring rolls. “The loft looked nice. Less like a dark under lord’s
lair.”
 
Cora snorted. “Yeah, I guess. I burned the IKEA catalogue so you can thank me
for that.”
 
Ah. Not Cora’s influence on the decor. Stiles filed that away for later. He
tried to look interested in the handwritten pages in front of him.“So. Derek.”
He whistled through his teeth trying for something casual. “The temper on him,
am I right?”
 
Cora was quiet and staring intently at her hands. That was usually the
expression Derek got when he was thinking of a particularly juicy threat so
Stiles turned back to the scanner quickly. However, the silence stretched too
long and he risked a glance back.
 
“He’s not that bad.” She sounded almost defensive.
 
Stiles prompted when it was clear she wasn’t going to continue. “The whole
violence thing is a Hale trademark.” She glared at him. “Oh come on. I’ve seen
Derek’s training methods. He’s all tough love. Fighter not a lover. Shows his
feels with his fists.” He punched his palm with a smack, grimacing when he hit
the bone on the heel of his hand by mistake.
 
Cora rolled her eyes. “I’d show you my feels but your father’s the sheriff and
the murder investigation would be annoying.”
 
“And there’s the family resemblance,” Stiles said.
 
“Funny,” she shot him a look but reached for the next page to continue working
instead of threatening to eat his face. “He was a nice brother. Before, I mean.
He’s changed.”
 
“Nice?” Stiles scoffed before he could stop himself. “Sorry, but the nicest
thing I’ve ever seen Derek involved ripping Peter’s throat out and that didn’t
even take.”
 
“You don’t know him at all,” Cora insisted. She frowned. “He used to smile a
lot more.”
 
Derek. Smiling. Stiles shivered. Smirking; sure. Grinning from the adrenaline
of ripping out some monster’s throat; well yeah. He tried to picture it but it
was like pasting a cartoon head on a person’s body and the resulting image was
disturbing. “That seems a little unlikely. You’ve met your family, right?
You’re not exactly Marsha Brady.”
 
Cora glared at him which Stiles kind of took as a point to his argument. “Don’t
pretend you know my family.”
 
Stiles threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. You’re right, it’s not
like all of you haven’t threatened to kill or maim me at some point. But my
feelings aside, we’re kind of in crisis mode. If you two are going to work out
any growing pains you’re going to have to do that on your own time.”
 
“I was the one locked up for three months in a bank vault. I know exactly what
kind of crisis we’re in. And you’re the one that stormed in on us,” she added,
grumpy. “That wasour own time.”
 
“And what a beautiful Cheerio family commercial experience it was.” Stiles
sighed as she gave him a sour look.“I’m not saying you guys have to braid each
other’s hair or take up tandem biking but you’ve got to live with each other.
You just came back from the dead! Shouldn’t you guys be celebrating that?”
 
“I wasn’t dead,” she snapped. 
 
“Literally, no,” Stiles agreed. “Realistically, yeah, you kind of were. And,
honestly, this whole secret, sad backstory has been played out. We don’t have
time to put up with it and unless you bleed therapy then you’re just going to
keep clashing with people.”
 
She remained stubbornly silent.
 
“Fine,” Stiles shrugged. “Keep not telling me. That’s fine. But certain
people,” he stressed the word, flicking a shredded piece of paper from the book
pointedly, “don’t have the same kind of wonderful patience I do.”
 
He knew he must have hit a nerve because Cora winced. “He wouldn’t kick me
out.” She said the words convincingly but there was a troubled look in her eyes
Stiles latched onto.
 
“He does have a warped sense of family, I guess.” He stared at Cora but she was
stubbornly piecing together the next page like she was handling some kind of
ancient document. “I mean, he still keeps Peter around for God knows what
reason. After he killed him. I mentioned that, right?”
 
“He’s not going to kill me just because I’m annoying him, if that’s what you’re
suggesting.”  
 
“Right,” Stiles said slowly. “For being annoying, no. Fit of rage, that’s all
I’m saying. The guy has some impulse issues.”
 
She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. If
Derek had impulse issues you’d be the first one gone.”
 
He opened his mouth to reply then closed it again. She had a point. Fine, yes,
Derek had scary good control over his scary amount of anger. However, that was
getting him nowhere to his goal. He had to think of something to catch her
attention, something to smash whatever wall she and Derek had going on. If not
they were going to have pint-sized loose cannon and if the Alpha pack got a
hold of her Stiles knew Derek would lead them straight into the line of fire
without a second thought.
 
She had stopped piecing the pages together and was looking at him like she was
trying to read something on his face. Terror- he hoped that wasn’t the thing
that was showing. She didn’t look like a girl who respected people who showed
their fears on their sleeves and Stiles hadn’t stopped being afraid since Peter
and Lydia and his own mortality was suddenly on the table. He schooled his face
calm.
 
“Look,” he said more gently. “I know you’re mad at him.”
 
“Mind reader,” she said, her eyes wide with exaggeration. “Tell me, O Wise One,
did you realise that before or after you heard us shouting down the street at
each other?”
 
“You’re mad because he didn’t look for you,” he ignored her. She rolled her
eyes again but she didn’t protest. “If he had known you were alive he would
have honed creepy stalker skills on you, not Scott. I mean all those times he
showed up at our parties, or lacrosse practice, or the time he drove Allison
home, or broke into Scott’s room and the locker room at school—Jesus, never
mind. The guy’s a freak. Don’t tell people you’re related to him.”
 
Cora was looking at him like he had lost his mind but she was paying attention.
“You’re right. But what he is going to do is keep pushing at you until one of
you snaps and, I don’t know how many times I have to say it before it sinks in,
but we don’t have time forthat. Both of you have some serious abandonment
issues. You’ve got to plant some kind of—“ Stiles was about to say anchor but
realized at the last second how that would sound and hastily changed his word
direction, “— seed. Roots, that’s what you’re both looking for and one of you
has to make the first move.”
 
She looked frustrated but curious and Stiles was grateful that she at least
seemed to be listening. “Why do you care so much about whether Derek and I get
along?”
 
“Preservation,” Stiles said firmly. She snorted as if she didn’t believe him
and he scowled. She schooled her face into something approaching innocence.
 
It didn’t seem to matter that Cora could rip him limb from limb, the more
dangerous something became the more Stiles wanted to know how she ticked.
 
It was something he had in common with his father, one of the few things in
fact. Where Stiles was curious and restless, his father was patient and
logical. Before his mother had died, he and his father had butted heads over
everything from sports to who was the real bad guy in the Three Little Pigs
(natural selection, Stiles had argued during one of the few times his father
had been home for his bedtime story. If the pigs were too stupid to build
proper protections then the eldest brother should had let the wolf eat them and
cut them from the pig gene pool. His father had looked at Stiles like Stiles
had been some kind of pod-person and sputtered, “But—family!”)
 
Even the way they solved problems were at odds. When Stiles often scrambled to
look through every book to find the answer, cramming information into his head
like it was trying to escape, his father liked to lay out all the pieces
together and let the answer come to him. However, after they had been forced to
spend so much time together, those two directions seemed to bleed over onto
each other until they mixed into a hybrid of the two.
 
They worked. They could work, finally, together on something, their methods
weaving together to strength each other. The first time Stiles managed to help
unstick his father from a particularly difficult robbery case he found himself
seeking that approval over and over. Sometimes, Stiles wondered what would have
happened to their relationship if they hadn’t been forced together, if his
mother hadn’t died, if his father had remained an occasional parent.
 
He must have been too quiet because Cora watching him again. Quickly, he
cleared his throat took the pages from her to put on the scanner.
 
“What is this book about anyway?” her voice was quiet but it was better than
the silence.
 
“I don’t know, really,” Stiles frowned. “Your uncle got it from some book
dealer. He said it was kind of like a bestiary only, you know,” Stiles twirled
his fingers. “In German.”
 
“Are you going to translate it?”
 
“Unfortunately, no,” he sighed. “I’ve been trying to beef up my Latin these
days. I’m going to pass it to Lydia and she’ll do it. The girl’s a language
genius. She can just pick it up.”
 
“Is she the one sleeping with one of the twins?
 
“Hey,” Stiles held up a finger in warning. “She’s getting important undercover
information.”
 
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know that he’s part of the Alpha pack.”
 
“What?” Stiles sputtered. “Of course she does! Why else would she be sleeping
with him?”
 
Cora laughed, the first time Stiles had ever heard that noise from her so it
was a little disturbing. Still, it was better than growling or threatening or
the other terrifying noises he had heard her make up until now. “You guys have
terrible communication.”
 
“Ironic, coming from you,” Stiles gritted his teeth but decided to let it
slide.
 
They worked together, putting the pages in what Stiles hoped was the actual
order until Stiles finally passed out on the floor around three in the morning.
 
He woke up on the floor to leftover sweet and sour sauce all over his elbow, a
horrific crick in his neck and an angry red-eyed werewolf looming directly over
him. However, the last bit was a pretty common occurrence nowadays so Stiles
just groaned as he rolled over to his back, trying to keep the red sauce from
spreading to the carpet and reminding himself this was how Derek expressed his
love.
 
“Isn’t it a little early for the whole ‘grr, I’m the Alpha’ thing?”
 
“What is my sister doing in your bed?”
 
Okay, Stiles would give him that one.
 
He jerked up, sending the papers that had crumpled on his tee-shirt to the
ground and, yeah, sure enough, Cora had abandoned him on the floor sometime in
the night and was curled up around his pillow like a cat.
 
It would be a more gratifying milestone if her brother wasn’t looking at his
neck like he was trying to figure out the correct amount of torque would be
needed to take his head off.
 
“Cora, we’re leaving. Now.”
 
She blinked up at him and yawned. “As long as we stop at IHOP,” she muttered
sleepily as she slung her legs over the bed and laboriously climbed to her
feet. It was adorable, really, but Stiles kept his mouth shut as Derek shot him
another threatening look. Stiles was a little concerned she was going to slip
off the roof but Derek steadied her elbow and they went off down the road into
the early morning.
 
***
 
The next morning Scott sat next to him in English with a strange look on his
face. This wasn’t exactly a strange way to start the day. Scott was kind of a
strange guy, one of the reasons they had bonded at such a young age, but when
the look didn’t go away Stiles decided it prompted some further investigation.
 
“Dude. Why do you look like someone threw a pee balloon in your face?”
 
Scott blinked, startled out of his stupor. “Sorry, I just smelled something.
Have you been hanging out with Cora or something?”
 
“Yeah,” Stiles wiggled his eyebrow a little. “She spent most of the night.”
 
“Ack,” Scott shuddered causing Stiles to frown in indignation.
 
“Hey, what’s that for? She’s not exactly unattractive.”
 
“She’s Derek’s sister,” Scott shuddered again. “That’s like, half of Derek’s
DNA.”
 
“First, that’s not how siblings are genetically related. I thought you got a
decent mark in bio last year. And second, in case you haven’t noticed, Derek’s
kind of hot too.”
 
“I guess, if you like tall, dark and stalker. Did she, like, spend the night
or,” Scott mirrored Stiles’s eyebrows, “did she spend the night.”
 
Before Stiles could answer, the back of his chair jerked and both of them
turned to glare at Lydia. She tapped her pencil on her notebook. “Boys, this is
a learning institution. None of us want to hear about your non-sexual conquests
right after we’ve had our morning lattes.”
 
There was a girl on Stiles’s right. He caught her looking over with wide eyes.
Lydia followed his gazed and zeroed in on her like a laser to a target. Stiles
winced as the girl started to furiously text something on her phone. Lydia was
as terrifying as she was beautiful, Stiles knew that first hand. Whatever the
girl had done to her, Stiles felt bad. He smiled at her sympathetically before
turning around.
 
“How do you know it was non-sexual?” Stiles gritted his teeth. “It could have
totally been sexual. People are sexually attracted to me.”
 
Lydia snorted yet somehow didn’t manage to lose an ounce of grace. “You were
sending me scans of that book pretty steadily so unless you managed to wow her
world while the picture was buffering, the only naked woman you saw last night
was in that third chapter.”
 
“Don’t worry,” Scott patted Stiles on the hand. “I know you can be sexually
attractive.”
 
There was a strangled-sounding choke from the girl. Stiles grinned gratefully
at Scott. “Thanks, bro.”
 
“Anytime.”
 
“I can’t believe I’m forced to hang out with you two,” Lydia muttered. Stiles
made a rude gesture at her and went to turn around, thinking that was the end
of their lovely morning interaction, when Lydia said, “Cora was helping you?”
 
“Yeah,” Stiles said vexed. “All night. Long. And hard.” He made a gesture with
his hands that was probably a bit vulgar but how the hell was Cora ever going
to find out, right? He glanced nervously at the windows.
 
“The more you lay on the heterosexual overture the more it makes me not believe
you. Excuse you, do you need to go to the ladies’ room or something?” the last
comment was directed at the girl who had let out a barking, rough laugh.
 
“R-right, sorry,” the girl was clutching her phone mid-text. “I-I’ll just go
then.”
 
There were only a few minutes until the start of class but the girl hit at
least three desks in her flight from the room. Stiles shot a look at Lydia.
“Maybe if you were a little nicer you won’t have to lower yourself to hang out
with us mutants.”
 
“Cowabunga,” Scott snickered and Stiles high fived him without looking away
from Lydia.
 
“You should tell her to come by my house.”
 
“What? That girl? I don’t even know her!”
 
“I meant Cora.”
 
“Yeah, right, what the hell would you guys talk about? She’s not exactly a
poster child for brand names.”
 
“Erica used to stop by sometimes.”
 
          It was strange how a couple of syllables could feel so painful in his
stomach. “Fine. If you think you’re really up to it, I’ll tell her your door is
open. Or window. If you’re going to consort with werewolves you’d better get
used to that.”
 
          “I have a private entrance,” Lydia rolled her eyes.
 
Stiles looked ahead as the second bell rang and the door opened with the last
remaining students followed by Miss Blake. If Lydia wanted to try and terrorize
the new girl then she would have the chance. He didn’t even know what the poor
girl beside him had done to offend Lydia but she hadn’t come back yet. Maybe it
would be good to let them dull their teeth on each other instead of him for a
change. And then maybe Cora would see that their lines of communications
weren’t as shitty as she had implied.
 
He made a quick mental note to double check with Lydia that she knew twins were
in fact Alphas.
 
They managed to make it through the school day without any more Cora-related
topics coming up until Stiles cornered Scott by his locker after practice
before the other boy could run off.
 
“Hey, so I was thinking, it’s been a while since we had a face to face Xbox
marathon.”
 
Scott’s back stiffened apologetically as he closed his locker. “Sorry man, it’s
just, Allison has some cousin in town and she asked me to hang out with them.”
 
“You really think that’s a good idea? We’ve kind of got enough on our plates
with killer Alphas and human sacrifices. Do you really want to let more hunters
know you exist?
 
“They’re some distant relative,” Scott shrugged. “They’re visiting from Germany
and they barely speak English anyway. Plus, Mr. Argent isn’t that bad anymore
since he gave up trying to kill me.”
 
“Right,” Stiles leaned against the locker. “That’s a great story to tell the
kids. Mommy and Daddy got together because Grandpa graciously decided to not
slice Daddy in half. Heartwarming.”
 
“Seriously,” Scott insisted. “I think it’s more like her dad wants to keep an
eye on us. Ever since he helped out with Boyd and Erica he’s been pretty chill
about the whole werewolf thing. And it’s kind like a recon mission,” Scott
grinned. “Keeping an eye on the enemy.”
 
“I’d still watch my back,” Stiles advised because as much as he loved Scott the
boy had a blind spot as big as a barn when it came to the Argents. “Later?”
 
“Definitely,” Scott clapped him on the shoulder and left quickly. Stiles
gathered his things slowly, he had nowhere to be and he had been counting on
Scott to fulfill his social calendar for the evening. Still, with his homework
mostly caught up on and the Alpha pack in a holding pattern it wasn’t like he
was going to begrudge the universe for giving him some alone time.
 
His father was on shift late and the house was comfortingly quiet when he got
there. Night was falling faster each day so by the time he scraped together
some leftovers and shot through several levels of zombies he went upstairs
feeling fairly content despite how the evening had turned out.
 
It was indeed a rare evening he had alone and maybe this whole Argent thing
turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He closed his curtains and doubled
checked the window was locked before clicking his computer on and flicked
through to the secret files buried under way too much encryption for his father
to ever find.
 
Just before he clicked, the wood on his window splintered at the hinges of the
bolts as the lock ripped free. He tripped, falling from his chair painfully as
a bolt of adrenaline shot through his heart like a bullet.  
 
Stiles scrambled across the room for the tool kit in his closet containing some
very contraband lighter fluid and wolfsbane mixture Lydia had whipped up for
the human members of the pack one afternoon. The Alpha pack had proven they
would do anything to get to Derek, use anyone, and it wasn’t like Stiles had
generated a lot of love with them. However, as his hand finally closed on the
flip lock (why the hell would he lock something he needed to get at so quickly,
god damn it) he realized his attackers were much too quiet.
 
Cora was looking at him with an arched eyebrow half in, half out of the window,
perched like a very deadly sparrow. “What the hell are you doing?”
 
“Oh my God.” Stiles’s muscles collapsed like they had been cut from their
strings and a sour feeling flood of relief washed over him. “I’m fighting for
my life, Jesus, what the hell do you think I’m doing!”
 
Cora pulled herself gracefully through the window, unperturbed that she had
nearly taken ten years off of Stiles’s life, and glanced around the room in a
far more familiar manner than Stiles was comfortable with. “Why was your window
locked?”
 
Stiles had to punch the carpet or else he was in danger of punching something
much more capable of punching back harder. “Alpha pack! Rogue evil druids!
Burglar! Rabid chipmunks!”
 
Cora settled on the bed, picking up his math textbook and opening it. She
glanced at him, still sprawled on his back on the ground. “Chipmunks?”
 
Stiles let his head bang on the floor so the pain cleared his mind. “It
wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen in this town. What the hell are you
doing here?”
 
Cora flipped a few more pages, scowling at them. “Is this kind of thing
actually important?”
 
“Cora.”
 
“I get adding, subtracting, multiplying and all that but all these letters and
triangles and lines. It looks made up.”
 
Stiles sat up and grabbed the textbook from her loose grip. “So says all high
school students everywhere but, yes, if you want to get somewhere in life the
American education system requires you to figure out all the cubes and squiggly
lines. Why. Are. You. Here.”
 
“I liked math. When I could go to school.”
 
Her eyes looked at him, round and sad. Stiles knew when he was being played. He
had a life time of pretty girls with pretty eyes coaxing homework answers and
the last Danish in the cafeteria out of him. But this girl could do more than
cut down his self-esteem. He shoved the textbook back at her with a frustrated
grumble. “Do you want me to find a way for you to get into school? Falsify
police records or something? Because it’s not as easy as TV makes it sound.”
 
Cora sighed and flopped on the bed. “Peter won’t tell me where his apartment
is. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
 
“Home,” Stiles grumbled. “Depressing as it is, you’ve got one.”
 
“Derek’s got a girl over.”
 
Stiles froze. “A girl? At the loft?”
 
“Yeah,” Cora sighed.
 
“A girl. Like, a living breathing, functioning girl.”
 
“Her name is Janet. Or Jane. Something J.”
 
“At the creepy, decrepit, abandoned loft? The one with the exposed brick walls
and pipes leaking all over the floor? You mean an actual girl went home with
him there? I have a police scanner in my sock drawer; I haven’t heard any 911
calls from that area of town.”
 
“She knows,” Cora didn’t exactly snap but she glowered at him, squirming to get
more comfortable on the bed. “About us. Derek didn’t tell me how but he kicked
me out for reasons I’m uncomfortable thinking about.”
 
Stiles hadn’t been lying before when he was speaking with Scott. He was well
aware that on a scale of 1 to 10, one being the shriveled baby Voldemort in the
eighth movie and 10 being Chris Pine in a wet suit, Derek was a 12 and a half.
Stiles was in fact much too aware of Derek’s unnatural state of molten hotness,
in several ways and several positions both burned in his memory and brought up
unheeded in his dreams. It was just-
 
Derek. Had a girl. In the loft.
 
Stiles had thought for sure the loft would be a clear deterrent for most
intelligent people, no matter how distracted they were by Derek’s physical
attributes. It was unbelievable but pretty much exactly the way the universe
like to screw him over. Derek lived in a creepy loft and still got a girl.
Stiles had a comfortable bed with a quiet, empty house and he couldn’t even get
his own right hand. He sighed. “So, Derek has a girl in the loft.”
 
“Yes!” Cora said emphatically. “Girl. Loft. Noises and smells I never want to
hear from my brother. Can we move on?”
 
“But why did you come here?”
 
Cora fell silent again then flipped onto her side so she was facing Stiles.
“Where else should I go?”
 
Well, she had a point. He remembered Lydia’s offer from that morning and
relayed it to Cora who just tilted her head curiously as she thought about it.
“Really? But I thought she was friends with the Argent girl.”
 
“I’m friends with the Argent girl,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “We’re all friends
with the Argent girl. And you’d better be too if you want to fit in.”
 
“I stopped by there before here, actually,” she studied her nails. “Isaac went
over and I thought I’d tag along, just make sure things were okay but—“ she
looked up at him curiously. “Why weren’t you there?”
 
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Me? Invited to the popular kid’s party? Yeah, right.
Wait- so you met them?” For all Cora was short tempered and scathing she did
seem to have a healthy survival instinct. It was better than Scott’s at any
rate. “How did they look?”
 
Cora raised an eyebrow. “Like—What?” She smirked suddenly. “You mean were they
hot? What, you getting lonely?”
 
“No,” Stiles huffed. “I mean did they seem dangerous.”
 
Cora shifted her eyes away from him, something unreadable flashing over her
face. “I think they’re trustworthy.”
 
Stiles stared at her for a moment. “Oh my God. You didn’t go with Isaac. You
really just followed him, didn’t you? Didn’t he notice?”
 
“Of course not.” She snorted then frowned. “Scott didn’t notice me either which
is a little worrying. Isn’t Derek supposed to be training them?”
 
“Truer words have never been spoken.”
 
          Cora had poked and prodded around the room before but she was a
restless person by nature and had already started to go over his books and
games again, running her fingers over the spines until she rested on one title.
“What’s this?”
 
“Call of Duty. Do you play?”
 
She frowned. “Is that like Call of the Wild? Is it some kind of wolf joke?”
 
“No,” Stiles frowned. “Come on, I’m going to teach you. Have you had dinner?”
 
It was pretty obvious that Cora had not wasted hours playing video games where
she had misspent her youth because she held the controller like a grenade.
However, once she got the hang of basic controls she relaxed and caught on
easily. It was weird playing with someone other than Scott because Stiles was
used to being able to predict his every move. Cora was smart, she understood
where to stand and she had pretty decent aim. They moved to the mission quickly
and by the third one she was nearly as quick as Stiles was when they were
caught under enemy fire.
 
“Punta madre,” she cursed under her breath when she took a shot before taking
the guy on.
 
By the time Derek was knocking at the two they were so engrossed Cora barely
grunted a greeting at him. Stiles saw him staring at the splintered wood on the
frame.
 
“Your trail was cold.”
 
“You did kick me out a while ago.” Cora didn’t look up from her game. Stiles
paused it.
 
Stiles knew most of Derek’s expressions. Most of the time they were terrifying
and were meant to be covered by the shadows of whatever dark corner Derek had
decided to lurk. This expression, however, fell somewhere on the scale between
uncomfortable and confused. “I gave you money. I thought you were going to go
to a mall.”
 
Cora gave him a matching expression. “A mall?”
 
“I just thought—” Derek’s expression twisted like the words were painful. “I
mean, you don’t have many things. I thought you could get… things.” Cora raised
an eyebrow at him, clearly amused at his discomfort now.
 
“Wait, you had cash? I had to dip into my gas money for that pizza,” Stiles
grumbled.
 
“Come on, let’s go. We can to IHOP again or something.” Cora perked up a bit
and Stiles was suddenly insanely curious to watch the two be brother and sister
rather than pack. But when he tried to subtly reach for his car keys, Derek
pinned him with a glare. “You’re not invited.”
 
“Is your new girlfriend joining us?” Cora said quickly. “Because if she is, I
think Stiles could—“
 
“She’s gone,” Derek’s eyes flashed. “Isaac is still out, we need to go pick him
up. I’ll be in the car. Hurry up.”
 
“Wait!” Stiles suddenly remembered something. Cora paused one foot half way out
the window. “I know I said you can go to Lydia’s too but, if you need to,” he
gestured around the room. “My window lock is broken so feel free.”
 
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. He paused, watching something
settle over her face like a wave.
 
“Thanks.”
 
“Just text, okay?” he sighed. “And I won’t try to blast you in the face with
lighter fluid.”
 
***
 
And just like that, Stiles felt like the loops and snags were finally starting
to close. Cora started to go over to Lydia’s as well, if the occasional perfume
and sparkle nail polish were anything to go by. Cora had flushed when Stiles
saw it and she muttered about how it didn’t matter because all she needed to do
was shift for it to come off but Stiles knew a bonding tactic when he saw one.
It was good to have the wild child somewhat looked after.
 
Sometimes she came over cheerful and playful, other times she didn’t say much,
just curled up on his bed while he sat at his desk and showed her how Facebook
worked. Stiles didn’t think too much about it until his father asked one night
over dinner what Cora’s parents did for a living.
 
Stiles choked a little on a carrot and had to drain half his glass while his
father looked on bemused. “What- I mean, why would you ask that? What does it
matter what they do?”
 
The sheriff could weld an air of innocence like a surgical tool if he wanted
and Stiles realized bitterly that he had somehow been whittled into a dangerous
corner. “I was just wondering if her parents were okay with this. With the two
of you hanging out so much here. Alone.”
 
“There’s no two of us.”
 
The sheriff flicked a piece of carrot off his wrist that Stiles had spat out in
his outburst. “You know, son. I did get elected into my job for a reason. And
it’s not like you two aren’t being obvious about it. Multiple study dates, a
sharp increase to our take out budget. Cute girl,” he paused then gestured with
his fork, “And, well, you’re a healthy boy I suppose.”
 
“Thanks,” Stiles said sourly. “But Cora and I are just friends. She’s going
through a rough patch, alright? I’m just being friendly.”
 
“Is it something I should know about?”
 
Stiles made sure to meet his father’s eyes and cross his fingers under the
table before replying, “Nothing that requires police intervention.”
 
Stiles hated how well he had gotten at lying but it was a necessity. His father
held his gaze like he was trying to reach in and dig past Stiles’s words but
sighed, frustrated, and stabbed at his chicken breast. Stiles uncrossed his
fingers but it didn’t stop the heavy clench in his stomach. “Fine. But you keep
that door open.”
 
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles reached for his glass again.
 
“And I put some condoms in the hall bathroom, just in case.”
 
This time the sheriff swore as he mopped the spray of water off his face but,
honestly, Stiles thought he should have known that was coming.
 
***
 
Cora craned her neck to look over Stiles’s elbow. He frowned and tried to angle
his phone so she couldn’t see but she just shifted behind his back and over his
other shoulder. “What-- can’t a guy get some privacy?”
 
“How do you do those smile faces?”
 
“It’s called an emoticon and if you had a phone from this decade you could use
them as well,” Stiles hit send and stuffed the phone back into his jacket
pocket. It was cold outside like it had been for a week now. It was too cold,
in fact, for Stiles to be sitting outside on the benches of the school but Cora
had been lurking in the woods by the lacrosse field. He had seen her during
English and had nearly fallen out of his chair, much to the amusement of Lydia.
He had tried to ignore her but there were only so many times he could see her
unblinking stare from the school window without having traumatic flashbacks.  
 
“Derek gave me this phone,” she pulled out the black flip phone and glared at
it like it was the phone’s fault her brother was just one microchip shy of
being stuck in the analog age. “I want one like yours.”
 
“Good luck, sister,” Stiles skimmed the reply from Lydia. She had sent him a
scathing message about how he had sent her a whole book in a completely
different language and she would get to it when she got to it. And no, she
couldn’t translate pages that had been all but destroyed. Then she called
Stiles a name he rather wouldn’t repeat. “I only have a smart phone because my
dad won’t let me out of the house without a GPS tracker anymore.”
 
“Peter has one like that.”
 
“You should try for a family plan,” Stiles shrugged. “Is that why you asked me
out here? To ask about my carrier service?”
 
“I do need help with my phone,” she said. “I want to text without Derek knowing
about it.”
 
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Is Derek nanny-cam-ing your phone?”
 
Cora looked confused. “He’s nosy about it, yeah.”
 
“And you’re texting people you don’t want him to know about?” Stiles frowned.
Cora was still a mystery to them. Derek wasn’t exactly known for his good
judgment but if he thought his sister was worth spying on then, their budding
friendship aside, Stiles wanted to keep ahead of another hoodwink a la Peter.
“Who the hell do you know besides me?”
 
“I don’t just talk to you,” she said evasively. “I’ve got Lydia. And Allison
messages me sometimes, about how I’m settling in.” Cora shrugged. “It’s nice.
But whenever you guys send a message he’s always over my shoulder and checking
everything. I just want some privacy.”
 
Stiles hesitated. It wasn’t unreasonable. After all, some of the random
messages she sent through the day were about how frustrated she was with her
brother and included some non-PG words in both English and not. He knew how bad
it had been for Allison when her family had been policing her phone and though
it wasn’t the same scale Stiles knew how to be a good go between. There was
something Cora wasn’t telling him but it didn’t feel like she was trying to
manipulate him too much; his gut was screaming curiosity not danger. She held
his eyes, not quite pleading or threatening but there was a sort of quiet
desperation and he knew if he didn’t help her she was just going to find
another way and then Stiles wouldn’t have any idea of what was going on. At
least this way he knew and if things blew up later on then he wouldn’t be
totally in the dark.
 
“I can get you a phone,” he relented and there was a hint of relief in her
eyes. “The flashier ones are expensive though. But anything is probably better
than that one.”
 
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I mean it. Here,” she reached into her pants
pocket and Stiles jumped up in surprise when she pulled out a large wad of
cash. He shoved it away when she held it out to him and glanced around quickly
to make sure no one else had decided to come out and enjoy the brisk air.
“What’s wrong?”
 
“I’ll give you a receipt, okay? Just don’t go flashing all that around where
anyone can see it. Beacon Hills is quiet but you never know.”
 
She huffed put complied and put it back. “I think I can take out the guys
around here.”
 
“Yeah, but I can’t so let’s not tempt them, alright? Is that the money Derek
gave you?”
 
This time it was her who hesitated before saying, “No. I have my own
resources.”
 
Stile was dying to ask but lunch was drawing to a close and he was already on
dangerous ground with his fifth period teacher. “I’ll get it for you by
tomorrow. Meet me here, same time, okay?”
 
She nodded and stood to leave. Stiles waited until after she was gone before
slinking back into the school. As he suspected, Scott was lingering by the door
with an anxious expression.
 
“What the hell, Stiles? Are you and Cora actually…” Scott trailed off
meaningfully.
 
“Strictly business,” Stiles wrapped an arm around Scott’s shoulder and steered
him down the hall. “You didn’t tell me your not-girlfriend was getting all
buddy-buddy with our resident teenage Hale.”
 
Scott looked guilty but then frowned. “You didn’t tell me that you’re getting
buddy-buddy with her either.”
 
“I was keeping an eye on her and Derek to make sure they didn’t kill each other
before the Alpha pack gets a chance,” Stiles said. He paused and gave Scott a
hard look. “Kind of like a recon mission.”
 
“Fine,” Scott rolled his eyes. “I guess it’s better than not knowing what she’s
doing all the time.”
 
“Exactly,” he patted Scott on the chest. “Good ol’recon. Which reminds me, how
are things are at the Argent front?”
 
“Fine,” Scott sounded almost as evasive as Cora. Stiles drew back a little so
he could study Scott’s face but the other boy just turned pink on his ears.
“Just great, actually.”
 
“Scott.”
 
          But instead of answering he just looked mournfully down the hall.
Stiles followed his gaze and then realized suddenly what was wrong. He didn’t
need to be a werewolf to read the body language between Allison and Isaac at
the end of the wall. There was something in the way Isaac was bracing one arm
on the locker next to Allison’s open one. She was smiling, easy, with the same
playful gleam in her eye she used to get with Scott. Isaac was the same,
smiling like he was playing a game instead of chatting with a friend. As Stiles
watched, Isaac flicked his eyes up, looked at Scott and smirked.
 
          Up until Isaac had become a werewolf, Stiles had barely noticed the
guy. They played lacrosse together, badly if Coach had anything to say about
it. It had been Stiles’s infamously bad idea to try out for lacrosse that year.
He had wanted fame, popularity and Lydia Martin to notice him. Scott had tagged
along. Stiles hadn’t known Isaac’s motivations for joining since he remembered
Isaac sweating and wincing his way through try outs just as much as Stiles had.
But now he realized it had probably been the same. He understood it, the need
to be liked and accepted. From what he had gleamed, Isaac’s only friend had
been Matt and Matt had been psychotic. Clearly Isaac had had the good sense to
try and branch out from that.
 
          But as much as he understood the desire to be desired his loyalty lay
with Scott and Scott alone. It wasn’t okay for a guy to hit on another guy’s ex
so bluntly and Stiles felt himself moving down the hall. Before he could make
it a few steps, Scott pulled him to a hard stop.
 
          “What are you going to do?” Scott tugged Stiles back along the
lockers and out of the way of general traffic. Stiles tore his eyes away from
the couple, still angry.
 
          “Dude, that’s not cool,” Stiles said, gesturing. “We basically saved
his life and he steals the girl. You deserve better than that!” His voice was
raised and several people close to them were sneaking glances out of the corner
of their eyes.
 
          “Stiles, she’s not something that can be stolen,” Scott sighed. “It’s
fine,” he added but kept a hand flat against Stiles’s shoulder to keep him
still. He leaned in close. “They’re happy. I want them to be happy.”
 
          Scott had always been the better half of the two of them. Stiles let
the warmth and firmness of Scott’s hand steady him. He relaxed slowly before
gripping Scott’s wrist in a silent reassuring gesture. “He’s still a jackass.”
 
          “Yeah, maybe,” Scott agreed with a laugh. “But I can’t exactly blame
him. Or her.” He looked down the hall again and frowned. “Though I wish they
weren’t using me to distract Johan and Ria so they can sneak off together.”
 
          “Jackass,” Stiles repeated and glared at them, shrugging off Scott’s
hand but staying where he was.
 
          “Johan is pretty mysterious but Ria’s teaching me German,” Scott
said. “Listen: Du bist ein Dummkopf.”
 
          The locker next to them had been open and at that it slammed shut,
making them both jump.
 
          “You’re an idiot,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re both idiots and you
need to keep your voices down.”
 
          “Hey,” Stiles protested with a frown. “There’s no need for name
calling.”
 
          “People are staring,” she hissed and when Stiles glanced up several
people looked suddenly overly busy with the contents of their locker. He
spotted that girl from English class, this time with a friend, huddled by the
water fountain with wide eyes staring at them. He grinned, trying to casually
wave, but Lydia yanked his hand down. “I see you two still haven’t heard about
personal space either.”
 
          It was true, Scott hadn’t moved away from where he had been gently
bracing Stiles against the locker but that was hardly unusual. He made a face
at Lydia who huffed impatiently.
 
          “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She turned on her heel. The two
girls by the fountain hid their faces in their books as she strode past them.
 
          “Dude, warn us about what?”
 
          Stiles slipped his arm over Scott’s shoulders and tugged him close.
“Don’t worry about it, buddy. I think she’s just jealous Isaac is stealing her
girlfriend too.”
 
          “At least I’ll always have you, right?”
 
          “That’s right. Don’t worry, I’ll always love you.” Stiles steered
them down the hall. He glanced back, frowning as one of the girls by the
fountain burst into tears. “Dude, is it just me or is Lydia is kind of turning
into a bully?”
         
***
 
If there was one survival tip Stiles would give to new residents of Beacon
Hills it was this: always gas up your car in town. The one on the city limit
might seem like a good idea but it was a complete and utter farce. Bad things
happened there, only bad, never good, and he was a local. He had no excuse. He
should have known better than to be pulled into that honey trap coupon for 5
cents off per gallon.
 
He had spent too much time in his life being grabbed, the feeling of his feet
being yanked out from under him all too familiar as strong arms pinned his arms
to his side and a cloth bag dropped over his head. It smelt strong, like lilac
or some kind of flower and he coughed as it made his eyes water. Less than
stumbling, he felt like he was being dragged back from the pump to lee of the
building where he was pretty sure passing cars couldn’t see him.
 
There was more than one person. He had heard multiple doors opening and closing
when the van had pulled up behind him. He wished he had been more observant, he
was the son of the sheriff for crying out loud, he knew all about constant
vigilance and taking in details. But. Five cents off per gallon. It had been
pretty exciting.
 
They must be dragging him into the trees because the ground became moist from
the rotting pine needles. They were only barely in the grove, though, when the
bag was yanked over his head and the strong arms that had been holding him
shoved him, sending him heels over ass when he tripped on a root. The bushes
behind him were too dense to make a run for it but he pressed back, feeling the
sharp needles and branches scratching at the back his head and face as he
turned to face his attackers.
 
“You’re Stiles, yeah?” the guy on the right couldn’t have been older than
Stiles himself but he was definitely bigger. He had dark hair curling over his
ears and there was a matching female counterpart standing next to him, her arms
crossed and a twisted, annoyed expression on her face. Stiles didn’t answer,
instead taking the time to get to his feet and face death head on.
 
The girl turned to the boy and said something briskly but too quickly for
Stiles to catch. The boy nodded and cleared his throat before repeating,
“Stiles, yeah?”
 
German: his accent was pretty distinct. He frowned, suddenly noticing sharp
angles on their jaws and faces, the same wild curls. “You’re Allison’s cousins,
aren’t you?”
 
The boy shifted uncomfortably. “We know your car.”
 
“And you thought that was enough evidence for you to brutally kidnap me?”
Stiles said disbelievingly. “There’s more than one blue jeep in the world, what
if you have kidnapped someone else?” he paused. “Wait, why the hell did you
kidnap me in the first place?”
 
Instead of answering, the boy thrust a book at him. “Read this.”
 
Curiosity make Stiles opened it quickly, keeping a wary eye on the wonder
twins. It had a dark wooden cover with etchings carved into it. The handwriting
was scrawling with no margins to speak off and the ink just wound its way off
the page but it was no language he knew. He tried to hand it back. “Dude, not
to be all Republican, but this is America. We speak American.”
 
The girl said something to him, contempt clear though he didn’t understand a
word and then she turned on her heel, quickly moving back towards the light of
the gas station. The boy shrugged, a pitiful apology for sorry-we-nearly-made-
you-shit-your-pants-with-the-whole-kidnapping-thing, and turned to follow her.
 
Stiles was left, then, bleeding slightly from a dozen scratchy cuts, holding
another mystery book, wondering just why the hell Scott was so depressed he
couldn’t join in on the Argent family fun.
 
When he got back to his car the van was gone and the pump that had been in his
gas tank was reattached to the stand. His door had been closed too and he could
see movement of someone hunched over in the passenger side. He approached his
jeep carefully. Getting jumped by the Argents was a town tradition at this
point but he didn’t want to ruin his evening by dying in a car-jack gone wrong.
However, before he could open his door, Cora sat up from where she had been
fiddling with his radio and gave him a quick wave.
 
“Cora,” he yanked open his door. “What the hell are you doing?”
 
“There’s terrible reception out here.”
 
“No,” Stiles scrambled for the keys she had put in the ignition and yanked them
out, killing the static. “You don’t get to be mysterious right now.”
 
“They needed to get that book to you,” she sounded almost guilty.
 
“How the hell do you even know them?”
 
“I told you, I know more people than you think,” her eyes were shifty and
Stiles was too angry to just ignore it. This was exactly what he had been
trying to avoid. Keep an eye on Cora meant keeping an eye on Derek, it didn’t
mean kidnapping or mysterious book drop offs or unwittingly participating in
some kind of German terrorism.
 
 “And what, you couldn’t just give it to me yourself?” Stiles could feel the
residue of adrenaline making his hands shake and he hoped Cora could see that
and feel guilty. “I thought they were the Alpha pack. I thought I was going to
die!”
 
“I can’t touch the book,” she wiggled her hands. “Werewolf.”
 
“That’s convenient.”
 
“They had to make it look realistic.”
 
Stiles knew it was a bad idea to have grown his hair out. If he still had his
buzz cut he wouldn’t be tempted to rip it out by the roots. “Handing it to me
is pretty fucking realistic.”
 
“Get in the car,” she said. “I’ve already paid for your gas.”
 
Stiles had driven in a lot of different states: panicked with Derek dying next
to him; terrified with a half transformed, out of controlled Scott; and quietly
freaking out with Jackson slipping in and out of consciousness in the back
seat. This was the angriest he had ever peeled out of a parking spot though and
he felt a little vindictive happiness when Cora actually reached for her
seatbelt.
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
“Great! Wonderful! That is so freaking helpful right now.”
 
Cora gripped the side of the car door and Stiles relented by easing off the gas
petal. “I promise I’ll explain everything. But no one can know you have that
book, especially the Hunters.”
 
“So the family approved kidnapping but not book lending,” Stiles gritted his
teeth. “Remind me never to go to Germany. The libraries must be off the wall.”
 
“They were against the whole plan too,” Cora said then added, “Well, Johan
was.”
 
Stiles gripped the steering wheel, grateful for the long, dark drive back into
town. Unless Cora felt like bailing out of the moving car he was going to get
some answers. “Back up. From the beginning. How the hell do you know Hansel and
Gretel?”
 
“Johan and Ria,” she corrected. “I told you, I followed Isaac that one time.”
 
“Great. I’m so happy your stalking has paid off for you. So freaking happy.” He
grounded his teeth in frustration. “I thought they didn’t have anything to do
with the Hunter side of the family.”
 
“That’s the problem,” Cora’s voice was calm, like he usually was when she was
upset and wasn’t this just a goddamn Kodiak moment, the student becoming the
sensei. Fucking wax on, wax off. “They don’t want to be hunters.”
 
“You see,” Stiles gritted his teeth. “You say that but they were pretty
proficient with that hooded kidnap. I’m not sure I would take them at their
word.”
 
“They were sent here to spy on Allison’s father. They volunteered actually,
they wanted to escape and they thought Mr. Argent could help them. He is, he
wants to help, but there have been some… problems.”
 
“What?” Stiles feigned outrage. “Problems? From that family? Never.”
 
She glanced at him frustrated. “We’ve been doing some small things, sending
some real some false information, some small interrogations,” she looked at his
sheepishly. “But only so they don’t get suspicious, but nothing besides a few
bumps and bruises.”
 
“Oh, well, I’m glad you have a moral line when it comes to threatening innocent
people’s lives. Did they learn that right after Count Dracula taught them about
the Third Reich?”
 
“I feel like you’re being offensive to someone,” Cora said.
 
“It’s a side effect of pure terror.”
 
“Johan said it’s taking too long,” Cora had decided to ignore him. “The family
is getting suspicious.”
 
“Well yeah,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “They sent two teens to take down Chris
Argent. You’ve met the man before, right? I’m pretty sure if he wanted, he
could take out Freddy, Darth Vader and Voldemort and still fit in time to stake
the Cullens. What the hell did they think the next genereation Inglorious
Bastard rejects could do?”
 
“You know I hate it when you use references I don’t get,” she pressed her lips
together, annoyed. “Johan thinks the family is going to try and hurry things up
by putting a curse on him.”
 
“On Johan?”
 
“No, on Mr. Argent,” Cora said. “And you know how they cure people with
curses.”
 
Stiles suddenly remembered Allison’s mother grimly. He hadn’t liked Mrs. Argent
every time he had seen her. After all the last time she had crossed his path
she had tried to viciously murder Scott. However, killing her for being a
werewolf instead of for being messed up evil seemed perversely wrong. It was
like putting down a vicious, rabid bear for stealing apples off of trees. He
could understand the two teens for wanting to run away from that kind of logic
but it didn’t mean he could be cool with the whole sack-over-head incident.
 
“They’re trying to prevent it from happening,” Cora said.
 
Stiles could feel one throbbing vein. “And the curse is in the book?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“What did Allison’s dad say?”
 
Cora hesitated. “Well, the thing is, they haven’t told him.”
 
 “I’m glad you have such confidence in me. But I’m the Muggle to Allison’s
dad’s Hermione in this case,” he said deliberately to piss her off.
 
Cora seemed to be collecting her thoughts before she spoke. “You do know what
happened with Allison’s mom right?”
 
“Yeah, they killed her for being a werewolf instead of just, you know, being
normal people and dealing with it.” He let out a high, stressed laugh. “Normal
people.”
 
“She killed herself, Stiles.”
 
Alright, that Stiles hadn’t known. He let the car go a few dozen feet before
replying. “I thought the suicide note was a cover up.”
 
Cora shook her head. “Johan and Ria had an older brother. When they were just
training, there was an accident and their brother was exposed to something,
some kind of plant. He might have been okay, they didn’t really know, but
instead of waiting to see their brother just killed himself. Right in front of
them. Just in case.”
 
“That’s insane.”
 
“It is,” she agreed grimly. “They’re afraid if they tell Argent he’ll just try
to remove himself from the situation,” she paused and then dragged a finger
across her neck. “Permanently.”
 
“Mr. Argent isn’t like that,” Stiles tried to argue. “You should tell him. He’s
the black sheep of the family, he can be kind of reasonable sometimes.”
 
“Stiles, they’re just trying to protect him from himself.”
 
“How fucking noble.” He glanced over at her. “So today, this was just a big
show for the cameras?”
 
“Yes,” she sighed. “Exactly.’
 
“Because you can’t just hand me the book and they don’t want anyone else
knowing what they’re trying to do?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Because they want me, this kid they’ve never met, to research for a possible
curse because they’re afraid their distant uncle, who is trying to help them
escape from the worst mafia motif ever, is going to kill himself just to
eliminate the possibility of being cursed in the first place.”
 
“Right.”
 
“So, naturally, they went to you, for help.”
 
“Yeah,” she was smiling now, her body relaxing. “You understand.”
 
He jerked the car hard, sending Cora’s head smashing into the window hard
enough for the glass to crack. A car was somewhere behind him because he heard
an angry honk and quickly settled back on the road. Cora hissed in pain,
pulling her hand away from her temple with blood on it and she gave him a dark
look as the wound healed in a matter of seconds.
 
“Wanna try that line again?” he couldn’t stop from shouting. “You really don’t
expect me to believe they’d just blindly trust a werewolf?”
 
She was glaring at him but he had obviously caught on whatever it was she was
holding back. She took in the blood on her fingers, looking at it slowly before
fixing him with a murderous look. “I may… I may have met them before.”
 
Stiles concentrated on the pavement beneath the tires for a minute. “And you
never mentioned this before because?”
 
“The night of the fire,” she was gritting her teeth as she spoke like it was
painful and Stiles could barely hear. “I had some help escaping.”
 
“They helped you? How? Why? They couldn’t have been more than kids themselves.”
 
“Their family was here, in Beacon Hill, with the Argents.” He could hear her
claws starting to worry the upholstery of the Jeep. “Look, just, we have
history. Let’s leave it at that.”
 
Stiles sighed, frustrated, because this whole shrouded in secrecy lifestyle was
starting to grind his last nerves. Not for the first time he envied his father
for being able to press thing like ‘obstruction of justice’ and bare bulb
interrogation room techniques on criminals. It would be nice if he had some
kind of universal leverage like peace, justice and threats of incarceration on
his side to make people tell him the truth. New strategy time. He forced his
hands to relax on the wheel.
 
“Fine. Okay, I get it. They know you, and all that. Did you really have to keep
that from me? It’s not like you’re sleeping with the guy.”
 
There was a sharp rip as Cora’s claws dug right through the upholstery of the
jeep and through to the metal frame. He winced – it would be hard to explain
the window and the upholstery to his dad. Then, the Jeep swerved again, this
time unintentionally, as he gaped at her. “You’re totally sleeping with him!”
 
“Don’t tell Derek.”
 
There had been something more to that burner phone, something much more. He
wished he could build a time machine to go back and kick Past Stiles in the
head.
 
“Stiles.” Her voice, usually steady, cracked a little. “He won’t understand
this.”
 
“You were the one defending him,” Stiles said quickly. “Before, remember? You
said he wouldn’t kick you out.”
 
“Trust me,” she twisted the ruined upholstery in her fingers. “A Hale dating an
Argent— I know enough to know that’s not going to be forgivable.”
 
“Regular freaking Romeo and Juliet,” Stiles muttered bitterly. “I didn’t sign
on to help cover your forbidden teenage lust. I didn’t sign on at all.”
 
“It’s not just lust,” she shot back. “Please.”
 
“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “I won’t tell Derek.”
 
She slumped against her seatbelt. “Thanks.”
 
“Just, don’t kidnap me next time without telling me. All I could think about
was my dad and how he would handle it if I died. I don’t like to see that part
of my brain. Any part of my brain.”
 
          “We had to make it look real.”
 
“If real meant giving me a heart attack than, yeah, sure. You succeeded.”
Stiles sighed and took one hand off the wheel to run over his head face, trying
to push the adrenaline to the back. They were on a long stretch of highway,
well outside of the city limits. He turned on his blinkers as they came up to a
side road and used it to turn around. Once they were on their way back, he
glanced to where she was silently pushing the padding of ruined passenger seat
back into place.
 
“Two flaws,” Stiles held up a finger. “I still don’t speak whatever language
this is in.” He jerked the second one up. “Do you even have a clue as to what
the curse is?”
 
“No,” she admitted.
 
“I guess I can pass the book to Lydia without her telling her what to look for.
But she’s going to be pissed.”
 
“Thank you.”
 
“I hope this Johan guy is good in bed.”
 
“Stiles. I mean it.”
 
“Just, tell me things, okay?” Stiles said. “I mean, not those things but, yeah.
Things.”
 
“I will,” she said quickly. “I promise, no more surprises.”
 
***
 
“Here.”
 
The bag was heavy and something metal and hard almost knocked Stiles in the
junk. Instead, it hit his thigh hard enough to bruise so he shoved it to the
bench, squinting up until Derek shifted and blocked the sunlight with a radiant
halo around his head. Stiles scowled. He knew Derek needed space. Loss wasn’t
something anyone dealt with well but losing Boyd had been particularly
devastating. But there was grieving and then there was leaving your phone
behind and disappearing when a pack of werewolves were hunting down you and
your loved ones.
 
“Thanks. I always look forward to being assaulted by older men during lacrosse
practice.”
 
“I would have thought if you went to one you would expect the other,” Derek
said dryly which made Stiles irritated. He nodded at the bag. “It’s some of
Cora’s things.”
 
“What does she have in here, a broadsword?” The canvas bag’s buckles were open
so Stiles glanced through quickly. “No, wait, just a metal bat. Why the hell
does Cora have a metal bat and- God, Derek, there’s girl things in here I’m not
supposed to be looking at!”
 
“I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen,” Derek almost sneered.
 
“You know, ever since your sister came to town, you people have a lot of faith
in my sexual prowess.” Stiles snapped the bag closed. As cool as Cora could act
sometimes, he didn’t want to flash her underwear around public spaces, despite
what her brother considered appropriate.
 
Derek was strangely quiet but cleared his throat. “I don’t think Cora should be
around the loft for a few days. I’ve got to sort some things out. She’s going
to be upset when I tell her so I’m giving you those for after she storms off.
Again.”
 
“Scott and I are not your Bates Hotel, you know.”
 
Derek frowned. “Isn’t that the hotel with the guy who keeps his mother’s dead
body somewhere?”
 
“I do have an axe under my mattress,” Stiles said testily. Derek was ignoring
him though, looking across the field. Stiles glanced up to where Scott and
Isaac were watching them from the far goal. Scott had a firm hold on Isaac’s
shoulder but Isaac had a disconcerting desperate look directed at Derek. Stiles
sighed frustrated. It would be hard to explain to Finstock why two of Beacon
Hills’s infamous people of interest were on friendly terms. He stood up,
slinging Cora’s bag over his shoulder and cursing werewolf super strength.
 
Derek wasn’t an inconspicuous person on a good day. Danny must have noticed
Scott and Isaac because he was staring too, eyes going from Scott and Isaac to
Stiles and Derek with a thoughtful expression, too thoughtful it turned out.
Stiles winced as Greenburg tripped and plowed into Danny, knocking the two of
them into the goal. Taking advantage of the whistle and confusion, Stiles
pushed Derek behind the bleachers and out of sight.
 
 “Why doesn’t Cora stay with Scott? His mom is in the know, and, you know, a
girl.”
 
“She can stay wherever the hell she wants,” Derek said. “But I know she’s going
to stop by your house and you can give her the bags.”
 
“And why exactly can’t she stay with you?” Stiles hissed. “I thought you guys
had worked out a schedule.” Derek looked at him blankly. “You know,” Stiles
hinted broadly, jiggling the bag at his feet. “A sexschedule. Your lady friend
comes over there, Cora comes over to my house. And Cora—“ Stiles stopped,
because he had almost forgotten his promise to secrecy with the whole traumatic
aftermath of Boyd’s death.
 
Derek looked at Stiles with a frozen expression. There was a click as he
unhinged his jaw to reply. “A sex schedule. Yeah.”
 
When Derek didn’t elaborate further Stiles gestured wildly with his hands as if
that would provoke him into speech. “What, was it not working for everyone?
She’s your sister and the last of your family, your crazy uncle aside. You
can’t just kick her out.”
 
“I’m not kicking her out,” Derek said slowly. “It’s for her protection.”
 
Stiles frowned. “What exactly do you think I can protect her from that you
can’t?”
 
“The Alpha Pack is going to come after me,” Derek said in a low voice. “And
they proved with Boyd they’ll use whoever is closest to me. I thought it would
be better to have some safe distance.”
 
“Distance, right,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I had you pegged for emotionally
constipated but I didn’t actually think you were this big of an asshole. You
already kicked out Isaac. You know both of them have abandonment issues the
size of the moon.” Derek looked like he wanted to say something but Stiles was
too angry to hear it. “I’m going to make sure she knows you’re the one rifling
through her delicates, you weirdo.”
 
Stiles came back around to the front, leaving Derek sputtering in the metal
cage underbelly and dropped the bag on the bench. Danny was sitting there,
wincing and holding his side, but he nodded as Stiles sat next to him.
 
“Who was that?” Danny asked and grimaced as he reached for his water bottle.
 
“Just some guy with boundary issues,” Stiles kicked the bag and cursed as his
foot connected solidly with the bat. “Don’t worry about it.”
 
Danny paused before asking again, this time tentatively. “Did you guys mention
a, sex schedule?”
 
Stiles felt the blood drain from his face. Isaac and Scott were across the
pitch but he saw them trip and knock each other in the head with their lacrosse
sticks. Coach’s whistle blew again as he thundered across the pitch, yelling
about suicide runs and head traumas and the idiot players who got the former by
getting the latter if they didn’t pay the hell attention. “Look, it’s nothing,
totally, not sex schedule! More like ex schedule, if you know what I mean.”
 
“It still sounds like you’re doing something X-rated,” Danny said dryly. “With
ex-boyfriends.”
 
“Definitely not an ex- or X-anything,” Stiles resisted the urge to rub away the
headache forming behind his eyes.
 
“Stiles, I know we’re not, like, close or anything but if you ever need to talk
I’m here.” Stiles looked up to meet Danny’s earnest eyes. “You, or Scott, or
Isaac,” he looked to where Coach was forcing everyone though the agility
course, hollering about being as fleet as a fox or he was going to light
firecrackers under their toes. “Or… your cousin.”
 
Shit, this time Stiles did pinch the bridge of his nose. He had forgotten about
that. But before he could turn and set Danny straight the other boy reached out
carefully to pick up something that had fallen out of Cora’s bag when Stiles
had kicked it. “Or, if it’s about something else, I’ve got other friends you
can talk to,” Danny held out the baby blue underwear understandingly.
 
This time Scott and Isaac went down in a tumble on the tires, taking out not
only Greenburg but also the next two players in front of them. Coach dropped to
his knees in anguish and started to rip at the turf.
 
“I’m going to fucking kill Miguel,” Stiles muttered darkly.
 
***
 
Stiles was shoving things around in an attempt to make the living room neater
when the doorbell rang at half past six. She had been getting better about
using the door—there had been one very near miss with Stiles in a towel – so
there was a good chance it was either her or the new vegetarian place Stiles
was convincing his father to try out. He answered the door to both and felt
obliged to tip the terrified delivery guy extra.
 
“Don’t worry, she’s a pussycat on the inside!” he yelled as the guy’s tires
squealed out of the driveway. Cora punched him in the shoulder hard enough to
send him into the doorframe. “Oh my God! Your family really just needs to have
an anger management specialist on retainer!”
 
“You’re a retainer,” she spat out.
 
His father should be getting off work right about now which probably gave him
about half an hour to calm down Cora before she tore a hole through the wall.
Or Stiles. He set the food in a safe place and went to find her pacing in front
of the TV, her claws extending in and out like a reflex.
 
“He kicked me out,” she sounded angry. “I can’t believe he actually kicked me
out.”
 
“I did try to warn you about his impulse control.”
 
Her eyes flashed golden at him and he held his hands up in a mock surrender.
“Well then I guess you were right. Congratulations,” she snarled out.
 
 “Why the hell would I be happy about this?” Stiles crossed his arms patiently.
“Look, it’s not going to be forever.”
 
Cora took a deep breath, then another and slowed her frantic pace until she was
standing still. Stiles could see her muscles corded along her arm, the outline
of her back bulging slightly under her tank top as she clenched her fists hard
enough that he could see blood welling between her fingers. He had never seen
her quite so worked up so he stood nervously, not sure if it was safe to
approach or if he should call a prank bomb threat to the department to make his
dad work overtime. She took another deep breath, though, closing her eyes as
she let it out and slowly unfurled her clawed fingers. A few drops fell to the
carpet before the cuts healed and the enlarged nails shrink back to her normal,
long tapered fingers.
 
“Sorry,” her voice was huskier than normal. Stiles wondered not for the first
time if Laura and Talia had the same, husky tone as Cora, if Cora was all that
was left in a long line of strong female leaders, and just how long it would
take for her to grow into that. She opened her eyes, forced calm brown, a
twitch in her jaw the last sign of her anger.
 
“Well, at least you didn’t break anything this time,” Stiles kept his tone as
light as possible.
 
She nodded though he wasn’t sure she had actually heard the words he had said.
He took a step in her direction, slowly, until he laid a hand on her shoulder
and she relaxed further. “Was that food?”
 
“That’s food for my dad,” Stiles said quickly. “You and I are ordering pizza.”
 
She froze for a second. “Your dad. I forgot about your dad.”
 
“Funny, most people can’t, him being the law and all,” Stiles joked but Cora
wasn’t in the mood for it. She reached into the pocket of her sweater and
pulled out the phone Stiles had gotten for her a while ago, the phone she
hadn’t told Derek about and the phone number she had been using to text Stiles
with since the say she got it. “I can—Lydia’s house is usually empty. Or
Allison’s—“”
 
“Don’t be stupid,” Stiles said quickly. “You can stay here. Lydia is still
working on that book and she gets snappy when people look over her shoulder.
And besides, Allison’s is full up with her cousins already.”
 
Cora looked like she was going to stay something else but she changed her mind
quickly. “You just want people to see you have a hot girl over.”
 
“Yeah, sure that’s it,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s all about my reputation.
Now, do you want green peppers on your half or not?”
 
Stiles took the pull out couch in the den downstairs, Cora ushered firmly but
gently into Stiles’s room. Stiles’s father nodded easily to their excuse
(Cora’s parents were out on business, she didn’t want to be alone in a new
town, she and Stiles had become such good friends, blah blah blah) then hauled
Stiles’s aside by his shirt collar with a rough warning that she was to remain
alone in the bedroom for the duration of the night and Stiles had better damn
well be able to produce a contact number for her parents ASAP.
 
“She can stay with us,” Scott said as Miss Blake handed back their short
answers. “I mean, Isaac is on the couch but he can move into my room and she
can take the couch. My mom is fine with it, plus she knows.” Scott stressed the
last word.
 
“I told you, it’s fine,” Stiles gritted his teeth. “Derek gave me her stuff and
even though he’s being a massive tool right now it’s fine if he wants her with
me. And besides, it’s kind of nice having someone around to replace your high
scores.”
 
“What about your dad?”
 
That was, of course, the biggest factor but Stiles couldn’t see another way
around it. Lydia’s house was the best option, of course. Cora could stay there
easily. Lydia was a child of a messy divorce; she basically had free range to
do whatever she wanted and a long term female house guest was probably the
least scandalous thing she would do. But Stiles hadn’t been exaggerating when
he had yelled at Derek; the abandonment issues on that girl would be enough to
fill a few theses and have some left over for a few undergrad papers. She was a
girl who ran on instinct and gut feelings and her instincts had led her to
Stiles.
 
“It’s fine,” Stiles said, trying to ignore the antsy feeling he was got when he
thought about how everything could suddenly go south. It was hard though—the
pull out couch wasn’t exactly the best night’s sleep. With his pills he could
usually manage to concentrate even with only a little sleep but he was finding
it harder and harder to focus. The stress must be taking a toll on him.
 
“But what is she going to do all day?”
 
“I. Don’t. Know.”
 
“Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall,” Miss Blake frowned at them. “Am I interrupting you
or can I start continue?”
 
“Sorry, Miss B,” Stiles tried to smile charmingly. “I’m right up the Congo with
you.”
 
He thought it heard a giggle beside him but the girl was focused on her
notebook when Stiles looked at her. Miss Blake raised an eyebrow but nodded
slowly. “As I was saying, the question is of narration. Who is telling the
story and who is the story about? Kurtz? Marlow? Conrad?”
 
As soon as she had moved to the front of the class, Scott leaned over again.
“Aren’t you worried extra guests will make your dad find out about us?”
 
This time he was certain he heard a snort but the girl was writing furiously.
 
It must been the jumpiness, the hyper vigilance which seemed aptly named.
Paranoia was going to consume him if he didn’t start to ignore signs of evil
where there were obviously where none. And when he looked up to where Miss
Blake brushed a stray hair and trailed chalk dust over her forehead he relaxed.
School. Safe.
 
“She said she has it under control,” Stiles explained, answering Scott’s
question when he persisted with it. “The girl is like a bird sometimes, she
needs to be free. Don’t worry,” Stiles patted his pocket. “Remember when I gave
her the phone? I put an GPS tracker app on it.” Scott looked at him
suspiciously. “For safety!”
 
“But the Alpha Pack-“
 
“I’m not her boyfriend,” Stiles said. “Or her brother for that matter. If she
said she can take care of herself then I’m going to believe her. Mostly because
if I try otherwise I feel like she’s going to snap me in half then floss her
teeth with my tendons.”
 
“My door is always open,” Scott said quietly. He leaned over to touch Stiles’s
knee in a comforting grip. “I mean, Isaac and Allison are over all the time
anyway and we’re all—“ his voice grew a bit lighter. “We’re all pack.
Especially you.”
 
  Well, wasn’t that just puppies and rainbows. Stiles couldn’t stop the smile
crawling over his face. “Thanks, buddy.”
 
He heard another noise beside him but before he could investigate this time,
Lydia poked the back of his head hard with the sharp end of her pencil.
 
“Ow!” he jerked. “Lead poisoning kills, you know.”
 
Lydia just gave him a murderous look and jerked her chin to the side. The girl
was so far focused on writing in her notebook there was ink across her nose.
Stiles made a face at Lydia. High school bullying seemed so beneath them. He
didn’t know what had gotten into her.
 
“And don’t worry about Cora. Derek said just a few days, right?” Stiles turned
back to Scott. “My dad is probably going to be fine that. Plus, she hand makes
tortillas and she does dishes. I think he’s going to want to swap kids anyway.”
 
***
 
“Honestly, it’ll just be awkward if you went home,” Stiles had said through the
bathroom door as she brushed her teeth. He had already changed into his night
clothes, actual pants because there was a girlin the house, and one of his
favourite shirts he had gotten in a Star Wars promotion. “I mean, what if he’s
got some other girl and is mid coitus or something?”
 
There was a gagging sound before Cora poked her head out of the door horrified.
“Why the hell would you say that?”
 
“I’m just saying, the last person you want to see mid-coitus is your brother,
right?” He leaned against the wall thoughtfully. “Or your uncle. That’s just be
gross. And the kind of women he would be with,” Stiles shuttered. “I bet he’s
into freaky things. He dated Scott’s mom for, like, five minutes once.”
 
“Please stop talking about my uncle having sex,” Cora’s voice sounded
strangled. Stiles grinned, this was what he imagined having a sister would be
like. He had no idea why Derek would have given it up. At this point it seemed
like Derek had given up. ‘A few days’ had come and went and Stiles found
himself constantly try to reassure Cora she was welcome here. It was
frustrating because no matter what he said she didn’t seem to believe him but
he redirected those feelings to Derek.
 
“You mean you’d rather I talk about Mrs. McCall having sex? Or your brother
again?”
 
There was a crack of something breaking.
 
His father gave him a strange look as he passed. Stiles jerked his chin at him,
“What’s up, dad?” The sheriff rolled his eyes and poked Stiles hard in the
chest.
 
“Stop talking about Mrs. McCall having sex,” his father said sternly. Stiles
felt the blood drain from his face. “And don’t forget, you have to pick up
groceries after school tomorrow. Good night, Cora!”
 
“Good night, Mr. Stilinski,” Cora’s voice sounded embarrassed through the door.
Once his father’s door was closed, Cora opened the door, toothbrush in hand,
and for a second Stiles thought his life was going to be over in a very
painful, minty impalement. Instead, she grabbed him by the tee shirt and tugged
him into the bathroom, making him yelp as the collar ripped. He touched it
mournfully. “Are you trying to get me kicked out?”
 
“What?” Stiles’s voice squawked unattractively. “No!”
 
She released him slowly but he kept a wary eye on the toothbrush. “Good.” She
fixed him with a stare that would have sent him scrambling under the sink a
week ago but now that he had more exposure it merely made his knees tremble.
 
“If you think a little off colour humor is going to get people kicked out of
here you obviously haven’t been around for our annual police BBQ,” Stiles said.
“Trust me, you’re going to have to do something pretty terrible to get exiled
and you’ve got me as your competition. There’s nothing you’ve done that I
haven’t.”
 
Cora was strangely quiet but turned back to the sink to rinse off her tooth
brush. Stiles worried briefly if his father was going to come out in his stupid
stealthy cop-mode and burst in on what was an entirely platonic moment (in the
bathroom, behind closed doors, with a stoically unopened box of condoms sitting
in plain sight on the sink). “Something pretty terrible, huh?” she echoed him
quietly without looking up from the sink.
 
Stiles swallowed, his curiosity clawing like a cat to ask more but he shoved it
down for the time being. “Don’t worry. I did successfully manage to harbor
Derek for a few days when he was on the run for murder. You’re a lot more
compact than him. I bet I could go a week of hiding you in my room without him
knowing.”
 
She smiled briefly and reached past him to open the bathroom door. Stiles moved
to let her go but she paused and turned before saying a quiet, “Thanks.”
 
“You owe me a new shirt though,” Stiles shot back.
 
Stiles had already puzzled out why Cora wasn’t staying at Lydia’s. That had
been easy. But it took a bit longer to figure out why Cora hadn’t mentioned
staying with Peter. Of course, you couldn’t pay Stiles enough money to spend an
extended amount of time with the other man but Cora seemed to get along with
him fine. However, after a while, it started to make sense. It was almost eerie
how comfortably Cora fit into the Stilinski routine. It was like she had always
been there, shower times, chore duty, and favourite breakfast cereals slotting
into spaces Stiles didn’t know existed. Laundry, especially, a chore
traditionally avoided by Stilinski men, was constantly being done, even under
garments to Stiles’s indignant protests. His father had smothered him with a
throw cushion the first time he tried to convince Cora to stop and Stiles
couldn’t blame him; for once they both smelled lovely with whatever flower
detergent Cora had started to buy.
 
At first the fitting in had seemed almost effortless but there were moments
when Cora smiled or laughed at a bad pun his father made about Tony the Tiger
that Stiles saw the way Cora seemed to be desperately clinging to those moments
of being normal more than was natural. He tried to imagine Peter’s apartment
but all he could come up with was some kind of swanky bachelor pad with a lot
of chrome and too many mirrors. Not a lot of chance to pretend to be normal for
a teenager.
 
Stiles knew how to pretend to have that feeling of normalcy. He had been doing
it since his mother had died, and he had seen Scott go through it right after
his dad had left. It was painful to do but so much better than the alternative
of acknowledging that something wasn’t quite right and that someone was
missing.
 
Stiles was pretty sure that whole act of keeping things normal was starting to
be detrimental to other things though. In his effort to try and keep his father
from acknowledging how long Cora had been staying with them, everything felt
like it was being pushed aside. The sacrifices were still happening, faster and
scarier but it was like a cat chasing a string. Everything he thought he was
getting ahead of the problem something came and jerked it away. He was relying
on a dangerous mix of Adderall and caffeine to make it through the day when
strange, foggy nightmares made him wake up gasping for breath in a cold sweat.
 
He also blamed the fact he found himself constantly defending his lifestyle
habits, his only child status making him unprepared for it.
 
Cora abided by the curfew and rules of the house so much better than he ever
did. Dishes were always washed, nothing was left out until it started to grow
more stubble than Stiles could manage in a week, and he had even walked in on
her vacuuming under the couch. Even her sneaking out somehow to spend time with
Johan somewhere slipped by detection. There had been no reason for his father
to cause a grievance against her but it didn’t stop him from casting sideway
looks at Stiles and backhanded comments on how nice it was to have someone
other than a teenage boy around the house.
 
He was pretty sure, in any case, that she was spending her spare time not at
school with Johan but she always came home by dinner, too late to just be
coming home straight from school (or with Stiles after practice) but too early
for his father to think she was getting into trouble with Beacon Hills night
life. It helped his father felt the need to make sure they were well informed
of when his shifts were Stiles supposed, but the man did make a living out of
making patterns and collecting clues so even though Cora had been diligent to
not raise suspicions Stiles should have seen it coming.
 
The sheriff had the morning off. Cora was already off for the day, claiming to
be hanging out with Allison and her cousin. While Stiles contemplated making a
third Pop Tart though it probably would cap out his sugar limit for the day,
his father shut his paper with a decisive slap.
 
“Stiles, where the hell is that girl’s family? Is she on the run or something?”
 
Stiles tried for an air of innocence. “What? No, dad, of course not!”
 
“I thought you were just trying to spend more time with your girlfriend but the
more I see you two together the more I get the feeling you aren’t even dating.”
 
“Oh, you mean like I’ve been telling you from the beginning?” Stiles said. “I’m
just helping her out.”
 
“Define ‘helping’.”
 
“I’m pretty sure Oxford describes it as a selfless, no questions asked action
between a people and something any father would be proud of.”
 
“Son.” That was his no-nonsense voice, the voice he used when Scott and Stiles
had tried to light fireworks in the basement when they were eight, the voice
that he used to make grown criminals shrivel in their seats and forget to ask
about lawyers. “If she is in trouble then I’m harbouring a criminal. I barely
got my job back after the fiasco last year with the Whitman kid. You told me
nothing like that would happen again. Instead, you bring this girl here with no
contact information, no parents, has very probably spent the last few years
living south of the border if her Spanish is anything to go by—“
 
“She could have learned those words anywhere—“
 
“—there’s not a single Cora registered in your school! Did you really think I
wouldn’t check? Drinking, sure I get, you’re a teenager and I thought I could
trust you not to be dumb with that fake ID but Stiles. The drug cartel is a
whole other ball game.”
 
Okay, Stiles hadn’t been expecting that. “Cora is not part of the drug cartel!
God, do you even hear yourself?”
 
“Do you hear yourself?” The sun was still shining through the window but Stiles
felt pinned down and trapped like he was in an interrogation room. He stood
from the chair and started pacing. Last night they had watched Dark Knightand
his father docilely eaten unsalted popcorn; there was no warning this morning
was going to be an all-out attack. His father must have been sitting on this,
lulling Stiles into a sense of security. Stupid, Stiles.
 
The sheriff was watching him, appraising him like he was mapping out possible
places a suspect would have weapons hidden under pajamas and that made
something in Stiles’s stomach clench painfully.
 
“She’s not—“ Stiles struggled to think of what to tell but his mind was coming
up blank, overstressed, overtired and underprepared. “She has some family in
town okay? He’s just got some things going on at his apartment and she doesn’t
want to be a part of it.”
 
“That’s definitely going to convince me you’re not tangled up in drugs, yeah,”
the sheriff said dryly.
 
“It’s not drugs, dad!”
 
“Give me a name, Stiles.”
 
“Monica Lowinski. Alice Copper, Barak Obama.”
 
“Hername!”
 
This was usually the part where some kind of idea came to him, some kind of
life-saving brain worm like using Danny’s break up as an excuse at The Jungle
or something witty that made his father throw up his hands in frustration and
shove him in the back seat of a patrol car. But for some reason nothing was
coming. Stiles stopped pacing.
 
“Her name’s Cora Hale.”
 
That got a reaction. The sheriff sat up straight in his chair. “Cora Hale died
in that fire, Stiles.”
 
“Yeah, well, unless an incorporeal being used up all the hot water in the
shower this morning, she obviously didn’t. She showed up a while ago and was
living with Derek.”
 
“Derek Hale? I wouldn’t trust that boy with my toaster let alone a minor!”
 
“Well that’s why she’s here, okay? Derek was being awful—not, that kind of
awful, just like sibling rivalry stuff,” Stiles cut off his father quickly.
“She needed a place to crash for a while.”
 
“That girl is legally dead, Stiles, she’s an orphan and she’s, what, barely
seventeen? There are procedures, paperwork, social workers—“
 
“I know.”
 
“No! You don’t know! What do you think is going to happen to her without any
kind of legal documents? Where the hell has she been that this has never come
up before? Has Derek been hiding her?”
 
“Dad, come on—“
 
“Don’t ‘come on’ with me, Stiles! This is the kind of thing you come to me for.
These are the kinds of things the police are around for! I cannot believe I
trusted you when you said I didn’t need to be worried, Jesus, Stiles—“
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
Sometimes Stiles wished his father knew when he was lying just so that he would
know when he was telling the truth. But his father was looking at him in a way
that he knew meant the man was too angry and disappointed to let the sincerity
of his words in. “Derek Hale isn’t a family for that girl. She’s been here for
days I haven’t seen hide or hair of him. I don’t care what the hell kind of
fight they had but that boy doesn’t even have an apartment according to the
city records.”
 
The cold, analytic side of Stiles’s brain made a quick note that his father was
keeping tabs on Derek and he should warn the pack. Half a second later he hated
himself. “How do you even know that?”
 
His father pinned him with a look. “It’s my job to know where people like him
are. You have until Monday to tell her that I know. Then I’m going to start
processing the paperwork and contact social services. That girl needs help and
not in the way you think is best. She can stay here for now—“ he cut Stiles’s
protest off with a raised hand, “—and I’ll try my best but, Stiles. You did
this wrong.”
 
***
 
Stiles’s window had been suffering from an identity crisis long before Scott’s
fateful bite. Normally, however, it had been Stiles climbing out late at night
meet Scott. Usually it was when Stiles heard something on his borrowed
(“Stolen,” Scott-Debbie-Downer had scolded him back in junior high but Stiles
had chosen not to hear) police scanner or when his father had included him in
his brainstorming on a case. Not much had ever happened in Beacon Hill but
Stiles had made sure he and Scott got firsthand accounts of every time faux-
Wiccans illegally burned fires in the woods, and all the strangely mangled
animal corpses.
 
He had to sneak his bike out of the garage. His father had sent him to his room
until Cora came back. Though the Jeep had made many stealth late night runs,
his father had proven to be much too observant these days. He knew he was going
to get caught but at least if he didn’t take the Jeep he would have a bit of a
head start and the deputies would have a harder time tracking down a kid in a
hoodie on a bike rather than the most conspicuous blue Jeep in all of Beacon
Hills.
 
Pedaling all the way to Derek’s loft hadn’t exhausted his anger. In fact, it
had only fueled it. He was pissed off, pissed off at his father for doubting
him, pissed off that his father had every reason to doubt him, pissed off at
Cora for coming back and choosing him as a confidant, pissed off at Peter for
fucking biting Scott and getting him into this whole mess, and pissed off at
Derek for making all of this his problem. Those thoughts ran through his head,
cycling as fast as his wheels and by the time he reached that part of town he
was angry enough he was surprised his own eyes weren’t flashing gold.
 
“Derek!” The door slammed on the runners and echoed around the pavement. The
proximity alarm was blaring but Derek was nowhere in sight. “Get out here!”
 
“What the—“
 
Stiles so angry it felt like his skin was vibrating and he couldn’t wait for
Derek to come all the way down the open staircase. He stalked up it himself,
gratified when he saw Derek take a few frantic steps back until they were in
the upper part of the loft, his unmade bed shoved in the corner and,
thankfully, empty.
 
“She came back for you! She came backand all you do is toss them out like they
don’t matter—why the hell did you try so hard to convince Scott to join you
when all you do is abandon people when they need you?”
 
Derek had been steadily backing away, his eyes wide as Stiles advanced on him,
shoving a finger into his chest though Stiles was pretty sure it was hurting
him more than Derek. Derek hit the metal window frame then pressed back against
it as Stiles took another step into his space.
 
“I get you’ve got damage but do you really have to destroy people just to make
yourself feel better?”
 
“Stiles-“ there was a warning growl in his voice but Stiles wasn’t having it.
 
“I’m sick of your stupid, cryptic attitude! God, do you know what I would do if
I could have my family back? You got Peter and Cora. Two people came back for
you! For youDerek!”
 
“Stiles!” Whatever he said seemed to finally pierce through his shock because
Derek shoved him away hard. “What the hell happened? Is Cora okay?”
 
“Of course she’s okay,” Stiles shoved back but Derek didn’t move an inch.
“What’s not okay is how you treat her! I can’t tell if it’s because your life
story is a Greek tragedy or if you were just born missing the gene that makes
you tolerable to other people, but I swear to God if you don’t get off your ass
and fix this I’m going to rip your freaking head off!”
 
“Greek what—“
 
When Stiles had first met Derek he had thought the man was creepy. He had dead,
blank eyes which, more than the rage and threats, disturbed Stiles. He had
thought there had been something wrong in Derek, like he was a sociopath killer
on CSI or something without remorse or feelings.
 
But as time went on life had trickled back into Derek like a canister filling
up; first anger and rage, then something like desperation. It was like watching
a toddler walk, if the toddler wore leather like a fetish and was overly
attached to muscle cars. Had been overly attached to muscle cars. But now drove
a very dependable SUV. A family car. Stiles squinted at Derek.
 
“Did you—paint in here?” Stile sniffed, the sudden sharp smell making him
start. He looked around, the differences of the room sinking in. There was an
actual bed, for starters, not just a mattress on the floor. There was a side
table, a lamp and the beginnings of a bookshelf on one corner. Curtains on the
window were blocking out most of the street and he was pretty sure he had
interrupted Derek from reading, if the open book on the bed was anything to go
by.
 
“So,” Derek sounded almost defensive. “I’m allowed to paint my own apartment if
I want.”
 
It wasn’t Cora nesting. It was Derek and Stiles felt that information bolt
through him like lightening.
 
“You miss Cora!”
 
“Of course I do!” Derek flushed, flushed. Stiles hadn’t believed the man was
capable of that. “She’s my sister, of course I miss her!”
 
“You want her to live here! That’s why you’ve been Martha Stewart-ing the
loft!”
 
“No I haven’t,” Derek said quickly but Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to
know it was a lie.
 
“Why the hell did you throw her out?”
 
“I don’t have to explain anything to you, I’m the Al—“
 
“Alpha-nothing, I’m not in your stupid pack, the only thing growling at me is
going to do is employ some Caesar techniques all over your furry ass.” Stiles
rocked back on his heels, his epiphany a balm. “First you sexile her for some
girl-“
 
“Hey!” Derek did look up then with a frown. “I didn’t – did you say sexile? It
was for her protection!”
 
“And what about you? You’re just going to be bait for the Alphas alone?”
 
“I thought she’d be happier with you!”
 
“She only came to my place because she didn’t have anywhere else to go!”
 
“I didn’t think she’d want to be anywhere else,” Derek’s eyes were flashing
angrily. “Don’t think I don’t know she’s in your bed every night. You’re
welcome, by the way.”
 
“She only came to my house because you forced her there,” Stiles snapped back.
“If you want a relationship with her you’ve got to at least try to hold on to
her!”
 
“I was holding on to her! She wanted space; this was me, giving her space!” he
snapped then turned to glare at the lamp by the bed like it was personally
offending him. “You have no idea what it’s like. She’s infuriating!”
 
“She’s your little sister. She’s supposed to be. She wants space but she didn’t
want to you just give up on her! Are you allergic to trusting people or
something?”
 
“Fine,” Derek said darkly. His eyes were almost glowing in the dimly lit room
and his lip curled in distaste. “I guess she trusts you enough for you to be an
expert on her.” Stiles felt his tentative patience snap.
 
“Is that what this is about? My relationship with your sister? You’re going to
let a little jealously stand in the way of something you want, aren’t you?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Seriously, How damaged do you have to be to have
something, right in front of your face, that you won’t just take it—“
 
Stiles bit Derek’s chin as the man lounged forward. Two strong hands framed his
jaw holding him in place as Derek winced but pushed forward, following Stiles
as he back pedaled. The last word of his rant ended in a muffled jumble in
Derek’s mouth as the man kissed him, harsh, teeth clinking painfully as he
tried to slot their mouths together. Stiles shoved Derek, hard, and Derek let
go of him quickly, retreating the few steps back to the window frame, both of
them panting harshly. 
 
Later, Stiles couldn’t explain exactly why he did what he did next, but one
second he was looking at Derek, chest heaving under his maroon V-neck, his eyes
wide and white teeth starkly visible in the dimmed room, and the next he wasn’t
looking at anything. He pressed Derek against the wall, the room suddenly
chilly as their bodies met, hips to torsos flat against each other. Derek had
to wrap an arm around his lower back to steady them and Stiles took the
opportunity to hitch his knee up, the top of it hitting the wall painfully but
that sensation lost as he pressed his dick against the crease of Derek’s hip.
 
Derek groaned, a noise Stiles had never heard before, into his mouth and the
vibration made Stiles feel suddenly much too hot. The hand on his back gripped
him, hauling him higher and seemingly closer with unsurprising ease while the
other gripped the back of his neck and threaded through his hair. Stiles didn’t
have a lot of practicing kissing and too soon he felt light headed. He turned
his head, gasping as Derek’s teeth raked across his cheek.
 
“Jesus, Christ,” Stiles somehow managed words through it felt like his brain
had started to short circuit. He jumped as Derek’s mouth met the junction of
his neck and shoulder, stubble scratching at his skin. He made some sort of
whimpering sound as Derek dropped the hand from his neck down to his thigh and
hauled Stiles completely off the ground, knocking off both their balances so
they had to stumble until they hit the bed. Derek landed heavily on Stiles
which normally would have caused some pain but his body didn’t seem to be
transmitting the usual nerve-to-brain message. Then, Stiles decided he had
enough of this stupid oxygen stuff and put his own hands to use to pull Derek’s
face back to his own.
 
He couldn’t stop moving, his limbs felt like they were monsters onto themselves
and were running down every part of Derek they could touch, gripping when they
caught finger holds on belt loops, pockets, and corded muscles. It took only a
few seconds for Stiles to realize that the friction two pairs of jeans made
could turn disastrous so he quickly caught the rhythm of Derek’s body. It was
maddeningly slow and tortuous as Derek tipped his head back, forcing his mouth
to stay open as Derek alternated between kissing his neck, jaw then back to his
mouth. He laid a bite right under his ear and for a second Stiles felt so dizzy
wasn’t sure if his body was going to give out and just pass out in the middle
of what seemed to be the best moment of his life.
 
Then, without warning, Derek was gone, scrambling off the bed and leaving
Stiles shivering with cold and want.
 
“You have to go.”
 
“What—“
 
“Now!” Derek’s voice thundered, his eyes red and suddenly bulging from his
forehead and Stiles threw himself off the bed and out the door before Derek
could fully shift.
 
It had to be bad for his health, this rapid turnaround of emotions. He nearly
tripped down the stairs, only half realizing he hadn’t even bothered to close
the door when he had come in. He made it three blocks away at a panicked run
before he remembered he had biked there. He managed to make it to a gap in the
buildings before collapsing against the dirty brick wall, sliding down
unmindful of whatever black tar was staining the pavement and pressed the heels
of his hands into his eyes until he saw sparks.
 
What the hell, what the hell—He took a deep breath just to show his body it
could still breathe.
 
***
 
He ended up calling Scott who called Allison who got Lydia to swing around the
corner half an hour later with her car. All three girls went from laughing at
whatever carefree, blissfully ignorant topic they had been talking about to
heavy silence as he and his stupid emotional baggage climbed in the back seat
next to Cora. He glared at them, alternating between the three sets of wide
eyes until Allison tried to gently say, “So, Scott said you spoke with Derek—“
 
“Yeah,” Stiles cut her off sharply. “Sure. I was trying to knock some sense
into him but you know how that works out.”
 
“Did he hurt you?” Allison scanned his body quickly from her twisted position
in the passenger seat. Stiles flushed, he knew Derek’s hand prints weren’t
mapped over his body for the world to see even though he could still feel them
in his mind. “What’s wrong with your neck?”
 
Okay, maybe Stiles had underestimated that one. He slapped a hand to where
Derek had mouthed at, horror making his eyes wide and he looked over at Cora
who matched his expression with sudden clarity. 
 
“It looks like he attacked you with his teeth,” Lydia narrowed her eyes.
 
“He’s always threatening me, with that,” Stiles’s mouth felt dry and he looked
helplessly at Cora who was pressing her mouth together and shaking her head in
angry disbelief. “Biting out my throat with his teeth, you know, all par for
course though I guess I always thought he was all bark no bite, ha ha, look can
we just go and forget about this?”
 
“Stiles and Derek,” Allison said, the words hanging in the air like it was the
first time she had ever said them together. “I—just, I never thought—“
 
“There’s no Stiles-and-Derek,” Stiles snapped. “Can we go, please? If I had
known I was going to be interrogated I would have stayed home with my dad.”
 
“Okay, fine,” Lydia grumbled and turned on her blinker though the street was
empty. She kept looking at him in the mirror. “At least this time your walk of
shame isn’t from the back of the bleachers.”
 
“It’s not a walk of shame,” he said with as much venom as he could muster but
scowled deeper as she must have heard his heart skip a little. Okay, so maybe
he was a little ashamed but it wasn’t what she was thinking. At least, not
completely. “And how the hell do you know about the bleachers? Nothing happened
there either!”
 
By car, the trip back to the quiet suburb took almost no time at all. When Cora
and Stiles entered the house, the sheriff looked at them unsurprised from where
he had spread out piles of paperwork across the kitchen table. He and Cora
exchanged a subdued greeting but he gave Stiles a frosted looked and a subtle
jerk of his chin towards the stairs. There was a time limit on how long the
sheriff was going to hold off his own interrogation of Cora and Stiles could
feel the clock ticking.
 
Cora gave Stiles a startled look and he felt like kicking himself for being so
distracted. Of course she was going to notice something was up and of course
things were going to rapidly spin out of control if he didn’t get out in front
of this mess as quickly as possible. Stiles barely needed to turn towards the
stairs before Cora stormed ahead of him in stony panic.
 
He followed Cora up to his room and the second he closed the door she dove for
the canvas bag next to the computer. Stiles sat on the bad as she started to
ball up her clothes and stuff them in the sack with far too much efficiency.
 
“What are you doing?”
 
“Packing,” she shot back. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
 
“I haven’t even told you anything.”
 
“You don’t have to, I can read a room,” she said bitterly. “It’s not the first
time I’ve overstayed my welcome and I don’t want to stick around to see what
the sheriff of a town can do to make me leave.”
 
“It’s not like that,” Stiles shook his head. “He knows you’re Cora Hale.”
 
She gave him a scathing look. “And he’s just going to let it go?”
 
“I told you keeping it a secret was a bad idea,” Stiles said even though he
knew the words weren’t going to change anything. “I haven’t told him anything
because I don’t know anything. I don’t know how to lie for you!”
 
“You don’t have to.”
 
“Yes, I do because if I don’t he thinks of these crazy theories on his own! He
thinks you’re running drugs for Christ’s sake.”
 
“Well, then, I guess I’m glad no one has to lie.”
 
The words took a minute to sink in. “You—What? Cora, you can’t seriously tell
me you came back to run drugs in Beacon Hill.”
 
“Of course not,” she said sharply. “I came here to get away from all of that.”
She looked up from where she was wrestling her aluminum bat back into her bag.
“It’s not something I like to talk about.”
 
“Obviously,” Stiles felt sucker punched. His father’s theory had seemed crazy
and farfetched, the first wild thing he would throw out to the wind in their
brain storming so they could get it out of the way and find the real truth. He
hadn’t expected it to be true but as he thought about it for a second it
suddenly didn’t seem so unlikely. Cora was still packing, her face stony and
set, and Stiles felt a sudden well of sympathy.
 
“Where are you going to go?”
 
Cora was silent for a minute but then answered without looking up. “South. I
probably shouldn’t tell you. You can’t lie to your father if you don’t know.”
 
“Cora-“
 
“You shouldn’t lie to him anymore, Stiles. He’s the only family you have left
and you shouldn’t waste it.”
 
“Stop packing,” Stiles said. “I’ll tell him about you, about Derek and Scott
and all of it. Then, once he’s calmed down, had some scotch – a lot of
scotch—he’ll let you stay.”
 
Cora’s hands faltered but then she shook her head. “There’s no point in
staying. I like you, Stiles, and I like your dad. But if Derek doesn’t want me
in his pack then I’m not going to hang around like an omega begging for
scraps.”
 
“Derek’s pack,” Stiles snorted. “You don’t even know what Derek looks for in
his pack. You’re a teenager,” he held up a finger to start counting, “You have
a sad sob story, you’re frankly a little psychotic, and, oh yeah, you’re a
Hale. Swap the combat gear for leather and Derek would be chaining you in an
abandoned train like the rest of them.”
 
“A train?”
 
“Never mind, that’s in the past. Guy’s practically wallpapering that loft for
you. My point is that Derek wants you here.”
 
Cora stopped, settling back on her heels and twisting her neck to look at
Stiles carefully. She settled her eyes on his neck and he felt his skin heat
up. “Did he say that?”
 
“Yes,” Stiles said, forcing the truthfulness into his voice because he knew if
he hesitated at all she was going to doubt.
 
“He’s got a piss poor way of showing it.”
 
“Emotional constipation runs in the family,” Stiles said dryly. She glared at
him for a minute.
 
“Do you really want to know what happened?”
 
“I really want to know how the hell you managed to hide the drug thing for this
whole time,” Stiles shot back.
 
She didn’t say anything but she did set down her bag completely, which Stiles
took as a good sign. Her hands were balled in tight fists like she was bracing
for a fight but she just turned, facing Stiles with a determined look. “When
the fire started,” she almost seemed to speak through her teeth like it was
painful, “I was outside. I wasn’t supposed to be but—“ she hesitated. “I was
playing with Johan.”
 
Stiles raised his eyebrow. “Like playing with him or—“
 
  “We were a little young for that,” she curled her lip in disgust. “We had met
at the park one day but my parents didn’t want me hanging out with him. At the
time I thought they were being overprotective because he wasn’t a werewolf and
they were worried he would find out but now I realize it was because he was
from a Hunter family. He would sneak out though and we would play in the
woods.” She grinned a little. “He didn’t speak a word of English but we got
along. It was just nice to have someone besides my sisters and cousins to play
with. Anyway, we were outside when I smelled smoke. I wanted to go back but it
was too late. There was a woman in the woods, laughing. I could hear them
screaming, I could smell—“ her voice broke and she swallowed hard. “Johan
dragged me away and hid me in a truck at a rest stop somewhere. I remember
lying on that truck bed for hours before I fell asleep.”
 
Stiles tried to imagine being that young again and hearing the voices of your
family burning when you were just yards away. His stomach churned and he
banished those thoughts to the back of his mind as she continued.
 
“When I woke up, nothing smelled or looked like home so I ran, like we were
taught to do. I think I was running for a few days when I finally got caught in
a leg trap and I was too tired and hungry to open it myself. I woke up in some
hunting shack and those guys made me run some more until I must have crossed
the border.”
 
“Into Nevada?”
 
“Into Mexico,” she corrected. “That was when I realized everyone must be dead.
If they were alive they would have followed me, they would have found me.”
 
She pinned Stiles with a look that would have melted paint off a barn. “I – I
had some trouble controlling the shift at first so I did like I was taught and
kept out of sight. There were—I mean there are places in the mountains where
people don’t go. I did that for a while until I could handle the full moon and
then I started drifting between places. Some of them were kind some of them
where—“ she trailed off before starting again. “I picked up enough Spanish to
get by but I was small and quick and I didn’t care about the danger so I was
useful to the people who did. I didn’t take the drugs,” she snarled. “It’s not
like it would have done much for me. But,” her voice shook for a minute. “I
didn’t do very good things.”
 
If Cora had been a human girl Stiles would have risked getting hit and tried to
touch her shoulder or at least give some kind of physical comfort. But Cora had
claws and teeth and a temper that lashed out when she was cornered. Still,
Greek tragedies had nothing on the Hales it seemed and Stiles suddenly felt he
had to do something.
 
He stood from the bed so they were at eye level. Slowly, watching her like he
was defusing a bomb, he laid a hand on her shoulder. She glared at him and
after a few seconds ticked by Stiles took his hand back awkwardly but she
looked slightly less tense.
 
“I had things under control but I was in Tijuana running some stuff for a guy
when these Americans left behind a newspaper about Derek being arrested. I had
to come back to see for myself and then I got caught by the Alphas.”
 
She wasn’t crying but her eyes were red and exhausted. Stiles suddenly felt
selfish and extraordinarily stupid for letting the latter half of his Derek
excursion trample the real reason for going over there. He wanted to say
something but before he could actually get words out, Cora started to duck
around him towards the door, holding her bag in one hand.
 
“I’ve got a network down there I can live off of for a while and I’ll call you
when I can.”
 
She was still leaving, Stiles realized suddenly, so he moved, ignoring his
earlier caution, and grabbed at her wrist. As predicted, her eyes flashed gold
(a colour Stiles was suddenly grateful for) but she didn’t try to swipe him.
 
“Like hell you’re leaving after that,” Stiles didn’t know why his voice sounded
so thick and rough because he definitely hadn’t been crying either. “Unpack
your stuff. I’m making pancakes.”
 
“Your father thinks I’m running drugs,” she said quietly. “And it’s not like
he’s exactly wrong.”
 
“My dad is a softy,” Stiles said. “Unpack. I highly doubt he’s going to make
this easy on you or me but, trust me. If we sit down and explain everything,
well at least the whole grr,” he bared his teeth and curled his hands into
claws which accomplished its goal in Cora’s small smile, “then he’ll find a way
for you to stay. I promise.”
 
***
 
Stiles should have known there would be no time to wait for Monday. Things
didn’t happen on schedule so making one was just asking for trouble.
 
Cora fell ill so quickly, one minute she had been eating supper with them like
normal and the next she seemed to be choking on something before her eyes
rolled into the back of her head and she fell from her chair before they could
catch her.
 
Peter had shown up, finally, and Allison and Isaac had pieced together the last
of the puzzle too late. Stiles and Scott barely made it from the hospital,
leaving Derek and Peter in charge of that, but only in time to see Lydia dazed
and shaken while tied to a chair and a bloody smear on the titled floor where
his father had been.
 
So Derek’s mystery woman was Miss Blake and also the goddamn darath, which was
something Stiles had nearly forgotten about, if evil demon druids could be
totally forgotten. He hadn’t seen the whole Derek-and-Miss Blake thing coming;
he hadn’t even known they knew each other.
 
Suddenly all that Stiles thought he knew was turned upside down -- who was
going to pretend to be normal with him if his father was gone?
 
For some reason he had thought a wooden bat was really going to work again
steely muscles and supernatural body melding. But after, when Derek was digging
human fingers into the back of his neck, scolding him frantically, he realized
it wasn’t that he had thought it was going to work. It was that the only thing
he had to lose was himself and in that desperate moment it hadn’t felt like
such a big price.
 
Cora had flat lined on him all alone in that damn ambulance.
 
For a moment he envied her as he forced air into her chest and pumped her
heart. She looked for all the world like she was just resting and he was so, so
tired. He had a brief moment where it didn’t feel so much like he was breathing
air into her and he was trying to take the breathlessness from her body into
himself because there might not be anyone left in his like to mourn him, like
Peter and Derek and maybe even Johan would for her. But then she came back and
Stiles erased that thought from his mind.
 
When Deaton told them it was a part of their soul Stiles didn’t hesitate for a
minute. It seemed only fair, a piece to bring his father back or the whole of
it without his father there at all.
 
Later, he used something stronger than wood to hold up the roof over everyone’s
heads and the world righted itself back on its axis.
 
***
 
After it was over, after he and his father had fought over who showered first
(his father won easily. A day tied up in a cellar “did things to a man” and
Stiles conceded to the smell), and after he just hung up on the first pizza
place he found that hadn’t lost power in the storm, the doorbell rang.
 
Cora’s bat was leaning against the hallway and Stiles hefted it over his
shoulder as he went to answer the door, the weight reassuring. Stiles might
give up lacrosse after tonight for a new sport.
 
Stiles never realize realized how young Cora looked until she was shadowed by
her brother, grimy and hopeful on his porch. She gave him a toothy grin and it
hit Stiles that beyond just hearing she was already, he needed to see her
upright, breathing and not spewing black tar all over the floor. He dropped the
bat with a loud clatter and grabbed her in a tight hug without thinking.
 
She stiffened and he almost let go but then she relaxed, bringing a tentative
hand to his shoulder in an approximate squeeze back.
 
“I see you made it out alive.” If Stiles’s voice was a little choked up Cora
didn’t mention anything.
 
“Well,” she patted him once, a firm thump that signaled the hug had gone on
well long enough. Stiles let go quickly and stepped back, opening the door
wider so they could come in.
 
Derek glanced at him with a strained expression before growling, “Where did you
find that shirt, a dead rodeo clown?”
 
“Where’s Peter?” Stiles ignored the barb as Cora went straight for the kitchen
and collapsed into the chair she had claimed as her during her time there.
Stiles took his which left Derek hovering awkwardly before leaning against
wall.
 
“Back at his apartment I think,” Cora laid her head on the table looking
drained. “He only sticks around if there’s something in it for him.”
 
Derek snorted in agreement. The shower stopped upstairs and Cora straightened
quickly. “I’m covered things I don’t know the name of and I can still taste
your rank breath in my mouth, that shower’s mine.”
 
“Like hell it is!” Stiles shot out of his chair and they bottlenecked at the
base of the stairs. Before Stiles could wedge an elbow in, she shoved him into
the wall and he froze as her eyes flashed red. Sensing weakness, she grinned
and pushed past him, leaving him confused and clinging to the banister.
 
“What—Derek, what—“
 
“So she can make you do things as the Alpha but all I got was sarcasm,” Derek’s
voice was exhausted but there was a drawl in it, the kind of humour that came
out when a person had used up all their other emotions.
 
“She’s an Alpha,” Stiles sat down hard on the step. “What, so who did she kill?
I thought all the Alpha’s were accounted for. Miss Blake killed Kali, Lydia
said Ethan and Aiden were alive, somehow. Scott said he let Deucalion go.”
 
Instead of answering, Derek turned his eyes a brilliant blue and Stiles didn’t
think his brain could take more information. “I had to save her.”
 
“Did I know you could do that?” was all Stiles could say dumbly.
 
“I didn’t even know I could do that,” Derek looked away his eyes back to hazel.
“I’ve got to get back to my place. You and Cora should figure things out.”
 
“Yeah, right, like I’m going to let you go back there,” Stiles snorted. “Lydia
said they trashed the place. You can stay. I’ve got an air mattress somewhere.”
 
“Oh,” Derek looked confused but Stiles had been jerked around all night, both
physically and mentally. He couldn’t deal with it anymore.
 
There was an air mattress, a decent one too though the box was dusty. Stiles
was pretty sure his dad had bought it for the nights Scott stayed over but when
they were younger the two of the usually passed out in Stiles’s bed or on the
floor before they thought to set it up. Things hadn’t changed much when they
were older, though if Stiles woke up to Scott spooning him one of them got
kicked to the floor. There was an automatic pump that Stiles switched on when
they cleared a space big enough in the den. They sat quietly side by side on
the pulled out couch as the motor hummed furiously and the mattress swelled.
 
Derek cleared his throat. “Look, about… before.” But then he stopped for a full
minute and Stiles found himself leaning towards Derek suddenly, as if proximity
would make the other man speak.
 
“What about it?” Stiles finally prompted.
 
“It won’t happen again.” It felt like cold water smack into his face. Derek
glanced up at the ceiling. “Shower stopped.”
 
But Stiles couldn’t leave now, not even with sweat, blood and earth clinging to
his skin and making him feel like he had layer of armor made from grime. He
fixed Derek with an angry look because he had almost lost his father tonight.
He had almost lost everyone tonight. He had sacrificed part of his soul. He was
so bone-tired exhausted it felt like he was feeling everything through a dark
halo around the edges of his eyes.
 
Maybe it was that darkness or maybe it was the exhaustion driving him to do
stupid things, but Stiles glared at Derek until the older man look at him with
guilt filled eyes. For a second all Stiles want to do was punch him but he
forced that impulse to the back of his mind and found himself saying coldly,
“Fine. I’ll take the air mattress, you stay on the couch.” That was punishment
enough, actually, since Stiles couldn’t remember having a decent night on that
thing. “But I’m not staying in this room with you. Go,” he jerked his head to
the door and Derek flinched. “Shower. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
 
Derek obeyed too easily, and it took Stiles a while before he could unclench
his fists and grab the now inflated air mattress to wrestle it up the stairs.
 
He knocked on Cora’s door, his door actually, and she blinked in surprise when
she opened it. She let him in without a word and he dumped the mattress on the
floor. Air mattresses were terrible things to try and throw when one was angry,
though, because it bounced comically on the floor and knocked a pile of papers
onto the floor as it flopped. Stiles sighed in irritation and pressed his hands
into his temples as he felt more of a headache piling on.
 
Cora must have snuck up on him because he threw himself backwards when she laid
a hand on his shoulder and tripped, falling, fortunately, on the air mattress
which saved him from getting another possible concussion. Cora looked surprised
at the gravity of his reaction but sat on the bed so she wasn’t hovering over
him quite so much. “I thought—you and Derek—“
 
“There is no me-and-Derek,” Stiles was feeling like a broken record. First it
had been about Cora and him, now it was about his nothing with Derek. He should
wear a sign detailing his non-relationships with the Hale family so people
wouldn’t get the wrong idea about him and Peter.
 
“But the other day at the loft,” Cora quirked an eyebrow. “I mean, I know what
beard burn looks like and you smelled—“
 
“There’s no me-and-Derek,” Stiles repeated loudly because he knew exactly how
thin the walls were for human ears. There was no way Derek couldn’t hear him.
“The only Hale I kind of like right now is you.”
 
Cora was quiet for a minute before she said calmly. “Well, I guess I can be
happy about that.”
 
Stiles flopped back on the mattress. It bubbled under his body, flattening out
his lower back in a way that made him feel all the aches and pains of the
night. He wasn’t sure he would be able to soak in a bathtub for a good while
though. “Weird night.”
 
“Yeah,” he heard Cora lay back on the bed. “Stiles?”
 
“Yeah?”
 
“What if I’m a shitty Alpha? I don’t know anything about being a pack.”
 
Stiles closed his eyes, the mattress was still uncomfortable but being vertical
was sapping all his energy. “Don’t worry. Both Peter and Derek sucked at it
too. Third Hale’s the charm.”
 
***
 
Breakfast was a painful affair. Stiles woke up so stiff he thought his limbs
were going to be stuck in his sleep position for the rest of his life. It took
a few tears to sit up and then more when he realized he hadn’t even remembered
to take off his mud crusted shoes. Someone had covered him with a blanket in
the night, probably his father because it smelled like the spare one they kept
in the closet with his mother’s old clothes, and that was a conversation he
wasn’t looking forward too. At least he had been on the mattress and Cora was
still soundly asleep in his bed.
 
He managed to lurch to the bathroom and though he couldn’t bring himself to
take a bath the hot water from the shower felt like bliss as it pounded on his
sore muscles. When he was clean and changed into decent clothes he felt
slightly more human and shuffled his way painfully down the stairs.
 
Eggs, he thought blurrily, bacon. Coffee. And toast. There was just enough for
two humans and two hungry werewolves so Stiles started to make it, managing to
slip an ibuprofen from his secret first aid stash into his mouth somewhere
along the way. His father showed up but thankfully didn’t mention last night’s
sleeping arrangements as he helpfully pulled out dishes and poured himself a
mug of coffee. Cora always roused with the smell of food and Derek emerged when
she came down. The two Hales and the two Stilinskis sat: Stiles and Cora facing
each other, his father at the end of the table, and Derek rounding them out
awkwardly.
 
Stiles and his father rarely had time for breakfast like this and even with
Cora here Stiles usually ate quickly in the morning while she hovered around
the kitchen poking at the stray cans in the cupboards. The few times he
remembered breakfasts like these his mother had usually been there and it
happened after some kind of holiday, when Stiles couldn’t sit still because
even though he had unwrapped his presents they were still frustratingly in
their boxes. So, it felt strange how oddly comfortable this felt, quiet and
victorious like they were a unit of people who had survived and this was the
normalcy they were coming back too. Stiles felt something in his stomach lurch.
 
If anyone had any complaints about the burnt bread or stray eggshells Stiles
wasn’t ready to hear them. Fortunately, no one breathed a word during the meal,
eating instead in silence though as time passed Cora and the sheriff perked up.
Stiles found himself drifting. Sometimes he found himself zoning out over his
crust, the sound of a fork scraping ceramic jerked him out of it as he
remembered the sick scratch of metal on the hospital floor. When he looked at
his father all he saw were the rope burns around his wrists, the careful way he
kept his arm close to his chest where Miss Blake had stabbed him.
 
He could feel Derek watching him.
 
The table wasn’t large. With a family of two they hadn’t had much need for more
than the standard square table and now that it was at maximum capacity
everything felt a little too close. He looked up and Derek glanced away,
suddenly reoccupied with his half eaten unbuttered toast.
 
It wasn’t that Stiles felt hurt at the rejection. He had years of Lydia
shooting him down and forgetting his name. He was a rubber band through and
through, he thought bitterly, but at least with Lydia he knew why. She was
beautiful, smart and they had nothing in common besides their interchanging
spots on the Dean’s list. He knew, in reality, there was no way he was going to
fit into her life and she would never fit into his. So, yeah, the rejection
from her stung but at least he understood it.
 
But Derek. Derek had kissed him. Derek had chased him. And then Stiles had said
yes and Derek had run off making Stiles conclude Derek was a complete idiot and
he was too tired to suffer through that.
 
Suddenly, Stiles didn’t feel hungry. He shoved the plate of food away and stood
up. “Sorry, I’m going back to sleep.”
 
“Stiles,” the sheriff started to stand, concern in his voice but Stiles managed
a thin grin. Cora was looking between him and Derek with an almost thoughtful
expression but she didn’t say anything. Stiles was grateful for that. 
 
“Stay, eat. Please.” Stiles suddenly couldn’t think of anything better than
more sleep right now. “I just didn’t get enough last night and it hit me. I’m
fine, I promise.”
 
Habit had his feet heading towards the den and he didn’t stop until he reached
the carefully made pull out couch and realized he hadn’t slept there last
night. He turned his head, thinking about his own room, the torturous air
mattress, the stairs he would have to climb, and crawled onto the springy,
squeaking bed instead, burying his face into a pillow that smelled like lilac
shampoo and Derek before he fell into another deep sleep.
 
***
 
The Hale’s apartment was wrecked. Completely unlivable, though when the sheriff
saw it he made a sarcastic comment about the livability of it before, much to
Derek’s offense. Kali’s body had to be taken care of because she was a person
with a driver’s license, a degree in accounting from a university in Arizona,
and Stiles couldn’t help but feel strange as the corner wheeled her away. At
least this one was easy to cover up. No one could accuse Derek of a dropping an
entire window pane on her. The sheriff let Derek gather a bag and then the
yellow police tape blocked them out more effectively than the steel door.
 
Cora slipped out at some point, probably to see Johan who she had been texting
secretly the whole morning. Stiles wondered about the curse and that branch of
the family still lingering out there somewhere. Lydia hadn’t mentioned anything
about the book but they had been preoccupied with one Big Bad already. It
seemed poor form to have two potential threats at the same time—three really
because they hadn’t even made the connection between the sacrifices and the
alpha pack until it was almost too late. Weren’t the heroes supposed to take a
break? Regroup over summer break or something and come back with cooler weapons
and an all new cast fresh and ready to face the Earth threatening evil?
 
Stiles was tempted to just let the Hunters win the next one and pushed it from
his mind. If they were going to cast a curse they were taking their sweet ass
time with it and all he wanted was for a week in his own bed and an endless
supply of burritos on his bed stand.
 
However, nice things didn’t happen to Stiles. Rooms were shifted around in the
Stilinski house. Cora moved down to the den, Derek took the air mattress down
there with her, and Stiles found himself back in his own bed for the first time
in a while. It was nice to have his own bed again, though he still had two
strange house guests, his father’s bewildered frown, and the weird foggy dreams
he had been having morphed into strange nightmares about a white room and
running through forests. Derek had tried to book a hotel but the sheriff had
fixed him with the same, pants-wetting look he had given Stiles and ground out
he wanted the comfort of knowing where Derek was at all times until Cora’s
paperwork was finalized.
 
Stiles didn’t know how his father did it. Stiles suspected he would never know
but a few days later the sheriff came back from the station bearing a manila
envelope with Cora’s birth certificate, a SIN, and several overtly legal
documents claiming her identity. He also came with a copy of the Hales’ will he
had taken from the fire investigation and the resulting guardianship papers.
Under no uncertain circumstances, Derek was ordered to get a real residence
with two bedrooms and Cora was to be enrolled into either school or a GED
before the sheriff would think of letting her leave the house to live with
Derek or Peter, who had still not surfaced, Thalia’s wishes or not.
 
Stiles had taken to avoiding Derek like the plague, holing up in his room after
school with Cora and Scott, who was hiding out from his own paternal problems.
Derek was usually out, anyway, sometimes with Isaac sometimes not, looking for
a suitable apartment somewhere still close to the high school but far enough
away the preserve was still close by. Cora declined to go with them, claiming
that sharing a room with Derek was the exact amount of time she needed to spend
with him and Stiles was grateful because he gotten strangely attaching to
having her around.
 
“And now he’s over all the time,” Scott was lying flat on the ground, spread
eagle as if his body couldn’t handle all the angst. “And she’s there, just
giggling and looking at him like she used to— It’s painful.”
 
“Wait, your dad and mom are getting back together?” Cora looked up from where
she was looking at cat pictures on Stiles’s lap top at the desk. Getting her a
Facebook account had been a gateway social media drug. He was hoping Derek’s
guilt trip would have resulted in her getting her own laptop but no dice yet.
“I kind of thought your mom hated him.”
 
“God no! I meant Isaac and Allison,” Scott looked mournfully at Stiles who was
relishing in having his bed back by lounging on it as much as possible. He
hadn‘t bothered to change into real clothes yet. He had thought since getting
his room back he would be sleeping better but instead the nightmares were
getting worse. He wondered if Scott and Allison were finding them same problems
but he hadn’t thought it ask and, besides, today was a day for lounging in
sweats and Yoda tee-shirts anyway. Cora had done the laundry and had used the
flowery smelling detergent so he was hard pressed to do anything but let the
lilac scent relax him. “I’m happy they’re happy but can’t they make out
somewhere that’s not my room? I used to make out in there.”
 
“Her apartment is still crowded with her cousins there,” Cora pointed out.
“Johan—“ she stopped suddenly and shared a panicked look with Stiles but he
just rolled his eyes at her. “I mean, it must be crowded with all of them and
just the apartment.”
 
Scott sighed again, unhappily. “It just feels cruel. Sometimes they just look
at me before going up.” He shivered. “It feels like they’re taunting me.”
 
“Maybe it’s for a different reason,” Cora rolled her eyes. She looked at him
with a raised eyebrow but Scott just looked at her pathetically. She sighed.
“Maybe there’s a reason they’ve been using your bed to spread theirpheromones
around you.”
 
Stiles knew Scott well enough to tell he was on the brink of understanding what
Cora was hinting at. “Because,” Scott said slowly. “They—hate me?
 
“Or maybe,” Cora sighed impatiently. “They want to spend more time with their
Alpha.” There was a long pause. “Intimate time.” There was a long pause. Cora
growled. “With you. For sex.”
 
Scott flushed and sat straight up. “What?”
 
Oh. Oh.
 
From the look on Scott’s face he hadn’t considered that idea either. Stiles
suddenly couldn’t stop imagining the three of them, naked on Scott’s bed and—
He blanched, scrubbing his eyes like it would magically clean out the images
from his brain. He glanced over at Scott who was clearly having the same ideas
as Stiles but wasn’t so traumatised by them. A slow smile crept over his face.
“Really?”
 
“Yes,” Cora glared at him. “And if I have to hear Isaac moping around my room
one more time I’m going to rip your face off and wear it like a hat.”
 
“I’m going to talk to Allison,” Scott stood up. “When Isaac and Derek get back
tell him to call me, okay?” Cora flapped a hand dismissively at him as he
bolted out of the room. Stiles glanced over at Cora who had clicked on a video
about sleepy pandas.
 
“Well that was weird.”
 
She glanced over at him calmly. “What? The whole Isaac thing?” She sniffed
smugly and tapped her nose. “If you were a werewolf you’d have figured it out
just as fast.”
 
“Wait, that’s how you knew? Smell?” Stiles ignored the snub.
 
 “Mostly,” she said. “We can smell normal things—blood, sweat, and stuff. But
if you concentrate you can smell other things. Frustration, happiness—Pain, or
fear,” her eyes unfocused for a second as if she was recalling something
unpleasant but she gave a minute shake of her head before turning to him with a
half grin. “Isaac and Scott just aren’t good at it.”
 
“I bet that make puberty all the more awkward,” Stiles said but then bolted up
as a panicked thought came to him. “Wait—how the hell hasn’t your brother
figured out about you and Johan then?”
 
“He’s an obtuse idiot and I’ve got my own ways of deal with him. Speaking of
Johan,” she glanced at her phone which had started to become a permanent
fixture in her hand. “I’m waiting for him to get back to me so if Derek comes
back and I’m not here—“ she grinned. “Actually, never mind. I’m the alpha now.
I can do whatever I want.”
 
“Isn’t it going to bother you?”
 
“What, being the alpha?” she wrinkled her nose. “It’s not as different as I
thought it would be.”
 
“Not that, though yes, technically that. I meant Isaac and Allison, you know,
with Scott,” Stiles hand waved the whole uncomfortableness of thinking of
Scott’s sex life. “I mean, Isaac and Scott were kind of Derek’s pack first.
With Scott being an alpha too and Isaac, uh, switching sides, shouldn’t you be
more proactive in keeping your people in place?”
 
“So you’re suggesting Ihook up with Isaac to seal his loyalty?”
 
“Dude, I just had lunch, don’t give me those kinds of visuals,” Stiles
shuttered. “It’s just, I kind of thought you’d want to keep the pack you have.
Derek was pretty dead set on expanding. If Isaac was going to take up camp with
Scott I thought your Alpha-senses would be tingling.”
 
Cora picked up her phone and fiddled with it before replying. “Like I said,
being an Alpha’s not as different as I thought it was going to be. I don’t mind
Scott being around. He still feels like pack. Maybe it’s not one Alpha per pack
all the time.”
 
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, we all saw how well multiple Alphas in one
pack worked out.”
 
“I’d like to think I’m not going to go homicidal just because there’s another
leader around,” Cora sighed. “I’m not going to risk splitting up the one good
thing I have just to satisfy some stupid tradition. If Scott and I are fine
then I’m just going to let it go and see how things work out.”
 
“That’s not how it works in the wild.”
 
“Werewolf,” Cora practically growled. “You do realize just because we‘re
werewolves we don‘t stop being human? It‘s not like Scott and Isaac got a
personality transplant. We can still think,” she tapped her head soundly.
 
“But what about Isaac and Erica and their leather thing when Derek bit them? I
thought that was a werewolf kind of personality transformation,” Stiles said
but Cora just gave him a confused look. He supposed she had a point though. The
leather thing had never really caught on. Also, though he hadn’t spent a lot of
time with Isaac before, he did remember when they had cornered Jackson at the
rave. Isaac and Erica had been as confused and frightened as he had known them
in school before the change. When they were in the face of real, supernatural
danger for the first time, Stiles had to be the one to step up.
 
“Leather was more of a Laura thing than a werewolf thing,” Cora sighed. “I
remember mom hating it. She thought it was a cliché but,” Cora smiled faintly.
“I kind of thought it was cool.”
 
“Derek never talks about Laura,” Stiles said. “That’s weird, right? Like,
should be entering therapy weird or just a quirky thing?”
 
“One thing that hasn’t changed is how well Derek uses his words,” Cora said
dryly. “He was driving her Camero for a while. I think that was his way of
grieving.”
 
“Wait,” Stiles sat up. “The Camero was Laura’s?”
 
“Well, yeah,” Cora said. “As if Derek would get a car with that kind of gas
mileage.” It was like learning Santa didn’t exist and Stiles knew he must
looked like a fish, his mouth gaping open, but Cora wasn’t looked at him any
more as her phone buzzed. “Isaac is going to head over to Allison’s.” There was
a kind of mischievous smirk on her face. “It’s kind of nice, isn’t it? Having
more than one person to share your life with?”
 
Stiles managed a strangled kind of laugh. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not sure I
can take one other person’s drama let alone two. I think I’m a one-person kind
of man.”
 
“That’s good to know,” Cora said almost slyly. “Derek’s the jealous type.”
 
She had been dropping hints like that whenever she could so Stiles let out a
frustrated sigh. “Derek and I, not happened. Finito.”
 
“But—“
 
“Just, drop it,” Stiles begged. “Please?”
 
Her eyes softened a little. “Fine. Sorry. It just feels like something is off
balance with you two fighting. I can’t really explain it.”
 
“So you think I should hook up with Derek to, what,” Stiles couldn’t help but
mock her a little. “Strengthen pack ties?”
 
“I just ate,” she rolled her eyes with a grin. “Don’t make me sick.” Stiles
watched as Cora picked up her bag, some kind of Lydia-esque brand name, and
thought briefly at how far she had come in such a short time.  
 
“Wait,” Stiles scrambled to his feet. “Where are you going? We were in the
middle of an intense heart to heart, you know!”
 
“I’ve got plans with Johan,” she said breezily. “And by the way, don’t think I
don’t know you’re happy you are now that you know you don’t have to split your
loyalties between Scott and me.”
 
“Hey,” Stiles said indignantly. “I never said I was in any pack.”
 
Cora rolled her eyes at that and Stiles wasn’t the kind of person to let things
go without a fight so he followed her down the stairs protesting the whole way.
 
When they got the kitchen Stiles was surprised to see Derek already down there,
rustling through the cupboards though he stopped as soon as they entered. Cora
didn’t pause so she must have heard him with her stupid superhuman-not-
entirely-wolf-my-ass powers. She sent Derek a hard look and grabbed Stiles by
his shirt collar, Stiles wincing when he realized it was the one she had ripped
before. Before he could do more than squeak in surprise, she planted a quick,
rough kiss on his cheek then shoved him into the counter. “I’ll see you boys
later.”
 
Okay, that was officially the weirdest thing Cora had done since moving in. He
scrubbed at his cheek with his wrist just in case there was some kind of
werewolf Alpha saliva itch power he hadn’t heard about but frozen when he felt
Derek’s eyes practically boring a hole in the back of his head. He turned
around with a glare. “What are you looking at, crabby pants?”
 
Derek’s eyebrows were practically vibrating as they almost met in a very angry
V shape on his face. “Nothing. Just nothing. Never mind.”
 
Before Stiles would have thought Derek had been pissed off because of the name
calling but Derek was suddenly an ever changing enigma. Stiles was still
reeling a little from the knowledge that the Camero hadn’t been Derek’s car.
But as Stiles looked harder it was almost like the baby-murdering face he was
pulling wasn’t pissed off at Stiles at all. He looked almost jealous. “Still
angry she likes me better than you, huh?” Stiles felt almost delighted when he
saw Derek’s jaw clench.
 
“Whatever. Do what you like.”
 
“Don‘t worry, I was the one who showed her how to use YouTube on a phone,”
Stiles didn’t know exactly why he felt like antagonizing Derek but he had
finally gotten a rise out of Derek and he wanted to hold onto it like a dog
with a bone. “That’s a lot of ground to make up but if you try I’m sure you can
do it.”
 
Derek stared at him like he was an idiot. “I made her Alpha.”
 
“Cat videos,” Stiles held up his left hand, then his right. “Alpha Powers?” He
tilted, dropping his right hand somewhere close to his hip with a smirk. “I
think we both know which one wins out there.”
 
Derek shut the cupboard with a bang that almost popped it off the hinges. “Hey!
I know you‘re used to living in burn out husks of stuff but we actually take
care of the crown molding here!”
 
“That’s not crown molding,” Derek huffed. “And don’t worry, we’ll be out of
your hair soon enough. Isaac and I found a place.”
 
“Great,” Stiles was surprised at the disappointment those words brought.
“Fantastic. Where is it this time, that old brewery in the woods? I think it’ll
finally meet your standard of dank and dark.”
 
Stiles regretted the words as soon as he said them. Derek looked murderous but
jerked his head to the side, abruptly moving to push past Stiles. He grabbed
Derek’s elbow as he went to push by and Derek stopped, canines suddenly
visible. Stiles just gripped his arm tighter.
 
“Okay, that was too far. I’m sorry.” They were standing close now, the entrance
to the kitchen was narrow. Derek’s skin felt hot and suddenly too alive but
Stiles hung on gamely. “Look, I’m sorry for being in a shit mood the last
while. It’s been a stressful week.”
 
Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “You think? Stressful? Stiles, I’m sleeping
next to your father’s high school yearbooks because of this week. Trust me, I
know how stressful this week has been.”
 
“It hasn’t been all roses here either,” Stiles frowned and let go of his grip.
Derek took a step back, stretching out his shoulders like he was trying to
shake off Stiles’s touch which was, frankly, kind of offensive. “I had to sell
part of my soul to save my father. That’s not exactly couch change. At least
you and Cora made up. I’ve still got a very uncomfortable conversation I have
to have with my dad as soon as you guys clear out.”
 
“That’s not my problem.”
 
“It became your problem the moment you practically forced Cora on me,” Stiles
said and Derek inexplicably flinched. “Though I kind of like having her around
so I’ll forgive you for that one. And you’re taking Isaac back so I think
you’re going to get your payback.”
 
“What does this have to do with Isaac?” Derek’s forehead was knitted in
confusion.
 
“I’d hate to ruin the surprise for you,” Stiles smirked. “But you’ll find out
eventually because if Scott’s dad sticks around and they can’t go to Allison’s,
they’re going to be doing their weird, freaky, girlfriend sharing thing at your
new place. You should soundproof your room.”
 
Derek’s nostrils flared a little. “Girlfriend sharing?”
 
“Or boyfriend sharing. Honestly, I never want to hear the details about who is
sharing who, in whatever combinations it happens. As much fun as threesomes
sound, I’m a little selfish when it comes to sharing the person I’m sleeping
with. I’d call it an only child thing but it’s not like Allison and Scott have
siblings.”
 
Stiles could see the moment the images clicked in Derek’s brain because his
eyes widen in horror. The tension that had been lingering in the air dissipated
as Stiles laughed, leaning against the doorjamb for support as Derek just
looked at him with increasing despair as the schematics of being in charge of
but not actually responsible for the sex lives of three healthy teenagers hit
him. Stiles reached out without thinking and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good
luck with that one, buddy. Don’t worry, Cora will continue to sack out here
when that happens I think so one less hormonal teenager under your roof.”
 
And just like that Derek’s face darkened again and he stiffly pulled away from
Stiles’s hand. “Sure, yeah.”
 
Okay, so maybe Stiles had been teasing him a bit but he didn’t have a damn clue
as to what he had said or done to change the mood around and he was sick and
tired of it. “Derek, man, I was just teasing--”
 
Derek was already moving to the back of the house, though, and Stiles found
himself following without putting much thought into it. “Seriously, you can
come too! It’ll be like a big ol’Stilinski/Hale fiesta whenever those three get
their bang on. My dad just started to get used to having you around anyway,
you’d break his heart just dumping him cold.”
 
They were all the way into the den. Since Cora and Derek had been sleeping
there, the case files and photos from left over from the kanima sessions had
been taken down so the grey walls looked bare. They hadn’t bothered to put the
couch away though it took up a lot of room and now that they had arrived Derek
turned to look at Stiles with an awkward, confused expression. “Why the hell
did you follow me down here?”
 
“I don’t know?” Stiles threw a hand in the air. “It seemed reasonable at the
time. Why did you bring me here?”
 
“I didn’t bring you here,” Derek practically growled. “I was retreating. Don’t
you know what that is?”
 
“Tactical running away, of course I know what it is,” Stiles quipped. “I’m a
human in a werewolf pack, it’s my Plan A, B, and C. The question is, why the
hell are you retreating? Are you afraid of me or something? Did I scare the Big
Bad Wolf?”
 
“Get out of here, Stiles.”
 
“No!” Stiles planted his feet though Derek hadn’t made a move towards him. “My
house; my rules.”
 
Derek stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable though Stiles
rarely knew what the hell that man was thinking, before he turned and grabbed
his duffle bag from the floor. Stiles had a sudden sick flashback to days
before when Cora had done the same thing and he quickly placed himself in front
of the door, bracing his hands on the frame when Derek started to approach with
a determined expression.
 
“Get. Out. Of my way.” The words were clipped with barely contained impatience
but Stiles wasn’t cowed. “If you don’t move I’m going to rip your arms out of
your sockets and beat you unconscious with them.”
 
“Great comeback, I’m so glad you and your sister have found one thing to bond
over,” Stiles snapped. “Because I’m not letting you leave until Cora gets back.
I’m not going to be the person she has to come too because her stupid ass
brother ran out on her. Again.”
 
“I’m not running out on her, I’m running out on you!” Derek said. “Your house,
your rules, right? Well, I’m tired of playing by your rules right now.”
 
“Well that’s too bad because I’m tired of playing by yours,” Stiles felt like
he was in a face off. If there had been room he was certain Derek would be
circling him like a wild dog but instead they just stood, both tensed for a
fight neither of them wanted.
 
“Is it too much to ask for some neutral ground with you people?” Derek ground
out and Stiles decided to take a stab in the dark. “There’s never any damn
privacy anymore.”
 
“Is this about the Allison, Scott, Isaac thing? It is weird for you?”
 
“Sure,” Derek said tensely. “I didn’t think I’d have to let my real estate
agent know I would be hosting swingers parties every weekend. It’s going to eat
into the square footage.”
 
“Very funny,” Stiles said dryly. “It’s not just Isaac you know. I’d watch out
for you sister. She seemed too comfortable with the whole polyamorous idea.”
 
“Yeah, right,” Derek snorted. “Cora wouldn’t share her toys with our cousins,
she’s not going to share that.”
 
“Funny, she once said you were the one who was bad at the sharing bit.”
 
The hackles seemed to fade. Derek let the bag dangle from his fingers as he
looked at Stiles hard, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle instead of
looking for arteries to rip out. “She said what?”
 
Stiles felt his forehead furrow, he wasn’t entirely sure why Derek was looking
at him like that and it was making him nervous. His adrenaline had been pumping
before but he knew the biggest fear lay in the anticipation. If Derek wasn’t
trying to escape anymore he couldn’t predict what Derek was going to do next
and that was making his heart pound annoyingly. What was more frustrating was
the irritating knowledge that Cora had dropped on him. Derek’s nostrils were
flaring, he must be able to smell the emotions all over him. He crossed his
arms defensively, as if it would help. “She said you would be the jealous type,
if that kind of arrangement was suggested.”
 
Derek was gaping at him for a moment and Stiles felt a clammy sweat starting on
the back of his neck. “You mean she—she would be okay with—“ Derek looked like
he was choking out the next string of words, “an arrangement?”
 
“Well, I don’t think she’d be leaping for joy at the prospect herself but she
said it was better to share the love than not have it all at.”
 
The bag dropped to the floor with a loud thump. “She said that.”
 
“Derek, her story isn’t my story to tell but that girl is willing to do
anything to keep the people she loves around. If you and I are going to be a
problem then I’m pretty sure she wants us to work it out by whatever means
because, frankly, I’m not going to be able to be around you if you keep running
hot and cold on me. And I’m not going away. So,” he gestured between them. “We
have to just resolved this… tension. One way or another.”
 
Stiles had a split second to prepare because he recognised the look in Derek’s
eye this time. He didn’t understand it any more than before, but he saw the
shift from confusion and bewilderment to a mix of determination and anxiety
right before Derek took an almost running leap across the room and backed
Stiles up, through the door into the hallway wall. It was just enough time to
brace himself and keep from hitting the wooden frames hanging behind his head
before Derek was kissing him again.
 
This was different from last time though. Last time had been harsh and angry
because they had been fighting. Stiles had felt Derek’s hands like an extension
of that, something to push and struggle against because it had been an
extension of his words. This time, though it was no less passionate and edged
in desperation, Derek was almost hesitant. He tilted Stiles’s head to a better
angle, pressing him against the wall like before, but even though he had a
solid grip Stiles felt it was precarious. If he moved the wrong way, Derek
would disappear like a puff of cold air. He tested it; raising a hand to
Derek’s chest but before he could put real pressure behind it the other man
shot back through the door so fast he nearly tripped over his dropped bag.
 
“Okay,” Stiles reached up to touch his lips for a moment, not trusting the
tingling feeling until he pressed it against his teeth. “Okay, I don’t really
get it but okay.”
 
Derek seemed more prepared for him too, this time, as he followed Derek back
into the room closing the den door like an afterthought. He had his arms
halfway up as Stiles stepped over the bag and into his personal space. Stiles
kissed him, slower than last time because it wasn’t like he had much practice
at this but he did know enough about what felt good.
 
For a brief moment he felt transported back into a wine cellar, the non-
windowed room of the den making the time feel eerily dark and the musky smell
of old bottles akin to the smell of tweed from the kinds of pullout couches
everyone had bought in the 70s because they had been a good idea. But this time
he was the one reaching up a little, pushing at Derek’s shoulders until he
backed up to the bed. Stiles felt a stab of kinship, suddenly, for a dead girl
he had once known but instead of the painful sadness he normally felt he
remembered how determined she had been, scared but brave as she had kicked off
her heels and asked him if he had wanted to. It felt nice, right, to finally be
able to remember her alive instead of on that table in the morgue and with that
he shoved at Derek’s shoulders until the other man sank down onto the bed with
a strain squeak of the springs.
 
However, that flash of confidence quickly disappeared when Stiles found himself
standing, mouth suddenly disastrously dry as Derek sat staring at him, waiting.
 
What was he supposed to do now? Just climb on? Where the hell were his knees
supposed to go? Stiles was suddenly painfully aware he was in his old sweats
and half hard, which was hard enough to hid in jeans and a lost cause right
now. Was it bad etiquette to race up to brush his teeth? Should he have
showered? Why the hell hadn’t he showered, his hair was standing on end from
rolling around on his bed and he wondering in a frantic moment if it was too
late to shave it all off again so he wouldn’t be facing potential cockblockage
because of his God damn stupid bed head.
 
He must have been standing there too long and Derek must have seen the panic on
his face because he rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles just above his hips. He
yanked him hard until Stile’s dick was pressed flat against oh, so, hard abs
and Stiles suddenly didn’t care so much about his hair. He forced his eyes to
open, looking down to where Derek was smirking at him. Just like that, Stiles
frowned because, yeah, he could do this as long as he remembered this was
Derek, the guy who still used a Nokia flip phone and thought Instagram was a
cereal.
 
It was weird to feel stubble against his skin as he shoved Derek flat on the
bed so he could figure out where exactly one’s knees went. He pressed his lips
there, curious because Derek had been so insistent last time and he wasn’t sure
if this was going to happen again, or how long Derek was going to put up with
this before freaking out. He wanted to see the appeal but it was just lips on
skin and coarse hair until he opened his mouth and licked, suddenly the nerves
along his tongue alive and warm as he felt Derek’s pulse jump and his hands
tighten like a reflex on Stiles’s ribs. He tried it again, the suddenness of
realising all that time in porn it was warmth, sweat, skin and muscle. It was
making him harder, and Derek’s hands slipped down, a hissing breath somewhere
near his ear making Stiles press his teeth where his tongue had been. Wasn’t
this what teenagers were supposed to do? Necking?
 
But Derek’s hands were slipping under the elastic of his boxers and Stiles’s
arms which had been doing such a good job holding him up start to shake. Stiles
was suddenly all too aware the other things teenagers did.
 
“It’s okay, right?” Derek’s breath was strained and instead of answering Stiles
kissed him because that was familiar ground again. It was like lighting a
match, suddenly his body seemed to know to move, to follow the lead of their
mouths. Derek’s hands slid up this time, pushing his tee shirt under his arm
puts as they swept on his skin, pebbling it like he was cold when actually all
he could feel was the wet heat of Derek’s mouth. He must be making some pretty
embarrassing sounds because he knew himself, he couldn’t be quiet if he was
gagged and blindfolded, but whatever he was doing just seemed to fuel Derek.
 
Strong arms suddenly wrapped around his waist and the world shifted until he
was looking at the low tiled ceiling. Derek suddenly blocked his view before he
started kissing down his neck, the sharps of his canines catching on his skin
in a way that made him shiver. He grabbed at the hem of Derek’s tee shirt until
Derek pulled way enough to tug it off.
 
He suddenly could see why Derek hadn’t been able to stop touching him because
he found his own hands seemed to develop a mind of their own. Derek was back,
alternating between hot, toe curling kisses and wet explorations down his
collarbone. He was moving too much, it was getting too hard for Stiles to hold
him still so he wrapped his legs around Derek in a desperate effort to just pin
the sucker down and it brought both their erections in sharp contact.
 
“Stiles,” Derek was panting but his voice was still gruff, a difficult feat.
Stiles would have commended him on if he could catch his breath. “I’m going to
take my pants off.”
 
It was such a weird thing to say, strangely considerate for the situation, and
Stiles couldn’t help but laugh because he had never thought Derek would try to
be polite in bed when he rarely was in real life. “By all means,” he swept his
hand through the air like an open invitation. “You’re welcome to take mine off
too, good sir.”
 
Derek froze, like he was suddenly re-evaluating Stiles as well, but grinned and
reared back, his hands at his jeans. Skin on skin was a million times hotter
and within a very short amount of time Stiles found himself shivering
helplessly as Derek hitched one of Stiles’s knees over his elbow and nerves he
didn’t know he had were shooting fireworks behind his eyes. Derek had a big,
warm hand wrapped around Stiles’s erection though he just kept squeezing and
rubbing the tip with his thumb, just enough to make Stiles lose his words but
not enough to trigger the orgasm Stiles could feel in his balls.
 
He turned his head, breaking the kiss with a hard bite to Derek’s jaw and
growled out, “Come on!”
 
Derek’s gave a final squeeze before letting go completely which was the total
oppositeof what Stiles had thought he had been hinting at, and sitting up,
suddenly so far away. Stiles’s fingernails clawed at his shoulders trying to
drag him back down. “What the hell are you doing, get back here!”
 
“I need--” Derek’s voice was strained and hazy. He met Stiles’s eyes with a
crazed look. “Stay here,” he grabbed Stiles’s hands and pressed them down into
Stiles’s ribs before scrambling off the bed.
 
“The hell I am!” Stiles sat up quickly to follow but Derek had only gone as far
as his bag, ripping it open with his claws in a single minded determination
until he held up a small, discreet tube with a triumphant fist. Stiles felt his
insides clench a bit and he grabbed at his dick, stroking roughly a few times
to keep the edge off. Derek’s eyes suddenly zeroed on his hand and Stiles
froze.
 
“Is it okay, if I--” Derek left the words hanging, his eyes flickering from
Stiles’s dick to his face and Stiles let go, spreading his knees eagerly. Derek
didn’t need more encouragement and the second he felt Derek lick up the
backside of his cock he thought he would be finished.
 
“Jesus,” Stiles couldn’t stop his hands from flying to Derek’s hair. He also
couldn’t stop his hands from getting tangled in Derek’s hair which was probably
painful, even for a werewolf.His knee jerked as Derek wrapped his lips around
Stiles’s dick before sinking down, his lips meeting the fist he had wrapped
around the base. He settled for the happy medium of Derek’s neck, gripping at
the junction where it met his shoulders and digging his fingers into the
shifting muscles of Derek’s shoulder blades as he did something wonderful with
his tongue.
 
He had heard blowjobs were good, that some guys preferred them to full out sex
and he had tried to imagine one but for all those report cards claiming Stile’s
above normal imagination he had never been able to imagine something quite like
this. He could barely focus his eyes as he felt Derek smirk, warm, wet heat
engulfing what felt like raw nerves as Derek sucked, taking more of him into
his mouth, making parts of Stiles’s body spasm. “Oh my God, this is not going
to last long if you keep doing that.”
 
Derek pulled off with an obscene smack of his lips and Stiles had to look to
the ceiling, hoping orgasms were like sneezes and if you look up you could stop
them. However, Derek pinched him suddenly, hard and biting on his hip and
Stiles yelped in pain. “What the hell was that?”
 
“Don’t come yet. I have something I’ve been wanting to do.”
 
“Condoms!” Stiles’s voice felt high and squeaky, making him wince and clear his
throat. “I have condoms. Upstairs!”
 
Something clouded in Derek’s eyes but he shook his head. “We’re not going to do
that, not yet.”
 
Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Do I get a say in this? What if I want to do it?
There’s two of us on this bed you know.”
 
“I’m not fucking you,” Derek said roughly, “On the noisiest pullout couch known
to man.”
 
“Seriously, Derek, you suck at words,” Stiles didn’t know why he was still
talking. His eyes zeroed in on the tube as Derek flicked it open. “What exactly
are you going to do then?”
 
“Trust me.”
 
“Those words aren’t as reassuring as you think, especially when they come from
you,” Stiles let himself be pushed back against the bed as Derek climbed off
the floor and back between his knees.
 
It was familiar until it wasn’t as Derek pressed his pelvis into Stiles and
Stiles had a sudden, mind melting moment where he realised they were both naked
from the waist down and he was harder than he had ever been in his life. His
legs felt too long and out of place until Derek reached for one and hooked it
higher so Stiles’s knee knocked into his ribs. Stiles caught on, bringing up
his other leg until his hips were tiled at angle that made Stiles shiver.
 
Derek was braced on his elbows but he shifted to carry weight on his knees so
he could slide his large hands on Stiles’s biceps, tangling in the short
sleeves of Stiles’s tee shirt. Without much force, he dragged both of his arms,
up, around, digging his fingers like trailblazers along Stile’s the muscles
until he reached his wrists and then crossed them just over Stiles’s head.
Stiles could help but stare as Derek gave him a toothy grin and shifted his
grip so he was pinning both wrists with one hand.
 
When Stiles was nervous he ran his mouth. He was going to blame it entirely on
Scott for thinking he had been funny all these years and encouraging the
barrage of stupid, stupid things when he opened his mouth and found himself
wheezing out, “Playing the Alpha tonight?”
 
The grin faded slightly and Stiles wanted to take the words back but Derek just
leaned in for a kiss, brief and hard before pulling back. “That comes later.”
 
To Stiles’s regret, Derek had to let go of his wrists but all that flew out the
proverbial window when he managed somehow to find the tube where he had dropped
it and a slick, warm hand wrapped about Stiles’s erection. It was a bit of a
blur, Stiles knew he was digging his heels into Derek’s ass at some point, his
hands didn’t stay on the bed. They flew to touch and grab anything he could
find to anchor him. Probably due to habit, one hand flew down between their
bodies but instead of the familiar touch of his own dick he found himself
closing his hand around Derek’s and through the pleasurable fog that had
settled over his brain he could feel Derek reacting to it.
 
The bed still squeaked a bit but Stiles could barely hear it over the roar of
his heartbeat and the quiet moans Derek was making along his neck. It was
familiar to do this, just a little backwards he supposed, but at the same time
it was completely different. Derek was setting the speed, the pressure, and it
was infuriatingly slow. Stiles found himself whining, trying to give direction
but failing miserably at coherent sentences and tried instead to demonstrate on
Derek, moving faster and harder. All that did, though, was make Derek stutter
over him, not biting exactly but griping Stiles’s shoulder though his tee shirt
with his teeth until Stiles realised that Derek had been right about the pace
all along, and Stiles came unexpectedly, feeling like all the air was being
pushed out of his body in one swoop, cum leaking through Derek’s fingers and
down between their stomachs. He must have sworn, it felt like a moment for
curse words but Derek pinned him down and worked him through it until he
couldn’t take it anymore and batted his hand away.
 
Derek was still hard and almost immediately he knocked Stiles’s lax grip and
wrapped his hand in a fist around himself, the back of his knuckles sliding
through the stray lube and cum pooling to Stiles’s navel. Before he could
gather what was left of his brain and offer reach over to return the favour,
Derek came with a strangled cry and added to the mess in thick, hot bursts. For
a moment, his arms gave out on him and he half fell onto Stiles, his weight
pinning Stiles effectively though Stiles found he didn’t really mind. He
brought a hand to the back of Derek’s neck, squeezing the knob at the top of
his spine as Derek shuddered then rolled off.
 
Stiles couldn’t stop himself from reaching a hand out and running it over his
heaving chest, feeling his ribs expanding and contracting under the sweaty,
sticky skin until finally Derek turned to look at him.
 
There was something about the sharp angles of his face; they looked edged away
somehow. Stiles reached up to push his hair back from his forehead so it looked
more normal. Derek wrinkled his nose and batted his hand away then frowned,
reaching for the collar of Stiles’s shirt. It wasn’t until he stuck a finger
through the rip on the collar that he realised it was there.
 
“Sorry,” Derek said tugged at it. “I don’t know when I did that.”
 
Stiles twisted to look at it, straining to remember when it had happened. “Uh,
I think that was Cora’s handy work actually. She can get a little handsy when
she’s worked up.”
 
Then, just like that, Derek’s whole body seemed to go through a lock down and
the content, satisfied look on his face drained away. “Oh, right.” He drew his
hand away quickly. Stiles went to reach for him again, suddenly itching to
touch any part of his skin, but Derek was already moving away and off the desk.
Self-conscious now, Stiles sat up and tugged the shirt down to cover his
stomach. Derek was half dressed already, tugging his shirt over his head, and
Stiles couldn’t help but stare and feel a little lost.
 
“You should shower first,” Derek handed him his sweats. “I’ll clean up in
here.”
 
Stiles took the pants and slid them on, frowning the whole time as Derek pushed
him gently out of the den and firmly closed the door in his face.
 
***
 
Stiles thought it would get weird. After all, his best friend was in some kind
of weird threesome, Cora was suddenly starting at their school mid semester,
and, oh yeah, he had slept with Derek. It had to get weird. It was Derek. The
guy didn’t do things normally. Stiles wasn’t sure what he expected. Dead
animals at his doorstep, maybe. Some late night nookie while his dad was on
late shift. Some stalking. Not too much but it was kind of Derek’s MO and
Stiles was getting disappointed every time he turned on his light to an empty
bedroom. Weird was familiar. Weird was pretty much the most normal thing in
Stiles’s life.
 
Instead, it got almost… actually normal.
 
Derek and Cora moved out quickly. The apartment was actually rather nice and
furnished so with the right amount of cash and the sheriff scrutinizing his
every move, the Hale siblings were able to pack their few belongings and move
in without any fuss. With Cora starting at the school and Isaac able to move
back in with them now that Derek wasn’t brooding in his own darkness and pain,
Derek had to drive them to the high school in the morning and pick them up like
an actual responsible adult and guardian.
 
He felt more sluggish than usual the first day that he saw Derek pull into the
spot next to him. He was covering a jaw-cracking yawn as the doors opened and
he leaned against the SUV.
 
“Hey,” Cora looked sullen as she got out of the car. “It’s too early for this.”
 
Stiles grinned and reached out to pat her cheek. “Awe, first day of school.
You’re going to fit in.” Cora scowled and smacked his hand away. Isaac had
already bolted from the back seat but Stile was a little confused when Derek
also stepped out, sunglasses firmly in place and a scowl as he met them by the
back of the car.
 
“Morning,” Stiles mustered up the most cheerful grin he could but the house had
felt empty and venerable last night. He had spent most of it researching old
forums about ghost hunters and had fallen asleep over the keyboard. He had
woken up to his father flicking his ear in exasperation and a painful crick in
his neck. “Dropping off the kids at school, very domestic of you. If you want a
nanny service I can keep an eye out.”
 
“Shut up,” Derek growled and reached out to grab Stiles by his jacket. For a
second he thought he was going to get his head smacked into something but then,
almost too quick to register, Derek placed a kiss on his temple and shoved him
back so hard Cora had to keep him on his feet. “Here,” Derek tossed a paper bag
at him but again it was Cora who caught it with a frown. “Tell Isaac if he’s
late he can find his own ride.”
 
Then, like a ghost, he was back in the SUV and backing out of the parking spot.
Cora yanked Stiles out of the path of the car as Derek sped out then handed him
the paper bag with a sigh. “God, sometimes I think he was dropped on his head.”
 
“What the hell was that?” Stiles managed to sputter out. The sleepy tendrils
that had been tugging at him were fading. He opened the bag but the muffin
inside didn’t explain anything. It mocked him, sitting there in all its
blueberry normalcy.
 
“Welcome to the world of dating my brother,” she patted him on the back. “Come
on, you can show me where the hell the office is.”
 
He waved to Danny, standing with two girls, one of them he recognised from his
English class. They were talking frantically, sneaking glances over at them and
Stiles frowned when Danny only gave a cursory wave back. That was strange. But
then again, they did just have two teachers suddenly up and die horrible
terrifying deaths. People coped in all sorts of ways and Stiles was just
grateful the girl seemed to have a friend in Danny. That kind of social power
would help her if Lydia decided to keep up whatever grudge she had against the
girl.
 
  He heard snatches of their conversation as he passed.
 
“There’s another one?”
 
“… how are they all so hot, do you think they found each other online?”
 
“…what the hell do you mean his cousin?”
 
Danny shot him a pained smile and Stiles ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to
address the curious stares.
 
Cora’s schedule didn’t do much to improve the day when they realised she had
been enrolled in mostly sophomore classes and Stiles had to nearly drag her out
of the office. Her homeroom was fine, though, and Stiles was relieved to see
Allison and Scott as he walked her up to the door.
 
“Hi,” Allison said quickly, her eyes flickering between Stiles’s harassed face
and Cora’s dark expression. “Welcome to your first day, Cora. I know how it
feels to be the new kid so just stick with me.”
 
“Thanks,” Cora sounded surprised but some of the misery faded from her face.
Stiles was suddenly grateful for Allison in a way he normally felt when she was
pumping evil werewolves with exploding arrows but before he could express that
he frowned at the books in her hands.
 
“Isn’t that Scott’s chemistry book?”
 
“Oh,” she glanced down at it then at Scott. “Yeah, well, I guess it is. I’m
carrying his books for him because—“
 
“We’re dating again,” Scott jumped in and slipped his hand into hers, his face
sliding into a dopey grin. Stiles made a gagging noise; their love was
sickening sometimes. Cora, however, reached over to grab something balanced on
top of Scott’s much scratched up textbook.
 
“Isn’t this Isaac’s pencil case?”
 
“Yeah, and Scott, I’m pretty sure those aren’t yours either,” Stiles pointed at
the soft pink and blue book bag he had hanging off one shoulder and the
notebook that was clearly for a computer class which Stiles knew Scott wasn’t
taking but Isaac was.
 
“Well, we had to sort some things out but,” Allison’s grin was as sickening as
Scott’s. “We’re all kind of dating.”
 
Sometimes Stiles knew the coach called random drug tests because when Scott was
happy or content his eyes got this kind of drugged out pupil business. Before
Allison it had happened for things like his birthday or that time in when
snuggies were still new enough no one made fun of them and they spent six hours
in fuzzy bliss for a Call of Duty marathon. After Allison, though, it felt like
every other week Stiles had to pee in a cup because she had some new flavour of
lip gloss. Though Stiles had been happy for the guy, it was annoying to be
around someone so euphoric and, with a groan, he realised if Scott was dating
twopeople it was just going to be worse.
 
It was nice to see Scott so happy, it really was, but Stiles couldn’t force his
face into a smile because Isaac was suddenly walking towards them, and oh my
God. The stupid look wasn’t just on Scott’s face anymore and if Isaac and Scott
kept it up, Stiles was going to be peeing in a cup twice a day and Finstock was
going to have an aneurysm.
 
“This weird little fifties book carrying system you have going on is adorable,
really,” Stiles sighed.
 
“Here,” Scott reached out and plucked one of Stiles’s textbooks from his arms
and tucked it into his own pile. “No jealousy in the pack.”
 
A girl, close enough to hear, stumbled as she passed them. Isaac reached out a
hand to steady her and she flushed. “Uh, thanks,” she said breathy.
 
  “No problem,” Isaac said. He took his hand away but she didn’t move, staring
at them wide-eyed for a moment before shaking her head as if to snap out of a
daze and then took off down the hall.
 
“Seriously, what is with this school and those girls?” Stiles frowned. “I keep
on seeing them everywhere.”
 
“It’s because you’re a dense idiot.” Stiles jumped as Lydia seemed to appear
out of nowhere at his elbow, glaring suspiciously as the girl practically broke
out in a sprint down the hall. “As I’ve said many times.”
 
“That hurts, you know,” he clutched at his heart. “I’m on the Dean’s list.”
 
She turned to look at him cryptically before she said slowly, “You do realise
we don’t exist in a vacuum, right? Sometimes I think you guys don’t realise
we’re in high school.”
 
“Of course we do,” Scott said, shifting his pile of books. “I’ve got a chem
test today and I’m totally going to fail and get grounded. I can’t forget I’m
in high school.”
 
  “I meant you guys seem to forget there’s a whole student body and you guys
have become the weird ones in this school.”
 
“Hey, I’m still the last normal human one here,” Stiles said. “You guys are the
weird ones, no offense Allison. And now you’re even weirder with your key party
vibe.”
 
“Hey,” the sedated smile on Isaac’s face twisted into a scowl. “Like you can
say anything. Did you like the breakfast? Derek spent all night figuring out
how to work the oven and almost burned the place down.”
 
“The day you aren’t the weird one in this group is the day something becomes
divisible by zero,” Lydia gripped Cora’s elbow and tugged her down away. “Come
on, before we get pulled into the rumours.” Stiles noted she didn’t take
Allison away from the mess but the taller girl just shook her head with a fond
smile.
 
“Don’t worry about Lydia, guys.” Allison twisted to glance at her watch. “Come
on, we should get to class.”
 
“She does have a point though,” Stiles said as they started to move.“The last
thing we need is more attention. Let’s just try and let everything settle
before you all come out as sister wives or whatever.”
 
“I think you mean sister husbands,” Scott corrected then frowned. “Wait, that’s
not right either.”
 
After school meant after lacrosse practice which meant when Stiles stumbled out
to his jeep, all the running and hitting and throwing just reawakening the
aches and pains of the Alpha fight that hadn’t quite healed, he found Derek
blocking him in with the SUV. Stiles knew his heart thumped a little
differently because Scott shot him a weird look.
 
Stiles wasn’t a werewolf but he knew the second Derek noticed him because the
scowl faded a little and there was a twitch in his eyebrow. Heat flushed
through Stiles’s stomach because that was definitely a come hither look.
 
Breakfast muffins weren’t the only bonus to dating Derek Hale, his cock
suddenly remembered, and just like that all the sore muscles and bruises
couldn’t stop him from making a beeline to that SUV.
 
Cora was leaning against the car as well, her look also directed at Stiles but
less sexy and more terrifying. His steps faltered a little. Scott peeled off
from Isaac and Stiles to head towards his bike but before Stiles could reach
the car, Cora had already made her way over to him with a cloud of danger
danger encompassing her every move. 
 
“Come on,” she grabbed Stiles by the elbow, dragging him sideways so he banged
his head on his own lacrosse stick. “You are going to teach me what the hell a
factorial is or so help me God that stupid math woman is going to lose a
testicle.”
 
“Wait!” Stiles tried to protest but she was already shoving him through the
driver’s side of the jeep. He only had a moment to look mournfully at Derek and
one last appreciating one at the way Derek was filling out his jeans today
before Cora slammed the door shut.
 
It took three hours of tutoring before he managed to convince Cora that she was
not alone in her feelings about exponents, Shakespeare and structure of the US
senate. He knew it wasn’t Cora’s fault she was so far behind. She had been a
mini-drug trafficker since she had gotten out of sippy cups; her education had
taken a back seat to survival. She had already broken down once, which is to
say she ripped Stiles’s economic textbook in thirds. He had made a crack about
her and Derek and their disrespect for the written word and she had nearly
taken his head off before apologising through clenched teeth.
 
“It’s fine!” Stiles scooted the wheels of his chair back until he hit and
nearly knocked over the overflowing laundry basket by his desk. “No problem,
just, you know, if you could put away the teeth we can just get back to—“ he
picked up one of the pages now scattered across the floor, “Economic Reform
in—well, I guess what region of the world it’s in doesn’t really matter, right?
Money is universal.”
 
She looked around the room, taking the paper before looking back at him.
Something unusual flashed across her face, almost like a fleeting guilty look,
before she sighed. “Sorry. I’m sorry. School is just harder than I thought it
would be. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
 
It was nice to hear an actual apology so Stiles leaned back in his chair to
revel in it. Unfortunately, that was the tipping point for the laundry basket
and it spilled over, muddy jerseys and greying socks seeming to multiply as
they rolled free of the tight, compact basket. Stiles had been avoiding it too
long.
 
“Seriously?” Cora grumbled as Stiles scrambled to cram it all in again. “I’m
barely gone and you’re already behind on chores.”
 
“You sound like my dad.”
 
 “I know for a fact he’s not much better. Here.” Stiles grabbed the last stray
tee shirt and looked up to where she was making an impatient grabbing gesture.
“Come on, I’ll run a few loads for you two before you save Beacon Hills from
mythical creatures with your stench alone.”
 
Stiles had a moment where he felt like he should refuse out of manly pride but
he was running low on clothes and it wasn’t like Cora hadn’t been living here
for a while. He handed over the basket and she grinned. He wondered, suddenly,
if she didn’t miss the routine of the Stilinski house too. He knew it was nice
to feel needed and he returned the grin.
 
“I’m going to grab your dad’s stuff too,” her smile brightened. “Maybe I’ll
reorganise your cupboards too.”
 
He decided to use the time she was downstairs to order a new textbook online.
He heard her laughing, his father was downstairs, and he vindictively decided
to use the credit card with Derek’s name that he had seen peeking out of a side
pocket of her bag. He paused, checking to make sure she wasn’t coming back
right after putting the clothes in the machine, and quickly browsed through the
Amazon bargains more thoroughly.
 
After he had typed HALE into the payment information field, he reached for his
phone instinctively to send a text but forced himself to place it down again.
He wasn’t exactly sure how this thing they had worked and he wasn’t going to
let his inexperience run away with him. He could see Derek’s name on his
contact list, and his knee twitched with nervous energy. One text would be
okay. He could thank him for the muffin. That was common manners, not over
obsessiveness. He had learned from Lydia. Play it cool.
 
He tapped out something he hoped was witty about blueberries and fumbled,
nearly dropping his phone as he hit send, when the door opened. More time must
have passed than he thought because Cora was holding Stiles’s clothes, folded
and fresh smelling.
 
“I’ve been thinking,” Cora dropped the basket on the floor. “Is it too late to
sign up for distance courses?”
 
“You were the one that was all jealous before,” Stiles pointed out moodily. Her
face was too tired to make her glare very terrifying. “School is good for you.
You can socialise, meet people your age who aren’t out to kill you all the
time.” She didn’t answer and he sighed. “Come on, I can give you a ride back to
the apartment.”
 
“That’s okay,” she said quickly, her mood changing quickly at the prospect of
being finished. Stiles frowned.
 
“Why, do you have somewhere else to be? Hot date?”
 
“I’m socializing,” she said but instead of the accompanying eye roll Stiles was
used to, she sounded almost cagey. Stiles sat up straight, interest replaced
with a sudden stab of fear because, oh crap there was still a Big Bad, but Cora
wouldn’t meet his eye. She pulled out a bottle from her bag. She sprayed a bit
on her wrists and then, as if an afterthought, sprayed a cloud over Stiles’s
head. It was nice, something fancy, brand name and obviously from Lydia, but
Stiles wrinkled his nose and batted away the particles as they cling to his
clothes.
 
“What the hell was that for?” he sneezed. She was busy, peppering the rest of
his room and his bed.
 
“I’ve been gone too long, this room is starting to smell like boy.”
 
“Fortunately I can solve that mystery,” Stiles thumped himself on the chest.
 
“If you see Derek tell him not to worry, I’ll be back at the apartment soon.”
 
“Cora,” Stiles said but she already had a foot out the window. “Cora! My dad’s
home, he saw you, you can use the door, for God’s sake!” She was already gone
and Stiles closed the window after her, frustrated. She was the one who had
come to him, she had been the one to drag him into this whole stupid Hunter
mess. It was dumb, now, to continue with the secrecy and if he could just get
one night without waking up in a cold sweat he would have the energy to
confront her about it.
 
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would check base with Lydia because at least he knew she
could be relied upon.
 
Before he could get too worked up over it, there was a knock on the glass and
he threw the window open without checking, still a bit peevish at being brushed
off. “What, did you forget the condoms or something—shit!”
 
He tripped back into the room, recovering his balance before he could fall and
looked even stupider in front of Derek who just quirked an eyebrow. “Jesus
Christ, warn a guy!”
 
“I did knock,” Derek said. “Can I come in?”
 
“Yeah, of course, stop letting the warm air out!”
 
Derek climbed in awkwardly and shut the window. Stiles quickly took two large
steps across the room to shut his bedroom door before his father could walk
past. When he turned around, Derek was standing there with his hands awkwardly
shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket and was sniffing the air
curiously. “I thought Cora was here.”
 
“You mean you didn’t see her leave, like, five seconds ago?” Stiles clicked his
lock into place just for good measure. “You suck as a werewolf.”
 
“Of course I saw her,” Derek snapped. “I just meant—never mind. Where was she
going?”
 
Stiles stepped back from his door. There hadn’t been any movement from where
his father was working in the den downstairs, now reconverted back into the
case file room, which meant Stiles had been overreacting. Again. “None of my
business,” Stiles shot out. He took a breath, it was hardly Derek’s fault his
sister kept secrets. “Thanks for the muffin by the way. I sent you a text.”
 
Derek nodded without saying anything then continued to stand there, staring at
everything in the room but Stiles. He looked puzzled, sniffing. Stiles waited,
feeling the seconds tick almost audibly in the silent room before he burst out
in a moment of frustration, “So, what, did you come here to make out or not?”
 
That got his attention. Derek took a slight step back, finally looking at
Stiles like he had said something totally ridiculous instead of exactly what
they were both thinking. Enough of that crap, Stiles strode forward, he had
been hosting guests in this room for the last several weeks and it had been
longer than that since he had managed to get a good jerk off session anywhere
but in the ten minute showering time slots they had efficiently scheduled. This
was a golden window of opportunity where his father was busy, Scott was much
too sedated with all the new three-way sex he was having, and there was almost
no chance of Cora stopping by for a second time. He grabbed Derek by the collar
of his leather jacket, the zipper biting into his palms and waited, hoping like
hell he wasn’t reading this wrong.
 
If kissing Derek was going to be different every time, Stiles didn’t think his
brain could contain all the memories. The second Derek tilted his head to press
his lips against Stiles, something in his spine felt like it turned to water.
The hands gripping Derek weren’t to pull him close any more, they were to hold
Stiles up. He felt Derek’s hands come to rest on his hipbones, his thumbs
brushing back and forth along the loops of his belt, soft and tentative until
Stiles pushed forward.
 
“Jacket, off,” Stiles pulled away and tried to push back on the leather only to
have it catch on Derek’s shoulders. He shrugged out of it, his hands tugging
Stiles’s flannel shirt back much more effectively than Stiles had done for him.
He shivered, the tee shirt underneath was thin but he didn’t have too much time
to be cold before Derek was gripping at his sides and directing him backwards
to his bed.
 
There was a déjà vu feeling as Derek pushed him back and he bounced a little
but the springs on his bed were blissfully silent. Stiles scooted back until he
was against the pillows and Derek paused, taking the time to pull off his shoes
and leave them by the bed.
 
There wasn’t much room on the twin so Derek ended up half on top of him anyway
and Stiles used gravity to tug Derek closer to his mouth. It was nice, kissing
like this, slowly taking the time instead of frantically rutting and Stiles
could almost feel the stress of the day drain out of him as Derek slid slow but
sure hands up his sides, back and forth until they dragged the material high
enough to touch skin. Stiles gasped, breaking the contact between their lips as
the touch made his hand spasm against the side of Derek’s face and pull him a
little too far forward. Stiles had to fight a moan as Derek slid his hand up
further, the warm palm questing over his stomach, ribs, navel against and again
like it was stoking a fire. It was distracting, almost too distracting, and it
took a minute for him to register that Derek had paused from where he was
kissing at Stiles’s neck and started to sniff at the pillow behind his head.
 
“What are you doing?” Stiles’s voice was a little breathless. “Are you smelling
my bed?”
 
“No,” Derek denied guiltily and quickly raised himself up to capture Stiles’s
mouth in a deep kiss. Stiles let him, for a moment but pulled his head away by
the hair.
 
“Why did you smell my sheets? Is my detergent offensive?”
 
“No,” Derek leaned back in but Stiles tilted his head so the kiss landed on his
chin. Derek growled. “What’s wrong?”
 
“You were totally smelling my sheets!” The hand on his side had stilled and
Stiles mourned for that a bit but he knew better than to let a Hale get away
with strange behaviour. “What’s wrong with them?”
 
“Nothing,” Derek insisted and Stiles wanted to kick his insufferable curiosity
in the crotch as Derek started to sit up. “It’s nothing.”
 
“It’s something,” Stiles frowned. “It’s never nothing. Seriously, tell me.
Should I change them? They’re actually fresh and you should appreciate that for
the miracle that it is.”
 
“It’s just—“ Derek paused like it was painful but fortunately for Stiles’s
mental health he continued. “You and Cora, on this bed, you didn’t…”
 
Stiles stared, his dick was still half hard and interested so it was a little
difficult to make complex mental connections. “We were studying today. She’s
really behind. I think Lydia should be tutoring her because I seriously don’t
think I can concentrate on schoolwork like she needs.”
 
Derek relaxed. “Oh, yeah, I’ll tell her.”
 
Then it was back to the kissing and no more mystery smelling. Stiles knew there
was a reason Scott had been so lovesick and irritating when he and Allison had
started dating and he suddenly felt bad for giving him such a hard time. If
Stiles had known making out would be like this, a distracting tease that kept
all his nerve buzzing with pleasure, satisfaction just out of reach, he would
have cut the guy a lot more slack. It was nice, though, to just be doing this.
Derek’s body ran hotter than his and he was heavy so after a while he shoved
until he found himself the one half sprawled as he slotted a knee between
Derek’s. Stiles felt like he could do this for hours as he found himself
grinding down almost instinctually.
 
Derek’s hands had long since found their way up his shirt again, running over
his spine and the small of his back in a dizzying pattern. They were just
starting to toe the line of his jeans when Derek jerked his head away suddenly.
Stiles ground down hard on his hip, trying to use his hand to pull Derek’s face
back into place but Derek was inexplicably pushing him away with urgency and
Stiles finally cleared his head enough to realise that—footsteps on the stairs.
 
“Closet,” Stiles hissed. “Go!”
 
“I hate your closet,” Derek hissed right back. “It smells like gym socks.”
 
“Ex-fugitive, cradle robbers can’t be choosers,” Stiles shot back and shoved
him, barely managing to close the closet door as there was a knock on his
bedroom one. “One sec!”
 
Stiles jerked open the lock and the door, opening it just wide enough for his
shoulders to squeeze through. He father gave him a dithering look. “I thought I
said when Cora was here the door had to be open.”
 
“She’s not,” Stiles protested. ‘She was here, I mean, earlier but she left so,”
he thumped the door frame solidly. “Closed.”
 
The sheriff didn’t look convinced though and placed a firm hand on the door,
pushing it open before Stiles could protest. His eyes swept the room in
practised ease and Stiles found himself frantically checking to make sure the
bed was its normal level of unmade, not making-out-with-a-werewolf unmade. His
father just frowned deeper though and looked back at Stiles. “You know, I
thought that now the big secret was out all this would go away.”
 
“All what?” Stiles winced because his voice was conspicuously out of breath.
“Cora was here and now she’s not. She used the window, it’s like a freaking
habit. I’m trying to break them all of it but you know how it goes. You can’t
teach an old dog new tricks.”
 
His father raised an eyebrow at that. “Maybe I’ll invest in some bars.”
 
“Did you want something?”
 
The sheriff kept frowning though, his eyebrows furrowed as he took a last look
around the room. “I’ve got to go in for something. There was a break and enter
and Reynolds said there was something strange about it. You’ll be okay on your
own for a bit?”
 
“Yes,” Stiles couldn’t help the eye roll. “I’m pretty sure my math homework and
I will be respectfully occupied with each other for the rest of the night. If
things get heated I’ll call a chaperone.”
 
Instead of sighing at Stiles’s flippant remarks like he usually would, the
sheriff continued to study his face carefully, as if he knew Stiles was hiding
something. And the terrible thing was, it didn’t matter that his father knew
about werewolves, or that Stiles could now actually tell him about the real
reason he was out so late or covered in mysterious bruises. This time the lying
felt worse because before Stiles had been doing it out of protectiveness for
his father. It had been for a greater good. Now, though, the guilty twist in
his stomach wasn’t accompanied by a feeling of it’s for his own good.
 
“Call me,” his father corrected him. “If something happens. Okay?” Stiles
saluted him, letting out a sigh as his father turned to leave. But before he
could exit completely he looked at the closet and for a scary second Stiles
thought for sure his father had somehow developed X-ray vision. “Isn’t your
closet door usually open?”
 
“It’s making my room smell like gym socks,” Stiles managed to scoff.
 
The sheriff relaxed. “You’ve got to start doing your own laundry again. I can’t
believe you make Cora do it.”
 
“I made her do nothing,” Stiles scoffed. “Now get out of here, before your
deputies burn down the town.”
 
Derek didn’t open the door until Stiles heard his father’s car pull out from
the drive way. It had been a close call but as soon as Stiles saw the red mark
on his neck he obviously hadn’t tried to heal the guilt of lying was quickly
swept away by the memory of how it had felt to put it there. Derek looked
startled but grinned toothily when Stiles was the one to push him back onto the
bed.
 
***
 
His feet were rootless, running, running, running over mossy ground that
bounced, reflecting and rejecting him with each thundering footstep. T here
were wings following him, drawing after him as he fled with branches slapping
at his face. Something was coming, something was coming to lift him up and away
and it grew more and more powerful the closer it got but Stiles couldn’t stop
himself from running to the same power source as he feet began to lift from the
ground, running on air as hooks dug into his bones in an agonising piercing—
 
“Here.”
 
The last time someone had snuck up on him and said those words Stiles had
bruises for a week. He woke up out of his doze and his hands flew down to cover
his crotch reflexively. Lydia stared at him, spiraled notebook still in her
outstretched hand.
 
“Sorry,” Stiles stifled a yawn. “Bad memory. What’s that?”
 
“It’s that translation,” she dropped in on his desk, impatient. “The one you
asked me for.”
 
“Which one?” Stiles looked at the notebook groggily. “The one from Peter a
million years ago or the one I got assaulted with.” Lydia studied his face for
a moment but he was too tired to care.
 
“The first one. You said Deaton gave you the other one.”
 
“And he did,” Stiles rubbed his eyes remembered the lie too late. “Violently.”
 
“You know, hyperbole only weakens a person’s credibility,” Lydia looked cross.
“I’m sorry helping you solve all the mass murders in this town forced me to
take my time with translating an entire book from turn of the century German
into English. You’re welcome, by the way.”
 
“Thanks,” Stiles sighed but she was already moving towards her own chair in the
back of the room. “Sorry,” he muttered as he flicked open the notebook. It was
neat and organized, like all the things Lydia did with page and picture
references carefully labeled next to the neat block print letters. Stiles
hadn’t thought this book for a while actually but now that it was open to a
random page under a heading titled “Austrian vampire” and his interest was
quickly engaged.
 
It was hard to get through the rest of the day with all the new knowledge
itching under his fingertips. Finstock called him out for watching porn on his
phone because he kept grinning at the words in his lap, but the teacher just
gave him a horribly confused look when he glanced through the notebook himself.
 
“Just,” he paused before dangling the notebook between his thumb and finger
like it was contaminated. “Just don’t handwrite your final paper, alright? I’ll
even let you e-mail it in.”
 
It wasn’t until lunch when he stood between Scott and Cora settled in the
cafeteria line he finally managed to tear himself away.
 
“Here,” Scott passed him a Styrofoam cup as they were paying and Stiles stared
at it. It was obvious Scott had gone out of his way to get it because the only
other thing on his tray was a homemade lunch in a brown paper bag. “It’s
coffee. You look like you could use it.”
 
“I took my Adderall this morning,” Stiles sniffed and wrinkled his nose.
“You’ve seen me on both, are you sure you’re up for it?”
 
“You look like death,” Cora had her own bag and the lunch lady had shot her a
peeved look when she realised Cora wasn’t actually buying anything.
 
Cora looked entirely too cheerful for a girl who had been bitching about
homework and classes earlier. He supposed that was part of her nature, adapting
to survive but that didn’t mean he had to like the way she waved at Danny, who
was sitting in a ragtag group of not his usual friends. Stiles frowned; there
was the girl who sat next to him in English, her friend, and a few others he
didn’t really recognise. Danny caught him looking and, in an
uncharacteristically awkward manner, Danny hastily stood up, nearly spilling
his tray, and moved back to where he usually sat with the front line lacrosse
players. The girls huddled in a tight group around what looked like a diagram
of some sort. Stiles found himself tipping onto his toes to try and see but
only managed a glimpse of what looked like cut outs from the yearbook, several
faces, and different coloured lines connecting the indistinguishable faces. It
looked like something he and his dad cooked up for cases but before he could
move closer for a better look, Cora grabbed his elbow and steered him towards
their table.
 
“Wait!” Stiles didn’t struggle. “What are they doing?”
 
Cora glanced over at the table again and smirked. “Trying to figure out a
mystery. Don’t worry about it.”
 
“I like mysteries,” Stiles said absently, his brain wanting to know but
exhaustion keeping him complacent. Then he remembered Cora’s first remark and
made a face as he sat down next to Scott. “I don’t look like death, but thanks
for that. You really know how to compliment a guy.”
 
“You do look kind of tired,” Scott hid a grin.
 
Stiles took a sip of the coffee, wincing because it was the terrible stuff that
came from giant machines and there was nothing to sweeten it. “I haven’t been
sleeping well. You know, the nightmares,” he nodded knowingly to Scott.
 
But Scott looked confused. He pulled a sandwich from the bag. “What nightmares?
Are you having nightmares?”
 
“We did have a pretty traumatic event,” Stiles said. “Miss Bell had her throat
slashed on the stage, my dad was kidnapped and, oh yeah, we traded part of our
soul to a tree and died for sixteen hours. Are you seriously telling me you
aren’t having any PTSD from all that?”
 
“Well, kind of,” Scott shrugged but he still looked disturbed. “I mean, maybe
for a few days but not since then.”
 
Worry started to gnaw in Stiles’s stomach. “What about Allison?”
 
Her name was like a drug and the concerned look on Scott’s face melted into a
grin. “She’s great.”
 
“No,” Stiles smacked his arm. “I mean nightmares!”
 
“Oh,” Scott blinked. “Well, I don’t think so. At least, not the nights I’ve
been spending with her.”
 
“And there have been a lot of nights,” Cora said dryly as she bit into her own
sandwich. Stiles glanced between that one and the nearly identical one in
Scott’s hand. Stiles frowned down at the soggy fries he had bought from the
cafeteria and scowled at them.
 
“I’m pretty sure if you guys are making some kind of wolf den thing at the
apartment you’re required to make lunch for all the pack members.”
 
“You were the one that said you weren’t in my pack,” Cora took another healthy
bite and chewed.
 
“I didn’t know there were sandwiches!”
 
“Here,” Scott offered him half. Stiles pushed his fries so they were between
them. “Derek’s actually getting pretty good at this pack thing now that he’s
not the Alpha.”
 
Stiles chewed, the bread and lunch meats comforting in a way that revived him
better than the coffee. “Next time my dad’s on nights I’m sleeping over there
too.”
 
Stiles could feel the table still watching them but he ignored it. Lydia was
right, they had forgotten they were in high school. They had to do high school
things. High school involved cliques and gossip and weird mysteries like that
map the girls at the table had. He let himself ponder that for a while. That
was fine. It was even kind of normal. That was the thing he could concentrate
on and he felt himself relax. Normal, teenager things. He was almost looking
forward to it. The Hunters were in translation limbo and he relaxed now that it
was out of his hands.
 
***
 
White butterflies were clouding his eyes. Their wings were soft like clouds and
he tried to bat them away even as they disintegrated beneath his fingers. More
and more started to surround him.
 
          He had been climbing something, hand over hand, foot over knees up
and up when the sky had turned dark then red and the butterflies had descended
on his face.
 
          “Come on, Stiles,” a girl’s voice, Cora’s, was somewhere, sneering a
little. “It’s just math homework.”
 
          His limbs felt heavy, rocks were weighing them down, like they were
weighted in his veins because he such down to the earth, a million pounds until
he couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm. “Certainly not a million,” Lydia was
somewhere. “Hyperbole’s are lies.” Then it was down, through the earth and his
lungs started to fill with dirt.
 
          “Jesus, Stiles, you did it wrong,” his father’s voice this time, hurt
outweighing the disappointment as Stiles struggled to breath, to tell him it
wasn’t his fault but the words kept tumbling down the rocks and dirt piling
from his mouth and nose as he tried to suck in air. His skin was unravelling
like bandages as the pressure of the ground peeled it around with prickly
rocks, his body slipping away from him until he was thin, hard bone.
 
          Something was coming, something drawn up the trees, the branches inky
veins on the sky as dirt finally covered his bugling, panicked eyes with grit
and scratchy rock.
 
          Pain shot through his chest as he woke, a cold sweat covering him.
For a second he thought he couldn’t breathe, like he tried to pull in a breath
but there was no room for it in his chest. Then suddenly the pressure released
and he greedily sucked in air alongside the cotton of his pillow. He lay there,
gasping, his ribcage sore like someone had punched the wind out of him.
 
          The light flicked on and he closed his eyes against the sudden
brightness. “Stiles, is everything okay?”
 
          Stiles took a few more painful breathes, a little afraid that if he
spoke he wouldn’t be able to reclaim that air. “Yeah,” he rolled, putting a
hand over his heart to steady himself. “Bad dream.”
 
          He glanced up. His father was looking at him, an unreadable
expression on his face. “It sounded different.”
 
          Stiles couldn’t help a small chuckle, even if it hurt. “Yeah, well,
if you hear weird noises from your teenage son’s room you should be glad it’s
just a bad dream.”
 
          He father scowled, a much more welcome look than before. “I thought
you were having a panic attack.”
 
          For a second Stiles wondered if that was what it had been. A panic
attack while he was sleeping—well, he hadn’t had one for years but then there
had been that one with Lydia. Maybe it had reawakened something inside of him,
like muscle memory. It certainly hurt like one but he was breathing just fine
now with none of the icy-hot fear threaded under his skin like a normal panic
attack had. “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you.”
 
          “I was up,” the sheriff leaned again the wall and rubbed at his eyes.
Stiles saw he wasn’t even in his night clothes and had only barely taken off
the most uncomfortable parts of his uniform. “That break and enter a the
Reynold’s—“ he paused, suddenly looking at Stiles like he was under a different
kind of light. “Hey, want some hot cocoa?”
 
          Stiles frowned. Cocoa was saved for special occasions like the
chicken pox or bribery. He glanced at his phone which was reading a much later
time than most parents would coax their children out of bed. “It’s a school
night you know.”
 
          “Oh, right,” the sheriff’s face fell. Stiles sighed, his father
really needed to get some adult friends. However, he could never deny his
father anything that was important enough for him to forget school nights and
threw off his covers.
 
          There was a third of the scotch missing from the bottle but Stiles
was pretty sure it hadn’t been opened tonight. That was a good sign, as was the
way his father seemed to be forgetting the glass in his hand entirely as he
pointed at the photos tacked onto the wall in the den. Stiles winced as he sat
on the creaky couch.
 
          “So, that break and enter the other night, I told you it was weird
right?”
 
          “Yeah,” Stiles took a sip and eyed the scotch. He wondered how deep
into the case his father had to get to not notice a shot or two missing.
 
          “We’ve had a few complaints from the supermarket, food missing and
such,” his father pointed down the string timeline he had made, dates and times
tied onto the red wool. “So they changed their locks, hired a guard and that
was it. We just thought it was a homeless guy or something and because there
was no money missing we didn’t pursue it.”
 
          “Sounds reasonable.”
 
          “But then,” his father tapped a file on the table accusingly. “Then
there was a break in almost a week ago. Food missing. All the valuables still
there, computers, TVs, everything. In fact, the only reason we got called was
because the mother woke up from a bad dream and went get something to drink
when she noticed all her milk was gone.”
 
          “Her milk?” Stiles repeated, still fuzzy. “You guys got called
because one of her kids put an empty carton back.”
 
          “Breast milk,” his father made a face. “Something a bit more
specific. We thought it might be some kind of pervert so we started to move the
investigation in that direction,” he trailed his finger along the timeline.
“Then the other night we got another call.”
 
          “Another milk thief?” Stiles raised an eyebrow but his father gave
him a stern look.
 
          “A man was brought to the hospital due to chest pains. His girlfriend
was coming back late and said she saw someone run out the window. We thought it
was just stress with the ambulance and such but when we took a look around—“ he
flipped open a folder. There were several pictures of a granite kitchen, nice
and modern, much cleaner than their own kitchen. Stiles didn’t quite know what
he was supposed to be looking at—clean dishes or something—when he noticed the
evidence number on the ground. It was hard to see but there was definitely a
footprint in something that looked like a puddle.
 
          “Still not really seeing it, dad. Are you sure this is cocoa worthy?”
 
          “That’s milk,” he said, clearly fed up with waiting for Stiles to
catch on. “Two adults in the house and both have feet that are much too large
for this. And when we looked in the refrigerator—“ he pulled out another glossy
image, this time a picture inside the fridge with a red carton of milk on its
side, clearly empty and put back in a hurry. “See?”
 
          Stiles sighed, pretenses gone as he reached for his father’s
abandoned glass next to the folder and dumped the amber liquid into his mug
before his father could protest. “What exactly do you want me to say? Aha! Of
course! The milk-stealing cat monster! I’ve seen it a dozen times before!” he
raised his mug to his lips but before he could take a sip his father snatched
it out of his hands. “Hey!”
 
          “Don’t ‘hey’ me,” his father sounded grumpy as he took a deep
mouthful from the mug and winced. “I’m new to this whole magic business,” he
grimaced at the words and took another deep drink. “Cut me some slack.”
 
          It was true, the sheriff had been trying. It hadn’t been easy,
sitting down and explaining a year’s worth of oddities and strange crimes.
Stiles knew he didn’t help with it either. He had tripped over events, skipping
forward and back because some things just seemed unimportant now. But his
father had listening, even taking notes though Stiles hated to think what would
happen if a defense lawyer ever got hold of that book. It was like his father
was trying to apologise by taking everything so seriously.
 
          There were dark circles under the man’s eyes and though his hands
were steady there was something off about him. This was why Stiles had kept all
those secrets, this was why he wanted his father far, far away from these
things. The man thought too much, it was a hazard of the job. Stress led him to
the scotch and police work had been stressful enough when he had just been
dealing with natural elements. There was a sick twist in his stomach when he
saw the way his father absently started to drink, his brow furrowed in
frustration at not learning fast enough.  
 
          “I’ll look into it,” Stiles said. “Just promise me you’ll sleep.”
 
          “You know you used to think there was a monster living under your
bed,” the sheriff frowned into the mug, now nearly empty. “You used to crawl in
with your mom and I because I kept the gun locker under my bed.”
 
          “Yeah, well, now I’ve got a whole locker full of mountain ash,
wolfsbane and an enchanted axe under my bed,” Stiles yawned. “So if you hear
monsters you should come to me.”
 
          His father gave a small laugh but Stiles hated the way he looked so
old when Stiles went back up to his bed and the sweat-damp sheets that awaited
him.
 
***
 
          The Hale/Laghey apartment actually wasn’t that bad. It was in a
rather nice part of town, a more urban setting that Stiles had ever seen Derek.
There were three bedrooms, an open concept kitchen and dining room in the back
and a decent sized living room in between. Cora had the front room closest to
the door, Isaac’s was on the other side next to the bathroom and Derek’s was at
the back, through the kitchen, and had its own en suite and balcony door.
Stiles got the layout. Cora was protecting the door, Isaac’s room was most
soundproof and Derek paid the rent. But he didn’t really start to appreciate
the fact that Derek’s room was so separate until he knocked on the door with
his lacrosse stick one day after practice, the search for lactose-craving
monsters open on his phone, a doughnut dangling from his mouth as he flicked
through it absently with one hand and all his dirty gear in the other.
 
          Derek answered, his nostrils flaring unattractively as he gave the
mud splattered shoulder pads a dirty look. “What the hell is that doing here?”
 
          Stiles went to answer, biting through the doughnut before remembering
why he had been holding it in his mouth in the first place and it was only due
to Derek’s reflexes he didn’t end up coated in powdered sugar. He chewed and
swallowed quickly. “Hey, we’ve got to take care of our equipment or coach will
drop us down a full letter grade.”
 
          Derek looked like he wanted to keep blocking the door but he moved
reluctantly and Stiles slipped through the small space. The apartment was a
little sparse but definitely better than anywhere else Derek had furnished. The
couch was new and Stiles could still smell the new plastic of the TV but it at
least was starting to look like a home. Besides the new TV there was a fresh
smell in the air, lilacs or something, and he took an appreciative sniff. “Can
I use your washing machine? The last time I put my jersey through like this
ours broke down for a week.”
 
          There was a pained sound but Derek nodded, already stealing the last
of Stiles’s doughnut. It was true, the whole thing about his own ancient
machine. With Cora gone both he and his dad were back to cramming as much in
the machine as possible to cut down on washing time and the thing was on its
last legs. But more than that, Stiles was starting to seriously considering
trading tutoring for detergent. His father may have joked about it before but
whatever Cora had been using had made his clothes smell so much better than
when he did it himself. He grinned when he spotted the bottle on the shelf.
 
He could feel Derek glaring at him from across the hall and he grinned, dumping
more detergent than was strictly necessary as he tried to stretch out the
process. “You came here just for my machine,” Derek said.
 
“It’s a good machine,” Stiles spun the dial to a random setting. He could feel
the eye roll before Derek stalked over behind him and fixed it on a number. He
enjoyed the heat of Derek against his side. There was a bit of powdered sugar
on his cheek and Stiles felt an urge to lick it off. He could, he suddenly
realised. Scott and Isaac were stuck doing extra laps for too handsy with their
contact practice on the field and Cora would be sneaking around with Johan for
at least a little longer.
 
          If there was one thing mutual hand jobs had taught Stiles it was that
he should seize every opportunity for them.
 
          It didn’t seem to take much convincing. Stiles pushed at Derek’s
shoulders until they were through the kitchen, only knocking over one chair,
and into Derek’s bedroom.
 
          The bedroom was rather nice as well, muted greys and red making it
seem more permanent and masculine and the double bed meant when Stiles pushed
Derek on it, he could bounce comfortably without hitting his head on the wall.
Stiles wasted no time unbuckling his belt but he paused when he saw Derek just
smirking, unmoving at him.
 
          “What?” he flushed. “Come on, we’re on a time limit here. I’ve got a
very narrow window until my dad starts sending out the deputies and I’m pretty
sure he’s starting to replace some rounds with silver bullets.”
 
          “I thought you’d be with Cora now,” Derek said.
 
          Stiles rolled his eyes because there were too many words and not
enough nudity for him. “Lydia is taking over the tutoring.” He tugged his shirt
over his head. Normally Stiles would be a little self-conscious of doing that
after a practice surrounded by marble sculptured werewolves like Isaac, Scott
and mere mortal gods like Danny, but lacrosse sometimes had a dizzying
adrenaline after kick. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t count every sinew and
muscle on his chest, the punishment of running suicides today made everything
feel tight and thrumming with energy. He reached for his socks as, finally,
Derek started to strip.
 
          Stiles knew he was on the clock but it felt like he had more time as
he kissed under Derek’s chin, splaying his fingers across the dips and groves
of his body. Derek, for his part, seemed patiently amused as Stiles ran his
hands along his ribs then sweeping up to his biceps. “What?” Stiles wasn’t
annoyed by it, surprisingly, as Derek just lay back and tucked an arm behind
his head. “Am I boring you?”
 
          “No,” Derek put his other hand on the back of Stiles’s head, urging
him back to where he had been tracing his collar bone with his tongue. “Keep
going.”
 
          There was a fine line between going so slow it was embarrassing and
wanting to savour every moment but Stiles tried to best to find it. Derek was
hard but he ignored it for the most part, only using his hand to hold the
erection out of his way as he explored the dip of Derek’s navel. He felt Derek
tense up when he took a hold of him so he kept his hand wrapped around him,
grip light enough that he could feel Derek’s muscle start shifted restlessly
every time he twitched his fingers.
 
          “Stiles.”
 
          Stiles lifted his head. “Little busy here.”
 
          “You’re the one who said we were in a hurry,” there was a strained
tone in his voice and Stiles gave an experimental squeeze.
 
          “By my prediction we’ve got another,” Stiles glanced to the alarm
clock (because of course Derek went to the trouble of getting an alarm clock
instead of using his phone alarm like a normal human being) and his eyes widen.
“Crap, like ten minutes and counting.”
 
          Derek hauled Stiles up, bending his knees to help propel him faster
until Stiles found himself shuffled so his thighs were spread on either side of
Derek’s chest, his own cock now only a few tempting inches from Derek’s mouth.
He had a sudden sense memory of just what that mouth felt like and Derek looked
at him smugly.
 
          It was a lot harder to not just give in and thrust into Derek’s mouth
from his position but when Derek urged him up so he could slide in, he gripped
the sheets in an effort to stop himself from doing just that. A strong hand on
his hip and another wrapped around the base, fingers spread solid and warm
across this abdomen giving him at least a sliver of comfort that even if he
passed out from the sheer pleasure Derek would be able to stop himself from
choking. Still, it was embarrassing how quickly Derek brought him to the edge
of coming when it had been Stiles who had set out to seduce Derek. But either
this angle was better or Derek had somehow managed to learn how to deep throat
because when Stiles shuddered forward, gravity so not working on his side,
Derek took him that much deeper.
 
          “Jesus, what the hell,” Stiles could feel sweat already starting to
form along his collar where his arms were shaking with an effort to keep
himself up. “How the hell are you so good at this?”
 
          Derek gave some kind of grumbled response that was possibly a retort
but felt more like heaven on Earth and Stiles’s arms lost their battle. He
tried to fall to the side, he really did, but Derek was strong enough to hold
him one handed as Stiles sank to his elbows and came all over Derek’s face and
neck. He was trembling as Derek let him go, letting him fall to the side press
his aching dick into the mattress, half curling around Derek’s head. Derek
tilted his head back, glaring despite the streaks of white all over his stubble
which was suddenly all Stiles could focus on.
 
          “I thought I did pretty well the first time.”
 
          “Yeah,” Stiles’s mind felt too blank to properly understand.
“Perfect.”
 
          Before he could even think to address reciprocation, the sound of the
front door opening and closing felt like a gunshot. Stiles scrambled up,
kneeing Derek in the shoulder as he fell over onto the floor and wrestled with
the rug for his clothes.
 
          “That did not take ten minutes,” he heard Derek say but just tossed
him the maroon shirt on the floor that definitely wasn’t his instead of
answering.
 
          “Are they going to be able to tell?” Stiles asked urgently. It wasn’t
that he was ashamed of this it was just that—it was one thing for Isaac and
Scott to know, because those were definitely the two voices out there, and
another thing for them to see Stiles’s come glistening under Derek’s ear. He
paused and fumbled with the zipper of his pants when he saw that.
 
          “By sense, no,” Derek sounded annoyed but Stiles could hardly blame
the guy. “Those two still have trouble sorting out beef from pork. But yeah,”
he raised an eyebrow pointedly at Stiles’s tee shirt which he realised suddenly
was on backwards. “I think they’ll be able to tell.”
 
          “You’ve got some—“ Stiles reached out hesitantly then wiped at the
stray streak on his neck, flushing as Derek tilted his head for better access.
“You should look in the mirror.”
 
          Derek sighed and stood, pushing Stiles at the door. “Go, before they
wander in here looking for you.”
 
          Before Scott had been turned they had been able to lean on each
other, complaining about the seemingly endless suicides Coach made them run
when they missed too many shots. Now, though, it was hard to tell Isaac and
Scott had just been put through what Coach liked to call his Apocalyptic Macy’s
Black Friday Meltdown routine. And he knew, just knew, they must have decided
to run here instead of biking, which was why they were so early and why they
looked flushed and excited.
 
          “Hey, Stiles!” Scott clapped him on the back a little too hard. “We
saw your stuff.”
 
          “Yeah, my dad bitches when I bring it home,” he sighed as they
dropped their own gear. Derek was frowning, fully dressed now and surly-looking
as he snapped at Isaac to not spread mud around the apartment. As they bickered
lightly about it, Cora came in, also looking flush and fresh from a brisk run
as well.
 
          But where Isaac and Scott had been oblivious, Cora was barely in the
door before her shocked face went to Derek to Stiles before sliding into a sly
grin. Stiles ignored her but he saw Derek flush and stomp back into the
kitchen, yelling over his shoulder that he wasn’t their goddamn housemaid and
he wasn’t sweeping again. 
         
          “Come on,” Cora grabbed Stiles’s shirt and propelled him towards her
room, neatly sidestepping Scott and Isaac trying to straighten their things
without making more of a mess. “Just need help with some math!” she called over
her shoulder before shutting the door loudly. Cora’s room was smaller, more
beige and navy but also much more Spartan than Derek’s, surprisingly. It made
sense, Stiles supposed, to a girl who was used to living on the run, but he
took a seat on the twin bed gingerly. She fiddled with her phone before turning
on music, something fast and new Stiles didn’t know, and turning it on loud.
“Sorry,” she didn’t look apologetic at all. “I love this song. So—you and
Derek—“
 
          “Yeah, yeah,” Stiles rubbed at his neck embarrassed. “Look, do we
have to do this now?”
 
          She glanced at the clock face and nodded. “Yeah, for like twenty
minutes. I really do need help with my math.”
 
          Stiles frowned, wanting to ask about what exactly was so important
but she had her books open and questions at the ready before he could get a
word in. The music was distracting as hell but she refused to turn it off, even
when the Jonas brother’s song came on and they slogged through the last few
questions with Stiles earning a throbbing headache.
 
          The worst part was, she didn’t even seem to be having any trouble
anymore and half way through the last question Stiles finally shut the book her
fingers, annoyed. “Dude, look, if you don’t need my help—“
 
          “Johan was wondering about the book,” she interrupted him quickly.
“They’re starting to get pressure from back home, the family wants information
about Allison and the pack. Did you figure out what’s going on?”
 
          “Wha—“ Stiles felt a vein throbbing in his forehead. “You mean the
unknown curse with no hints, no background, no help and written somewhere in a
foreign diary I don’t speak the language of? No! No I haven’t figured it out.
I’ve been a little wrapped up with, you know, the Alpha Pack, a evil crazy
English teacher and, oh yeah, you dying.”
 
          Cora sobered at his harsh tone. “Sorry, yeah, I forgot about that.”
 
          “Well, some of us don’t have the luxury of forgetting all these
things,” Stiles knew he was being a little mean but she was the one who was
insisting on this secret and Stiles was fed up of them. “What the hell were
they doing during all of that? We could have used some backup.”
 
          “I told them to stay away,” Cora said quickly. “I didn’t want them to
be dragged into things if they didn’t need to be.”
 
          “Well, lucky them,” Stiles sighed and rubbed at his temples. The bad
sleep from that night combined with the strange midnight conversation with his
father hadn’t set up him properly for the day. He was angry at them for getting
back so early because all he wanted to do was push Derek down on his bed again
and continue just exploring. Weren’t they supposed to get a honeymoon phase?
His skin felt itchy like he was being spread too thin between his father,
Cora’s Hunter problem and trying not to think too hard about how much the
wonder threesome was getting laid more than him. “Lydia is getting through the
book; go bug her if you want answers.”
 
          “Okay.”
 
          “And tell Derek about Johan, I’m sure he’ll be fine with it now,”
Stiles tried for a kinder tone but knew he was failing. “He wouldn’t have cared
before, either.”
 
          “I will, sure,” she said evasively and took her notebook back from
Stiles, the last question still only half answered.
 
When she finally let him go she stopped him, right before he could escape and
kissed him on the cheek. He scrubbed at the skin, his body feeling badly
hardwired for skin contact right now, as she shut the door firmly.
 
          Allison had shown up at some point and the three of them were sitting
on the couch, the TV on to some kind of teen drama. It was obvious none of them
were paying attention to anything but sneaking looks at each other but the only
person Stiles really noticed was Derek, standing in the doorway of the kitchen
with a frustrated expression on his face.
 
          Stiles wondered if there was a polite way to sneak back into Derek’s
room and finish what they had started, occupied apartment be damned, but
instead Derek held out his jersey, warm but still a little damp from where he
had taken it out of the dryer too soon.
 
          “Here,” he practically shoved it into Stiles’s chest. “It’s getting
late, your father is going to wonder where you are.”
 
          Stiles really just wanted to drop kick the jersey across the room and
push Derek back through the kitchen again because it felt like he was going to
unravel if he didn’t but Derek, of course, was right. He grabbed his things and
said a quick goodbye to the other three before going down to his car, muttering
angrily to himself the whole way.  
 
***
 
          There was something chasing him, razor sharp insect wings flapping
against the back of his calves, driving him forward. There was blackness all
around, he couldn’t see what he was running on, he could only hear the buzzing
in his ears see sickly yellows and greens of fireflies flying into his eyes.
 
          “I kind of had a crush on you, you know,” Erica was somewhere out
there, waiting for him. He stumbled, panting and tired as his legs felt numb
until the razors cut into them, driving him forward.
 
          Clink, clink, there were bottles around him. “I want to do it,”
Heather’s voice was breathless as well. Glass shattered on the ground but it
didn’t slow him down as he ran over it, cold wetness on his feet like raindrops
as he bled.
 
          It felt like his chest was in a cinch, thin bands of pressure
tightening around his ribs as he tried to draw a breath, dizzying white as
sharp needles drew over his face and neck, letting blood flow down his skin
like a spring.
 
          There, the tree was pulsing, vibrating his skin until it sloughed
off, a painful wet sensation as it splatted on the ground, unable to follow him
as he kept going, his blood pumping out and out now with nothing to contain it.
His body was failing, flailing as he tried to move it but it fell apart as if
under some other party and all he could do was fall numbly to the ground, the
last weak pump of his heart welling blood out of his eyes, ears and nose.
 
          Stiles woke up to a coppery tang in his mouth as he bit through his
lip. He was on his back and when he tied to move it felt like his body was
locked tight, as if someone else was holding the keys to movement and his brain
was merely a passenger. He wonder briefly if this was what dying was and his
brain was going to just detach, leaving his body a solid rock-like lump under
the sheets. But then a ripple of yellow-feeling bubbles started under his
fingers and worked its way inward, like acid crawling up and over his joints
releasing them to pins and needles until he could move again. He rolled to his
side as he choked, breathing in the scent of blood with the stale, sweat
smelling air.
 
          This was worse than the nightmares before. At least those made sense.
The tree, the fog: all standard affairs. Stiles struggled to breathe; feeling
bruised all over as he touched a shaky hand to his lip. He felt like he hadn’t
been asleep at all and exhaustion started over his brain in a cloudy wave but
the fear of that numbness made him force his body to roll until he fell out of
the bed with a loud thump.
 
          He waited for a minute but he didn’t hear any movement from his
father’s room. The man had been drinking, something that was making Stiles
worry because he usually didn’t drink like this two nights in a row. At least,
not in a long time. The case was bothering him and Stiles had seen old boxes in
the den, unsolved cases his father was going over with a new eye. For a second
Stiles wished for the time when Cora being part of the drug cartel had been the
most outlandish solution his father could think of.
 
          Stiles sat on the floor flexing his hand on his chest just to prove
he could. He wondered if the dreams were happening from the stress or something
else. Dreams were a reflection of the soul, or so he had heard. He wondered for
a moment if the soul lobotomy had taken something important. He knew he should
see Deaton but his brain still felt fried and he knew there was no way he could
talk himself into sleeping again tonight.
 
          He stood on shaky legs and had to use the wall for support as he went
downstairs. There was a pot of old coffee he had forgotten to throw away and he
dumped it into a mug and then into the microwave. It was barely lukewarm but it
was enough and after the first toe-curling bitter taste he frowned and reached
into the fridge for the cream, looking accusingly at it for being empty.
 
          The caffeine always felt like it hit his bloodstream faster the worst
it tasted so by the time he managed to make his way back into his room he felt
more charged than before. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the nights when he left
but he flicked them on and nearly fell backwards when he saw Derek sitting on
his bed flicking through a comic.
 
          “What the hell?” Stiles wasn’t sure if it was the coffee or the fear
but his heart felt like it was going to explode from his chest. His hand had
gone for the steel baseball bat Cora had left behind and he shut his door
quickly in case his father actually woke up. “Jesus, it’s called knocking.”
 
          “Your window was open,” Derek closed the comic without a rustle and
took in his appearance with a frown. “In winter. You look terrible.”
 
          “You look like Hannibal Lector,” Stiles snapped back. His shirt was
damp and chilly so he tugged it off. “Why are you here so late?”
 
          “I can leave,” Derek shifted off the bed but a paused as he took a
good look at Stiles’s chest. Whatever confidence Stiles had had earlier had
faded with the exhaustion. He reached for a clean shirt from the folded pile in
the laundry basket, still not put away from when Cora had done it, and went to
tug it on and let the fresh smell of flowers revive him but Derek stopped him.
Derek reached out hesitantly and traced finger across his chest. Stiles jumped
at the flash of unexpected sore sensation “That mark-- Is that from—“ There was
a weird blank expression on his face.
 
          Stiles didn’t know what the hell he was talking about but smacked his
hand away sharply. “Don’t leave, just, wait a sec, okay?” He pulled the shirt
on, then a hoodie, grateful for the extra layer of warmth. Derek must have been
right, the window must have been open earlier because the room was much too
cold. He didn’t remember leaving it open but then again he had downed two
Redbulls on top of his pills as he poured through the translated bestiary,
scanning and cataloguing to keep his mind off the train wreck his father had
been driving in the den. “I need to shower or something.” He paused before
leaving the room and glared at Derek who had been inching towards the window.
“Sit,” he pointed at the bed. “Stay,” he ordered with a wag of his finger and
Derek sighed.
 
          He scrubbed quickly, already feeling better as the clammy sweat of
the nightmare washed off easily. At least he would know if his father was going
to wake up at all if he didn’t wake up from the sound of the shower. If nothing
else, he would come out to crack jokes and wet dreams and the joys of being a
teenager just to embarrass him but when Stiles shut off the water there was no
sound from the hallway. He thought about putting his nightwear back on but
hesitated and just wrapped a towel around his waist and carried his clothes. It
wasn’t like he wanted to sleep anymore tonight.
 
          Derek had stayed and the room had heated back up with the window
properly closed. The sweaty bed sheets had been balled up and put in the
laundry basket and somehow Derek had found clean sheets for the bed. His jacket
was off and draped over the chair and his boots were lined up neatly at the end
of the bed. He glanced up over the comic he had picked up again and Stiles
smirked when he lowered the comic with a little less grace than before.
 
          There were no interrupted this time as Stiles finally managed to lick
up Derek’s cock. He was trying to concentrate on making it feel good, first
using lube on his hand but regretting it when he tasted it. Still, Derek didn’t
seem to mind when he cursed and had to clean off to start over, though it still
had the rubbery taste. Under that, though, was a good taste, a better one of
skin, heat, and something salty. Derek’s hands were in his hair, quietly
patting and tugging him, encouraging and sometimes helpful but often in the
way. Stiles’s jaw got sore quickly and the cut along his lip stung but he
pushed through gamely until Derek pulled him up and rolled over him.
 
          “What happened?” his kisses were faster and a little uncontrolled
which was good because they matched how Stiles felt. Derek’s cock was wet with
precum and Stiles’s saliva which sparked him to a whole new level of turned on
as Derek rubbed against his hip. Stiles didn’t know what Derek meant for a
second until he ran his tongue along the cut and Stiles winced.
 
          “Bad dream,” he panted quietly. “I bit my lip.”
 
          Derek frowned and the next time he kissed it the pain ebbed away.
Sharp laces of pleasure ran through his skin instead and he felt Derek smile
before he kissed the moan before it could work its way out of Stiles’s mouth.
 
          To Stiles’s gratification, Derek came first this time, with a quiet
groan and pulses as Stiles wrapped his hand snuggly around him and tugged. He
had been licking across Stiles’s chest, alternating between one nipple and the
next, biting at surprisingly sensitive skin. It didn’t take much more for
Stiles, a few quick tugs slick with Derek’s come and he was gone, lifting his
wrist to bite at it so he didn’t make too much noise.
 
          Derek disappeared to turn off the light before Stiles could tell him
he didn’t plan on sleeping, thank you, and kindly leave it on, but the protest
didn’t quite make it out of his throat beyond a whimper. Derek slipped under
the covers, Stiles’s towel from earlier cleaning them both off before he threw
it into the basket with the sheets and spooned up Stiles from behind.
 
***
 
          Stiles’s eyes felt heavy but it was the pain in his chest when he
moved that force them open. It wasn’t like the earlier a breathing kind of pain
but a bruising kind of pain and when he touched the skin around his nipples he
winced. It was strange to wake up with another person so close but it was
helpful to have that person in kicking range when he felt they needed one.
 
          “Dude, I’m a fragile human, next time contain your teeth,” he could
feel Derek waking up, bare skin that had felt warm and comfortable the night
before sticky and sweaty after several hours in close quarters. He felt the
yawn on the back of his head, hot hair brushing through the short shorn hairs
there until Derek nuzzled closer, a hand drifting up to poke at the littered
bite marks artwork all over Stiles’s chest.
 
          Then Stiles realised he was waking up with another person in his bed
and that the smell of bacon downstairs hadn’t been made by itself. He threw
himself off the bed, managing to grab the towel from the floor and wrapping it
around himself. He heard Derek’s grunt of protest but there was no time for
that. That was bacon, it was just as sacred as cocoa and the last time he had
sat down for a proper breakfast with his father it had been because they had
both nearly been killed by a druid in a magical storm. Something was up,
definitely wrong, and Stiles threw himself at his clothes.
 
          “Dude, you’ve got to go.” Boxers, jeans, shirt, flannel hoodie— there
were too many steps to his wardrobe and the bite marks over his chest ached as
he dug through looking for some semblance of matching. He heard shuffling
behind him as Derek finally moved.
 
          It was probably the wrong way to handle a booty call but Derek had to
know what he was getting into when he was sneaking around with the sheriff’s
son. Stiles barely stopped him as he started halfway out the window. “Sorry,”
he said quickly and dragged Derek into a closed mouth, morning breath kiss.
Derek was stiff but softened a little as he returned it and then was gone
without a word.
 
          Clothes in place, Stiles mourned for his buzzcut days as he tried for
some kind of style in his hair before giving up and going down the stairs two
at a time.
 
          “Hey!” the reprimand sounded normal. “If you break your neck on those
I’m not driving you to the hospital.”
 
          “Sorry,” Stiles felt whiplash, saying the word twice to two very
different people but shoved the weirdness aside. “But—bacon?”
 
          “Yeah,” the sheriff even looked normal. He was dressed and showered,
nothing to suggest his late night habits. “Look, we’ll switch back to turkey
bacon next week but a man’s got to deal with his stress somehow.”
 
          Stiles knew he should protest but he was too relieved to see his
father up and walking around like nothing was strange between the two of them.
He went for the plates, the whole routine unfamiliar but comforting and they
settled down to eat. The conversation was light: Stiles talked about school and
lacrosse, the sheriff made fun of his love life as if the Hales had never
existed. For a second Stiles wondered if he was finally dreaming restfully. He
even managed to wash the dishes before they both had to leave for school, his
father informing him that he was on nights for the next few days and to have a
good day at school.
 
          Normal. It was normal in a way that wasn’t normal but was as helpful
as having a control group in a lab experiment. Stiles couldn’t help but hum
with the radio as he drove, even the weather sunny and unusually warm for this
time of year. He should have known, damn it.
 
          There was a bend in the road on the way to the school next to a park
with a bush right along the curb. It was a hazard because kids playing
sometimes kicked balls or ran out without looking and it was a bit of a blind
corner. So when Stiles saw a flash of dark hair and a jacket right before the
thump he had a terrified moment that he had hit a kid.
 
          He was out of his car, fear making all the words he wanted to say
bottleneck in the lump in his throat. But before he could even move to see, a
person stood up, adult sized he wasn’t ashamed to let out a deep breath of
relief, and used the hood of the jeep to steady herself. It took a second to
recognise the curly hair and strong jawline as Ria. She was rubbing at her
hand, hissing in pain but all four limbs were moving and there was no blood so
Stiles felt his knees go weak a little.
 
          “Oh my God!” he found his voice. “We look both ways in this country,
you can’t just run out on the road like that!”
 
          She said something in German and it sounded angry but Stiles wasn’t
sure he could differentiate between angry and normal German. Then she said, “In
car, go, now!”
 
          Stiles was about to reply with more “In America” phrases, most of
them with less practical advice and more cursing, but there was the distinct
sound of a bowstring letting loose and there was suddenly an arrow sized divot
on the hood of his car. “In car, go, now!” Stiles agreed.
 
          Ria didn’t even look at the crack in the window or the deep gouges of
the upholstery as Stiles drove too fast for comfort until he was sure he was
out of range of the long bow weapons. They had overshot the school and in fact
were on the road to the next town over before he felt comfortable enough to
ease off the gas petal and take a deep calming breath. He glanced over to his
passenger who was taking a closer look at the road burn on her arm. “What the
hell was that?”
 
          She looked up, the same irritated look on her face that had been in
the forest the night they had kidnapped him. “Arrows.” Her accent was even
deeper than her brothers and Stiles felt annoyed she didn’t even seem to have
an ounce of gratitude for the fact he had just saved her life.
 
          “I know what the hell arrows are,” he gritted his teeth. “Why the
hell were they shooting at you?”
 
          “Anger at me,” she hissed as she started to pick out pebbles. “I
don’t have book, they are angry.”
 
          “Book?” Stiles repeated. “The book you gave me?”
 
          “Yes.”
 
          “I thought they didn’t know that you had the book!”
 
          She didn’t bother to look at him. “Turn left, okay?”
 
          “Na uh, nayn, no way,” he said, spotting the ill-fated gas station up
ahead and signalling to pull in there. “You are coming with me and we are
sitting the hell down with Lydia and have a long, bilingual conversation.”
 
          But before Stiles could pull around, Ria had the door open and was
running. He shouted after her but she was gone into the woods, the door still
swinging behind her. Cursing, he went to close it and when he sat back he
realised there were three cars next to the pump and a whole audience of wide
eyed spectators reaching for their phones and dialling in a distinctive three
digit number.
 
***
 
          Despite the problems it was causing at home and in their
relationship, it was kind of nice having his father in the know. It meant when
he came into the interrogation room he looked worried rather than angry and
when Stiles told him the abbreviated version (he knew the girl, they were
heading to school when she just got out on her own, no he wasn’t a kidnapper,
thank you so much everyone for noticing something this time and not the last
time when Stiles had been hauled execution style into the woods) he took him on
his word.
 
          In the parking lot he said more, that he didn’t really know Ria that
well, that she was involved with the Argents, and when the sheriff noticed the
divots (there were more, one had busted his taillight when they were fleeing)
he tried to smooth over the whole assault-by-arrows.
 
          “Really, though,” he said quickly as his father started to look pale.
“Arrows, not that big of a deal. They were horrible shots.”
 
          “I don’t know if I want you in school so there’s a crowd around you
or if I want to barricade you in the house,’ the sheriff rubbed at his eyes.
Stiles tried to make another joke but instead his father gripped him on both
shoulders and gave him a serious look. “Son, I know you worry about my health
but I didn’t think I had to worry this much about you. I can’t—“ his voice
broke off and he took a deep breath.
 
          “I can go to Derek’s,” Stiles felt off kilter, the morning breakfast
feeling like a different day. “He’s like a SWAT team in himself.”
 
          “I never thought the day would come where going to Derek Hale was the
safest choice for my son,” his father grumbled. “Fine, but you call me when you
get there. I’ll call the school but try to do something scholarly okay?”
 
***
 
          He might be able to pass this off as biology as Derek pinned his hips
against the kitchen counter. But that was a coded word wasn’t it? Maybe
psychology. He was doing experiments on Pavlovian responses because just the
sound of a zipper was enough to make him rock hard now.
 
          To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what this was beyond chemical
responses and orgasms anyway. Weren’t people in relationships supposed to talk?
They had, there had been a greeting in there and Stiles mentioned something
about the Argents and arrows but Derek had growled and looked murderous so
Stiles had started the making out instead. Much less bloodshed this way. The
anger was redirecting in what was certainly a healthier way as Derek seemed to
want to check him over entirely to make sure nothing had hit his target. His
chosen method was with his mouth and Stiles wasn’t going to discourage that.
 
          When Derek had paused at his stomach, taking an extra-long time
pushing up his shirt and rubbing his scratchy chin over it Stiles was a little
embarrassed when he remembered he hadn’t showered this morning. Still, if he
smelled like anyone at least it was Derek, and no one else was going to catch
him out.
 
          “Jesus,” Stiles wasn’t sure he was ever going stay calm at the way
Derek looked when he had Stiles’s cock in his mouth. He hoped he was getting
better at it though. It was getting easier to handle the onslaught of pleasure,
not because he was getting used to it but because he knew how good it could be
the longer it lasted. Still, after a few minutes he twisted his hands in
Derek’s hair to tug him off because they had a whole afternoon and Stiles had
plans.
 
          “What?” Derek let Stiles pull him to his feet but he had a suspicious
look on his face like he knew Stiles was scheming for something different. “Not
up to your standards?”
 
          “No, you oversensitive baby,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “But a bed is
generally considered a more traditional place for a deflowering than a kitchen
floor.”
 
          Derek raised an eyebrow but willing followed him as Stiles headed
straight for Derek’s room. He wasn’t sure if it was memory of skin on skin last
night carried over to this morning or the adrenaline of being shot at but he
couldn’t keep his hands off Derek now that they were alone. Derek seemed to
sense the frantic pace and grabbed his wrists to still them. “You’re nervous.”
 
          “Full points go to the werewolf with a built in heart monitor,”
Stiles said with a frown. “Or maybe I’m just horny. Ever think about that? Come
on,” he flapped his hands uselessly. “Clothes off. I feel like I have to keep
telling you things you should already be doing.” Derek snorted but let go of
his hands and with much more efficiency than the last time they had been in
this room he pulled his shirt over his head. It was almost routine enough, this
ritual of getting naked before getting busy, but it was a routine Stiles was
well content with getting into.
 
          He batted Derek’s mouth away from the still biting marks on his chest
as he reached for where he knew Derek kept the lube. Before he could open it,
Derek snatched it from his hand and dropped it next to the pillow.
 
          “Hey, that’s essential to the next step,” Stiles protested but Derek
kissed him, careless of his teeth so Stiles had to kiss back to avoid injury.
It wasn’t that Derek wasn’t with the program though, his hands slid from the
middle of Stiles’s back to his ass which he hadn’t realised was so sensitive
until just this moment. He had to stop the kiss to breath this time and Derek
let him go, squeezing and dipping his fingers in a way that made Stiles shiver.
 
          “So you’re on board with the whole thing?” Stiles managed to gasp out
as Derek pushed down and thrust up, rubbing his dick along Stiles’s.
 
          In response Derek flipped them over, grinding down on him just enough
to make Stiles dig his fingers into his arm before saying in a low gravelly
voice, “Get on your stomach.”
 
          Stiles knew that Derek had slept with other people. It was one of the
reasons Cora had ended up under his roof in the first place. But it was one
thing to know it and another to be one of those people. There was something
that happened to people it seemed when they were in bed. Stiles himself felt
like an entirely different person, need and lust making him do things and make
sounds he would wince about in embarrassment later. He had never really thought
about how another person could bring out these kinds of reactions; sex had
always been an abstract equation. But now, with this thing with Derek—it was
hard to remember that the guy behind him, slipping slick fingers along the
crack of his ass, his erection pushing up behind his balls making small tears
form in his eyes as if those two parts of his body were connected by inches
instead of feet was the same guy who looked two seconds away from giving him a
concussion just a few weeks ago.
 
          “Stop over thinking this,” Derek growled as he forcibly tilted
Stiles’s hips to a better angle with his non-slippery hand. “I can feel your
brain working.”
 
          Stiles reached for the second pillow on the bed, pushing it under his
stomach and hips to make himself more comfortable. “I’m a thinker. We all know
this. Just because I’m thinking doesn’t make it a bad thing.”
 
           “I said you were over thinking,” Derek slipped a finger in, just the
tip but it did help to chase away the stray thoughts wiggling around in the
back of his brain. “Relax.”
 
          “Relax,” Stiles repeated, his voice strained. “Yeah, okay, sure.
Just, keep going, okay?”
 
          “If you want to stop—“
 
          “What part of keep going do you not understand?” Stiles bit out
before he realised there had been a hint of humour in Derek’s voice. He looked
over his shoulder, glared at the way Derek was smiling in a way that seemed out
of place but at the same time helped him relax a bit. He tugged the other
pillow under his chin, grumbling, “Do you always laugh at the people in your
bed or am I just special?”
 
          Derek stilled a little but swallowed and said, “Just let me know if I
should stop.”
 
          It was pretty obvious, in fact, that Derek had a lot of practice and
far from being jealous now Stiles was happy that one of them knew what they
were doing. He was definitely producing sounds he hadn’t ever thought would
come from his mouth. On all the pamphlets Stiles had read and reread the
hundreds of times he and Scott had been stuck waiting at the hospital or the
millions of nights he waited for his dad at the station, sex safety seemed to
be a step by step process. One, two, three then a nice happy ending for all.
Derek wasn’t doing all those things in order but Stiles was going to defer to
his experience if it the whole thing was going to feel this good.
 
          “Jesus,” Stiles was pretty sure he should be saying Derek’s name or
something but every time Derek moved his fingers, one or two, fast and slow,
sometimes deep sometimes just trailing his fingertips around the edge he wasn’t
in control of his own mouth. “Jesus, I’m never going to be able to look at your
hands again, so good, fuck—“
 
          Derek pushed at his hip so he was in his side now, lounging forward
almost desperately to kiss him sloppily. “Do you ever stop talking?” Derek
didn’t sound angry about it but Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s rib in
retaliation.
 
          “What, you want me to shut up?” he panted, hitching a knee over
Derek’s hip in an effort to press his dick against something.
 
          “I kind of like you begging like this,” Derek used the angle to push
his fingers in the furthest they had been and Stiles felt his toes curl.
“Usually you argue with me.”
 
          “Ego stroking,” Stiles said before he had to bite his lip when Derek
did something that seemed too magical to be real. “You would like that.”
 
          “And now back to the arguing,” Derek sighed and that’s when he
started to work in another finger.
 
          It was dangerous to kiss like this because Stiles was too
uncoordinated with his teeth. He couldn’t concentrate and Derek seemed to
realise this because he moved down the bed so Stiles was resting his knee in
the crook of his neck and started to suck his dick until his eyes rolled back.
 
          By the time Derek pulled off, breathing hard against his hip and he
worked three fingers at a stuttering pace in and out of Stiles’s ass, there was
literally no way Stiles was going to let anything or anyone interrupt them this
time. Scott could burst through the door with a dozen demon-wolves on his tail,
Stiles would kick him out until they were done.
 
          It was also a good thing they weren’t on Stile’s bed because there
wouldn’t have room for Stiles to sit up and shove Derek flat on his back. As it
was, his head dangled precariously over the edge and he shuffled awkwardly to a
more stable position as Stiles tried to catch his breath and resist just
rutting against Derek’s stomach until he came.
 
          “Here,” Derek passed him the lube and tucked a hand behind his head
so he could watch as Stiles slicked him up. Then, with motions that felt more
out of body than anything else, Stiles held him steady as he started to sink
down.
 
          It wasn’t as alien as Stiles thought it was going to be; Derek had
spent a lot of time getting his ass used to the idea and the thing that made
him so slow wasn’t pain but the shock of how good it felt. He felt the scrape
of nails on his thighs and he grinned when there was just a hint of claws
pricking his skin before they disappeared. Dangerous as it was, if Derek hadn’t
lost a little bit of control then Stiles would have felt letdown.
 
          Finally there was no more left to take and Stiles dug his nails into
Derek’s skin to brace himself because even just breathing, a simple,
subconscious thing a minute ago, felt alien as it sent sparks of pleasure
shivering down his body.
 
          Derek’s hand was fisting his own hair now, his head tilted back and
his mouth open as he breathed, slow and like he had to think about it too, his
other hand relaxing its tight grip on Stiles’s thigh. There was a glisten of
sweat on Derek’s collarbone and Stiles couldn’t help but lean forward to lick
it. The movement left him gasping and the lick turned more into a bite when he
couldn’t stop from baring his teeth to suck in a groan.
 
          “Stiles,” Derek’s voice was tightly leased but all pretenses of being
cool and collected were thrown out of the window as Stiles felt him grip his
ass with both hands, holding Stiles steady as he started to rock up.
 
          “Do it, do it,” Stiles panted and Derek obliged, dragging out only a
little before thrusting in, probably barely any movement at all but it felt for
all the world like the ground was moving with them. If Stiles were to
concentrate he was sure he could feel the burn in his legs or the bruising grip
of Derek’s hands pushing him down to meet in an unsteady rhythm but he couldn’t
think about anything other than the taste of Derek’s skin and the miniscule
movements in his throat as he cursed between half caught moans. It was good, so
good, and he could stop reaching between them to grasp his cock.
 
          “Don’t come yet,” Derek said and Stiles couldn’t help but shoot him a
disbelieving look.
 
          “Dude, I can’t help it!”
 
          “I’m not your dude,” Derek grunted and thrust hard on the word,
making it really, ridiculously hard to follow his first request. Stiles let go
of his cock with an involuntary whine and tried to think of something, anything
to stop himself from giving in to the pressure that was rapidly building.
Suddenly, Derek sat up, a move that set his dick at some kind of utterly
mindblowing ohmyfuckinggod angle and Stiles though for half a second that this
was what a heart attack was like, if heart attacks involved sending a million
volts into his heart and almost made him black out from the shock.
 
          “Oh, my God, ohmygod,” Stiles dug his nails into the most sensitive
part of his thigh while holding on to Derek’s neck with his other hand like a
choke hold. The sparks of pain didn’t decrease the throbbing pleasure shooting
through him until his fingers felt numb but it did stop things from turning
disastrous. “So not helping, dude!”
 
          Derek either didn’t hear him or was too distracted with holding
Stiles tight. His arms were wrapped around his chest, each breath making his
ribs expand against the rock hard muscle of Derek’s arms as his hands spanned
his shoulder blades, fingers digging into the tops of his biceps as he held
Stiles still and closer than ever. His hold was rock steady but Stiles could
feel the quivering, uneven breaths that were counter to the slow grind up he
was doing with his hips. It was almost suffocating, it would be horrible if he
were claustrophobia, but instead of driving him deeper into his own brain it
helped to anchor him, sucking in deep, calming breaths.
 
          Derek’s chin was hooked over his shoulder, his bread scratchy on his
neck. He was biting at him, alternating between what would have felt like a
painful gnawing and sucking if Stiles was capable of sorting out his sensory
details right now. Stiles leaned back, trusting that Derek’s strength would
keep him from toppling backwards and kissed Derek, suddenly needing to delve
further into the man, as if he could get closer. Derek came unexpectedly, his
teeth catching Stiles’s bottom lip as he let out an almost pained moan, his
eyes closed tight as he jerked up hard.
 
          Stiles had seen Derek come before, he had seen the way his body
relaxed like it was a balloon slowly floating back to Earth but there was
something different, something lazy and warm in his eyes as his hands slid down
Stiles’s back, slow and loose. The grip that had been holding Stiles’s grounded
before was now gone and he felt almost buoyant, light headed, and ground down
on Derek’s still hard erection in an effort to keep from completely floating
away.
 
          “Sorry,” Derek muttered, one hand reaching around his lower back to
hold on tight to the junction where his hip met his body and the other slid
between them to grip Stiles in a firm, warm hand. It was too slow, but steady
and felt all-encompassing. Derek was softening, Stiles didn’t know how much
time had passed but his throat felt like it was held in a tight grip too as
Derek lazily ran his tongue up and down the veins in Stiles’s neck. Stiles
found himself unable to demanded Derek hurry up as the rhythmic movement all
but drew his orgasm out of him like water from a well and he was left shivering
and achy still in Derek’s lap, the only thing holding him up was his slumped
arms still around Derek’s neck and loosely gripping at his hair.
 
He must have dozed because it felt like only a second passed before he was
jerking awake, his head inexplicably on one of the pillows, to Derek using a
warm damp towel to wipe at the mess. Maybe it was the fact he felt like half
his brain had leaked out of his ears but there was a warm rush of fondness as
he watched Derek focused hard on his task. He touched the side of Derek’s face
and the other man looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, and smirked. The
fondness spiked, the warmth turning into a heat, different from before but just
as intense, and Stiles pulled him up into a sloppy kiss. 
 
“Did you want to shower?” Derek asked when they finally separated. One hand was
still holding the towel on Stiles’s hip, his thumb making subconscious soothing
circles, while his other hand was resting on Stiles’s neck. It was making
Stiles feel that bite mark, some kind of proof that he hadn’t made the whole
thing up and he relished in that for a moment before answering.
 
“Yeah. My dad’s going to check in soon I think and it would be better for him
to not find out about this like this.”
 
Derek nodded and sat up. Stiles put on his jeans, he couldn’t shake how weird
it would be walking through the apartment where Cora and Isaac lived naked, and
carried the rest of his clothes. He showered quickly. He wanted to wash away
the evidence, sure, but his father would definitely notice if Stiles took the
time to get that freshly showered look. When he got out, the mirror wasn’t even
all the way fogged and that’s when he noticed that the bite mark was more than
just sensory.
 
Derek was dressed and sitting on one of the non-descript wood stools they had
around the kitchen island. He was reading something, the newspaper, and looked
loose and comfortable, his bare feet making him look younger, somehow. It was
strange how it was the small details that made people seem venerable but Stiles
shoved the thought aside as he scowled.
 
“I thought you were a wolf,” he jerked a thumb at the red mark he knew was
still prominent on his neck. “Or is there some kind of bloodsucking vampire
hybrid I need to know? You do look extra pale in sunlight.”
 
Far from looking ashamed, Derek had a self-satisfied smile on his face. “You
could borrow one of Isaac’s scarfs.”
 
“Oh yeah,” Stiles stomped to the stool next to Derek’s and sat carefully.
“That’s not code of getting laid or anything. First it was my chest, now this.
I’m not your frigging chew toy.”
 
“Your phone was buzzing,” Derek said and Stiles cursed, nearly falling from his
chair as he rushed back into the bedroom.
 
Stiles spent the rest of the day alternating between researching curses and
texting Lydia for updates on her translation. His father called every hour and
Stiles dutifully answered but despite the trauma of starting that morning with
steel tipped arrows aiming for his throat, he couldn’t stay focused. He
couldn’t stop touching Derek, like his hands had magnets and Derek was due
north. Fortunately, Derek didn’t seem to mind. Every time Stiles brushed his
arm while reaching for his glass or tapped their knees together while they sat
side by side he just smiled, a strange thing but something Stiles found himself
seeking more and more.
 
He remembered something Cora told him. It was right after he had finished
reassuring his father for the umpteenth he was fine and still securely
squatting in Derek’s apartment until school let out and the rest of the pack
could rally when he finally said something about it.
 
“Cora said you used to smile,” Stiles fiddled with the highlighter he had been
using before Derek had snatched the book away from him. (“It’s from the
library!” he had admonished. “Since when do you care about things like that?”
Stiles had frowned because he still remembered the painful process of piecing
together that German bestiary.) Derek had been pushing the rest of the stack
out of the way of Stiles’s wandering hands and Stiles saw his back tense
slightly.
 
“I smile,” Derek growled.
 
“Yeah, you’re a regular ray of sunshine,” Stiles said dryly. “No, I mean,
before the whole fire thing.”
 
Derek was quiet for a minute and his face was turned away but when he looked
back at Stiles it was carefully aloof. “I didn’t know you two talked about the
fire.”
 
“Sometimes,” Stiles said vaguely. “We talk about a lot of things. I mean, she
did live at my place for a while. It would be weird if we didn’t.”
 
Derek gave him a stony look and Stiles sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck
because, oh yeah. Derek had spent several days at his house so far back in past
Stiles had nearly forgotten. Their exchanges had been nervous stammering on
Stiles’s half and cursing death threats from Derek.
 
“All I mean is you’ve got a nice smile,” Stiles said quickly trying to recover.
He had been complementingthe guy. “I haven’t really seen it before.”
 
Derek snorted and turned back to his newspaper but the next time he got up he
gripped Stiles’s shoulder when he passed and let his fingers trail over his
shirt collar.
 
***
 
          School had let out and predictably the apartment became a swarm of
teenagers, all questions and worried glances as they tripped through the door.
Stiles had ended up stealing one of Cora’s workout sweaters from her room
because Derek’s monster shoulders made his hang like a tent on Stiles. It was a
little small but it did the trick of folding over Derek’s stupid love bite. It
smelled like Cora too and Derek had sniffed disapprovingly.
 
          Stiles had been worried about just how much the rest of the group
knew. Until now no one had mentioned anything about Ria and Johan besides
passing comments and Stiles wasn’t sure how much of what Cora had told him had
been common knowledge. To his relief, it seemed that everyone seemed to know
they had been on the run and trying to put on a show for their family back in
Europe, though Cora had given him and silencing look when he had been about to
mention his first run in with them.
 
Everyone seemed to know about the two, that was, except for Derek.
         
          “I was your Alpha,” he looked almost like he was pouting when Allison
finished guiltily explaining. “This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to
come to me for.”
 
          It was a disturbing echo of his father’s words and Stiles decided to
ignore that connection. “Anyway, it seems the gig is up,” Stiles looked
meaningfully at Cora who still had her lips tightly sealed. “I mean, the family
wouldn’t have attacked Ria if they thought Johan and Ria were still on their
side right? No reason to keep secrets.”
 
          “No necessarily,” Cora said suddenly. “We don’t know it was their
family.”
 
          “Wolfbane laced crossbows suggest otherwise,” Lydia quipped.
 
          “We should bring them here,” Scott was sitting next to Isaac on the
sofa and leaned forward as he spoke. “If we’re going to commit to protecting
them we should start including them to pack meetings.”
 
          “And then can I meet them formally?” Stiles said dryly.
 
          “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, Stiles,” that was Allison looking
apologetic. “My dad didn’t want to tell anyone. He didn’t think the family
would go this far to get them back.”
 
          “I don’t think we need to bring them in,” Cora said quickly. “What
good is it going to if they see them meeting with the whole pack? It’ll just
draw attention to whoever is hunting them.”
 
          Scott was frowning at her and, for a second, Stiles wondered if he
was going to see the first Alpha vs. Alpha throw down since Deucalion had
disappeared. However, Derek set down a plate of cookies with a loud clatter,
breaking the tension. “We’re out of milk,” he said annoyed and Stiles couldn’t
help but grin. This whole nesting thing was pretty goddamn attractive. “And by
the way, you are all morons.” He reached into his pocket and slid a phone
across the table. It wasn’t his crappy flip one either, this was new, shiny and
definitely a model Stiles had seen on TV recently. “It’s called FaceTime. Use
it.”
 
          There was a long pause as everyone in the room stared at him. Cora
snatched the phone up, turning it over in her hands as if to satisfy herself
that it was real. “This isn’t your phone,” she finally said accusingly.
 
          He gave her a stony look. “Sometimes people keep a second, secret
phone.” Stiles saw her pale. There was a smirk on Derek’s face as Cora
struggled to guess the passcode and Stiles couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin
from his face.
 
          The pack broke up after that. Scott offered to go back with Stiles
like an armed escort but Derek cut him off, saying the sheriff had wanted him
to stay in the apartment until he had gotten off shift. Lydia and Allison left
to confer with Johan and Ria about a remote meeting, Scott had a few whispered
words with Cora before he also shuffled to the door muttering about darkly
about ‘family dinners’, and Isaac slunk into his room. Soon it was just the
Hale siblings and Stiles sitting awkwardly in the kitchen as Derek shuffled
through the cupboard claiming in a disgruntled voice it was time to start
dinner.
 
          Cora was obviously still pissed as sat on the edge of her stool,
tapping her fingers on the granite kitchen island. Stiles tried to sort through
the assignments Scott had brought him from his missed day at school but his
eyes kept on being drawn up and over the pages.
 
          Stiles had read countless pages on werewolves, from all different
cultures and times, from differing viewpoints, some of it pure fiction and
others graphic firsthand accounts. They were all wildly diverse but they did
seem to agree on one thing. Hierarchy—Alphas, Betas, Omegas—they were supposed
to be set in stone. It was a magical identity in the soul and it reflected
through the eyes – red and blue or gold. It was power that passed by strength,
both physical and of character.
 
Stiles had theories. Scott had become an Alpha because of the sheer power
already in his soul. He knew that. He had written his third grade essay about
how Scott was his role model and the strongest person he knew. His teacher had
given him a C and gently reminded him about Scott’s asthma. But little had
actually changed between third grade Scott sitting on the sidelines of gym
class clutching his inhaler and the Scott McCall who pushed through a wall of
mountain ash. Becoming a werewolf had changed some physical aspects but the
part of Scott that Stiles knew, that hadn’t changed one bit.
 
As Cora and Derek squared off, subtle, quiet and seething, in front of him, he
couldn’t stop his mind from absorbing it all. He had been assuming the change
in power, the fact Cora had become Alpha and Derek had dropped back to his ice
blue eyes, would change their relationship on a fundamental power level. But he
had seen these two clash before and, while this was definitely less violent
than the scene he had walked into months ago, they were will locked in the same
battle of wills, neither side giving an inch.  
 
“Stiles,” Derek had been calling his name and he blinked, snapping back into
the present. “Pasta, is it okay?”
 
“What? Yeah, sure.”
 
Cora was looking at him strangely too and tapped the textbook in his hand. “Was
it that interesting?”
 
He glanced down and realised he had been holding the book upside down. He made
a face and closed it. “Sorry, just thinking.”
 
“Come on.” Cora yanked his arm, pulling him out the kitchen. Derek gave him a
solemn salute with the wooden spoon in his hand as he struggled to keep his
balance. Cora was definitely the same, gentle, delicate, tactful flower she had
always been as she pushed him onto her bed and climbed onto her the chair by
the desk in her room to perch. Stiles rubbed at his arm and she pulled out her
phone, the one Stiles had gotten her, and turned on the music with the volume
cranked up.
 
“You’re seriously still not going to tell them about the curse, are you?”
 
“Potential curse,” Cora corrected but she was tapping her hands on her knees
nervously. “Do you think Derek knows about my second phone?”
 
“I think he definitely doesn’t not know, yes.” He looked at the phone as it
blared pointedly. “He’s had a few clues.”
 
“If he knows about the phone then he must know about Johan.”
 
Stiles wondered if he should try and torture her for all the pain and suffering
she had inflicted on him in the past while but he wasn’t cruel. She was a
person who grew on you like an acquired taste. At first you can’t imagine ever
liking it and by the end you’d throw yourself in front of a truck for just one
more drop. “I doubt it. He probably thinks you’ve been texting Lydia about him.
Or sex lines.” Stiles leaned back on his hands, enjoying her discomfort.
“Derek’s not the most imaginative person ever. He’d smell the guy before
anything else, right?”
 
“I’ve been careful about that,” she nodded, relaxing. Then she frowned. “Is
that my sweater?”
 
Stiles didn’t meet her eyes. “You were-people don’t turn up your heaters
enough.”
 
“Wait,” she sniffed, leaning in, and before he could stop her she tugged the
shoulder to the side, exposing whatever damage Derek had done to his neck
earlier. She broke into a toothy grin as Stiles shoved her away. “I’m not going
to be able to do this when you smell that ripe,” she said and Stiles saw her
grab a small bottle.
 
“Hey, that’s perfume isn’t it?” Stiles leaned back. “I’m not going to wear your
perfume. That’s just weird.”
 
“Come on,” she rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a baby. It’s either that or I
spend the whole time thinking about you and Derek having sex.”
 
“Fine,” Stiles grumbled and took the bottle away. It smelled nice but was the
principle of the matter. He sprayed some onto his hand and rubbing it roughly
over the back of his neck. Cora sniffed approvingly. “I don’t go sniffing into
your personal life. Which by the way, you should just tell Derek. This whole
secret keeping thing is giving me a headache.”
 
Cora nodded absently but was already pulling her Econ textbook and looking at
him imploringly.
 
It was both weird yet good for his own grades that Cora was so keen on doing
well in school. They spent the next hour studying, the music still going as
Stiles caught up on the missed work and then delved into a Wikipedia search
about Donald Trump. By the time his father texted him to say he was finally
heading home and Stiles should do the same, Stiles was about fed up of the
Hanson song Cora had put on repeat. Derek was in the living area when he
stepped out of Cora’s room and Stiles paused, his hand on the closed door
handle.
 
He knew he was a whirlwind kind of person who jumped from one thought to the
next without concern for consequence or the long term effects. He had dragged
Scott out on enough adventures that ended with them in a holding cell, bitten,
and held at gun point that one time with the werewolf doctor. Stiles wasn’t one
to dwell on the past. But, as he stood there watched Derek do his push up with
efficient, uniform movements, the sense memory of just where that body had been
today caught up with him. It stilled him, grounding his brain from where it had
been fluttering between thinking about the Argents, how much he hated Hanson,
what he was going to say to his dad, and how pissed off Finstock would be if he
wrote his next paper about mole people.
 
Derek paused mid push up and tilted his head to look at him. He quirked an
eyebrow as if to say really?then sat up completely. “Leaving?”
 
“Yeah,” Stiles swallowed hard and tried not to stare at the stay drop of sweat
working its way down to the top of his tank top. He waved his phone nervously.
“Dad’s home now.”
 
“I’ll take you,” Derek stood, reaching for his jacket but Stiles stepped
forward to stop him.
 
“Don’t worry, I’m a big boy. Whoever was after Ria this morning has probably
long given up.”
 
Derek let the jacket drop again. “I saved you two dinner,” he said, awkwardly.
 
Awkward, yeah, that was the best word to describe things. Stiles didn’t know
what made this so strange. Just hours ago, there hadn’t been room for awkward.
Hell, there hadn’t been room for much between their bodies and Stiles
remembered the closeness and the comfort of everything about Derek. But now it
was like he didn’t know what to do with his phone still in his hand feeling
like a brick and Derek was just standing where, watching him, waiting for him
to react. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to push Derek down on the
floor and do some of those push ups with a little more pair interactivity. But
Derek was holding back, stiffening up again and Stiles wasn’t sure if he was
entirely welcome.
 
“You should have knocked or something, we could have eaten together,” Stiles
wasn’t sure what the right thing was to say. Derek just nodded and Stiles gave
a frustrated sigh. “I’ll see you.”
 
“Call me when you get home.”
 
“Yeah, sure” Stiles pushed open the door and made sure to shut it firmly.
 
***
 
Black, hard black masks flying around like insects battering him. His body was
on fire, climbing through his flesh into his bones, organs, teeth, any spaces
left between filled with choking smoke. His teeth erupted, sharp razors of
steel grafting on his jaw as the pain bound him tight.
 
Something was coming.
 
“Nande koko ni konai ka?” the voice was coming from his body, the sounds caught
and tangled in his veins as they sheered with fire. “Koko ni wakaru kanna. Ima
matteiru yo.” Tears were too hot the drench the flames. His eyes were boiling,
bulging and bubbling from his sockets as he looked, the inky tendrils of tree
branches over his head, catching fire. “Stiles.”  
 
There was something curling over his ribs, splicing between the bones and the
melting, rubbery skin until it was bound tight over his lungs like a lasso
being pulled tighter and tighter. Stiles tried to scream but his lungs pinched
in the corsetting pain as fluid forced itself up his throat, blocking sound and
air, the only senses remaining being agony and the sound of low, cruel
laughing—
 
 
The pressure on his chest released suddenly, like steel bands had been snapped
away like rubber. He sucked in air though he felt like he was breathing through
a plastic straw shoved down his throat.
 
The lights flicked on, blinding him for a second but he saw his father, grim-
faced with Cora’s metal bat post-swing. Pain shot through his body as he
struggled to sit up and see. There was a creature, something bedraggled and
hissing. His father waited, his entire posture poised to hit again, but the
thing let out a garbled howl before jumping out the open window.
 
“Dad,” Stiles’s voice was thin and strangled but the second his father heard
him he clutched the bat in one hand and strode across the room to close the
window firmly.
 
“Why the hell is your lock broken?” Stiles tried to keep his eyes open against
the pain it took to roll onto his side. His father left the window, his face
lined with exhaustion as he pulled Stiles up. Like magic, it was easier to
breath and his father rubbed soothing, warm hands over his clammy shirt. It
felt like hot pokers over his skin. Eventually the painful contractions of his
lungs eased and he sat up reluctantly.
 
“What the hell was that?” his voice was still squeaky but better.
 
“An alp, I think,” his father let him sit on his own power but kept one arm
firmly around his shoulders. Stiles managed to turn his head and give him an
incredulous look.
 
“Like, the mountain?” he asked stupidly.
 
His father grinned, more tooth than any kind of happiness. “Doesn’t feel so
great from the other side of the research desk, does it? Come on, let’s get you
cleaned up.”
 
Stiles changed, the sweaty, damp clothes clinging to his skin reminding him too
much of the way his body had distorted and burst open in his dream. He frowned
into the bathroom mirror as he exposed his skin. There, yeah, were the marks
from Derek but again he saw bruised scattered around the front of his chest.
The ones from Derek had faded but these looked new and tender when he touched
them.
 
His father had cocoa, twice in a week which was a bit of a record, ready when
he came down and Stiles took it without a word.
 
There were several folders on the desk, thick and bound shut with twine
closers. Normally there were case numbers on his father’s records but these
were blank. Stiles craned his head to look in as the sheriff started to open
them. “I thought I was going crazy until I brought over Chris Argent and Mrs.
McCall. Then, it came together. Here.” The first folder had what looked like
looked like illegally photocopied hospital records. “Sudden influxes of some
pretty serious sleep disorders.” The next folder was of pictures and reports
Stiles had seen with the footprint and open refrigerator. “Missing milk.”
 
He could see his father’s chicken scratch all over some of the papers and
pictures but there was more. He knew the loopy notes from the various times he
had tried to copy Scott’s mom’s signature on failed tests. The last set of
writing, blocky symbol like shorthand, must have been Allison’s father. Stiles
wasn’t sure he liked seeing them all together like this.
 
“We’ve found a few dead birds crushed to death, alps are afraid of them.” More
pictures. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed those bruises all over you,” the
sheriff pointed at the mark exposed by the rip in the tee shirt collar and
Stiles scrambled to cover his skin.
 
He settled back in his chair took a drag off his mug, smacking his lips like it
was something stronger than chocolate but Stiles didn’t smell any alcohol.
Stiles noticed the bat was leaning against his chair in easy reach.
 
“How long have you been having the nightmares?”
 
Stiles winced as he raised his own mug. “Which ones? The ones where the Alpha
pack is trying to eat my face or the ones where I show up to school without
pants?”
 
His father frowned, his mouth thin and the lines of his face furrowed deeper
onto his face than Stiles had ever wanted to see. “This isn’t a joke.”
 
“I’m not laughing,” Stiles replied. He sighed and then gave in. “I thought they
were from the Nemeton.”
 
Instead of answering, his father flipped open the last folder. There were scans
from a book, handwritten pages with Mr. Argent’s writing written over most of
the text. He could feel his heart pound when he recognised them as the book he
had scanned for Lydia, right down to the naked ink drawing of a woman with
elfin like ears and a mouth full of teeth. “An alp.” His father repeated,
pushing the folder across so Stiles could take a closer look. “Well, the
picture is the female version. That thing in your room was definitely male.
It’s like a cross between a vampire and a werewolf.” 
“So there’s some truth to all that Twilight fan fiction,” Stiles said. “Let’s
alert the forums.”
 
“It sits on its victim’s chests and gives them vivid nightmares,” his father
said. “You know,” he was frowning like it was Stiles’s fault. “Like the ones
you’ve been having.”
 
“Don’t blame me for not catching this one,” Stiles said. “I had a perfectly
reasonable soul sucking tree that could have also been giving me nightmares.”
 
“Hey,” his father held up a finger to stop him. “You should have told me about
those too.”
 
Stiles slipped over the translated text and picture so he didn’t have to look
at it any more. “You solved it. Great job. One might even think you were a cop
or something.”
 
“Don’t get smart.”
 
“Sorry,” Stiles gripped the mug. His hands were still shaking. He saw his
father’s expression soften. “Where did you get those scans? I locked those
files on my computer.”
 
A hint of humour in his eyes, the sheriff gave him a half smile. “You’re not
the only one who can charm a lady. Cora cracked your password in minutes when I
told her I was doing some extra research.”
 
That was—okay, that might be reasonable actually. He should have realised
introducing a girl who learned how to survive in a foreign country by absorbing
scraps of information like a hoover vacuum would one day get bored with looking
up Buzzfeed articles and learn some hacking. How had he once thought that by
giving Cora the keys to a smartphone and the internet he would be able to keep
tabs on her should things blow up in his face?
 
“How’s your chest?” his father was looking concerned and Stiles realised he was
zoning out again. “Those things don’t just steal milk, they like to suck it out
of their victims.”
 
Stiles had been pressing his fingers into the sensitive bruises along his chest
and pained, horrified. “It was trying to—suckle me?”
 
The only thing that made this whole situation slightly hilarious was the look
on his father’s face.
 
“The other victims—“ Stiles started but his father cut in.
 
“—all sleeping alone at the time, all had broken locks or open windows in the
bedrooms. I was kidding before but first time tomorrow we’re putting bars on
that window. The good thing is, this thing isn’t a killer. It’s a trickster so
it’s not actually out to hurt anyone. The heart attacks, the stress—that’s all
a by-product not the goal.”
 
“How fun,” Stiles said under his breath. “How do we kill it?”
 
His father frowned when he heard that. “Well therein lays the problem. The
sucking part, that’s where it’s like a vampire. But the werewolf part—this
thing, where ever it is, turns into a normal human being during the day.”
 
“Great,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “So what, we have to bait it with
milk and a hapless victim and try help whoever it is tame the wild beast?
Awesome. I vote not me this time.”
 
“We’ll figure something else out,” his dad said quickly.
 
Stiles ran a hand over his face. This was too much right now. He could feel all
the things balancing over his head. The Nemeton. The German wonder duo and
their stupid curse. Cora and her damn secrets. Derek and his hot and cold
attitude. Weird, breast milk, nightmare inducing were-vampires running amuck.
The fact he still had a Calc test tomorrow. There had to be a limit to how much
a person could take. Stiles was pretty sure he was quickly approaching it.
 
Stiles couldn’t finish his cocoa but he knew there was no way he was sleeping
again, no way, no matter how sluggish his body became. His father was cleaning
up, tucking the files back into their organised files, and neatly putting them
in a box labelled Family Invoices. Before he could express his resolve to never
enter his bedroom again, his father had him by the arm and was steering him not
towards the stairs but down to the den. The bed was already made up and his
father pushed him towards the far side against the wall. There were no windows,
only the one door and Stiles found himself relaxing against the squeaking
springs despite himself.
 
His father settled beside him, on top of the blanket he had spread over Stiles
at some point. The pillow under his head smelled faintly like Derek. His father
was reaching for something, a leather bound book and had his reading glasses
on. For a moment Stiles felt like he was a kid again crawling down here after a
few restless hours of sleep. He had always known his father would be awake and
he would drift off with the sound of pages flipping or the scratch of a pencil.
It was almost easy to drift into that memory but one final foreign sound made
him blink awake just for a second.
 
“Don’t worry,” his father clicked the barrel of the now loaded shotgun closed.
He looked solidly sure of himself and for a brief moment Stiles felt something
loosen in his stomach. It was strange, he hadn’t even realised how nervous he
had been until the feeling was gone. “No more boogeymen tonight.”
 
***
 
          He had missed first period because his father hadn’t wanted to wake
him up. They had rushed through the MacDonald’s drive through for breakfast.
Stiles had been close to calling the precinct and demanding they declare
anarchy for the day because of his father’s bloodshot eyes but the man had
scowled and shoved him out of the car when he suggested it.
 
          It meant he missed the Calc test so that was one think still ticking
down on his list. His Econ paper wasn’t too bad though. Everyone must have done
all right because the class was in fairly good humour. Stiles let himself relax
and take in the antics. The rest of the morning went by quickly and Stiles
found himself at lunch again, the clockwork monotony of his school schedule
grounding. Cora wasn’t there yet but Isaac handed out brown bagged lunches to
everyone with a suffering grimace.
 
          It took Stiles half of the sandwich to realise he hadn’t even told
Scott about the events from last night and quickly interrupted whatever Allison
had been talking about to tell them. Isaac had started smirking when Stiles got
to the chest sucking nature of the creature and he threw the apple that had
come in the lunch bag at his head. Isaac caught it easily and took a crisp
bite.
 
          “Someone should try to get more information about the Nemeton from
Deaton,” Allison said thoughtfully. Stiles couldn’t help but notice she had a
brown bagged lunch as well. He wondered whose influence that had been. She and
Derek weren’t the best of friends still though they tolerated each other for
the sake of the others. He couldn’t blame either; there was a lot of bad
history between them. “We still don’t really know what that thing does.”
 
          “I nominate Scott,” Stiles clapped his friend on the shoulder. Scott
coughed on the ham and cheese sandwich before making a face at him.
 
          “Dude, why me? Between this History paper and the Civic test I’ll be
lucky to talk to my mom let alone Deaton.”
 
          “Don’t you still work there part time?” Isaac said and Scott paused,
thinking.
 
          “Crap, I do. I haven’t been in all week. Do you think he’ll still
give me my pay check?”
 
          They debated over whether or not Deaton would take mental stress due
to Being The One True Alpha as an excuse for skipping shifts until Stiles
finally did a sweep of the room with his eyes. Danny was sitting with the
lacrosse team today but the girls who had had been hanging out with where still
together, preoccupied with something on their phones. Other than that, nothing
caught his eye and he frowned.
 
          “Hey, where’s Cora?”        
 
Isaac frowned sourly at that. “She and Derek got into it last night and she
took off. Again. Derek said she went to your place.”
 
          “Yeah, no,” Stiles shook his head. “I definitely only had one
unexpected visitor last night.”
 
          There was a pause then like a trained unit, all of them shoved the
rest of their bagged lunches into their backpacks and scrambled away from their
table. “Wait!” Lydia hissed before they could bolt. “We can’t all leave at
once!”
 
          “Sure we can,” Isaac shrugged. “Boyd and I did it before. Just say
you’re sick.”
 
          “That we’re all sick?” Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. “With what?
The Bubonic plague? They’re going to know we’re trying to ditch.”
 
          “Well, they let me go with a headache,” Isaac said but then relented.
“Boyd had to say explosive diarrhea before they let him go.”
 
          “We can’t all say we have explosive diarrhea,” Lydia said exasperated
but Stiles looked hard at bag still in his hand. He thrust it out.
 
          “No, but we can all have food poisoning.”
 
          It really was that simple. Stiles wanted to stagger but Lydia
insisted it was fine to go in together. As they walked, trying to look suitably
pathetic to any teachers watching, he tried to think of a good reason they
would have all eaten the same lunch.
 
          “I can’t believe you still haven’t gotten it yet,” Lydia sighed as
Allison giggled then faked a moan and clutched her stomach as they passed
Finstock’s office. He glanced up, turned pale and shut the door with a slam.
Stiles only had a moment to see his face, irritated and his hair even more wild
than usual as he snapped the blinds closed. “They’ll know why we all ate the
same thing. Trust me, the school is small enough that no one has any secrets
anymore.”
 
          True to Lydia’s prediction, the nurse barely batted an eye when Lydia
explained. “Of course it’s you five. Where’s the other, girl, Cora Hale?”
 
          Scott glanced at Stiles confused but Stiles just hung his head in
defeat. He had warned them. “She’s out sick already.”
 
          “Right,” the nurse already had her absent slip pad out and was
scribbling a note. “It was just food poisoning this time but this kind of
adventurous behaviour can lead to something more permanent. You might think
it’s all fun and games, having boy-girl sleepovers and sharing breakfast, but
make sure you all have open lines of communication. And wrap those sausages
properly.”
 
          For a moment Stiles was struck silent with confusion. What the hell
was the nurse talking about? But then he glanced at Lydia’s look of
resignation, Allison trying to contain her laughter and Isaac, his face like
Stiles one of horror as they met eyes. The weird looks, the strange way people
seemed to be almost ashamed to meet their eyes, the half understood comments
and misinterpreted anger, hell, some of the things he had said—
 
          “But, I thought we all had tuna today,” Scott, still adorably naïve,
said and the nurse finally lost her cool and turned beat red. For once Stiles
was grateful for Isaac who tugged his arm before he could say more.
 
          “Please, don’t—just don’t tell me specifics, please,” the nurse was
rubbing at her temples, avoiding looking at Allison and Lydia who were holding
back laughter.
 
          “Thanks,” Stiles took the slips, his fingers feeling numb as his face
as flush as hers. “I promise you, though; nothing adventurous is going on
between any of us.”
 
          “Well, for some of us it is.” Fuck what he had just said. Isaac could
go die in a ditch now.
 
          “Here,” it was embarrassing that the woman had clearly already
prepared the bag for them and Stiles felt the tips of his ears flame red as he
glanced at all the condoms—jeez, so that was what a dental dam was— inside.
“And some pamphlets,” she shoved a stack at Stiles with prominent titles like
So, You’ve Decided to be Polyamorousand Creating Your Own Big Love Family at
him. That was it. That was all Stiles could take but as they left, Isaac
dragging Scott out first and Allison leaning on Lydia for support, the nurse
called out and made him pause in the door way. “Stilinski! I always had you and
McCall in the pool for at least experimenting with each other. Nice job.”
 
          They should have gone with the explosive diarrhea.
 
          He had sent Derek a message as they had formulated their escape.
Lydia was already splitting them into teams and quadrants, Scott and Allison on
his bike, Lydia and Isaac in Lydia’s car. Stiles was supposed to wait for
Derek’s text and meet up with him so they could have the largest number of
werewolf-human teams available. Stiles wanted to make some kind of crack about
scent hounds but couldn’t think of anything really funny.
 
          He fretted as he waited. Keeping his phone in his hand in case anyone
sent out an alert, he leaned on the Beacon Hills High sign and tapped an uneven
rhythm on his thighs. Just when it felt like it was taking too long, a dark
figure with too-long arms loped into the parking lot and Stile shot up,
glancing around frantically to make sure the parking lot was still empty and no
one else was going to notice the half-shifted moronic freak charging up to the
front door of the school.
 
          “What the hell?” Stiles hissed as Derek drew up next to him. He
grabbed Derek’s shoulder through the leather jacket and pushed him into the
bushes. Derek snarled as he tripped but shifted back to normal, the wrinkles in
his face barely changing shape as he glowered from the dirt. “You can’t just
run around all,” he fluttered hands in front of Derek’s face, “all Wolf-Man
circus freak!”
 
          “Really?” Derek stood, brushing dirt from his jeans with a scowl. “I
never thought of that one. You’ve really taught me all about living a secret
life.”
 
          “This is no time for sarcasm,” Stiles waved a finger in his face, the
adrenaline making his heart pound.
 
          “I was in a hurry and there’s no one around,” Derek said. “I know
what I’m doing.”
 
          “Where the hell is your car?”
 
          “I don’t know,” Derek untangled himself from the bushes. “I dropped
Isaac off and went back to my place. When I got your message I went out and the
car was gone.”
 
          “Did you lock it?”
 
          “Yes,” Derek sighed exasperated. “But I’m not the only one with keys.
I think Cora came back and took it.”
 
          “Cora?” Stiles looked at him sceptically. “You gave Cora keys?”
 
          “She has her Learner’s now,” Derek said defensively.
 
          It felt like his brain was expanding to a point where it was
incapable of being contained by his skull. “You gave her a car?” he managed to
squeak.
 
          “You’re the one who said it. I needed to show her I trusted her,”
Derek said through gritted teeth. “Teenagers need freedom in order to build
good relationships with their guardians.”
 
          “I meant, like, not wiretapping her phone or try instigating family
movie night or something, not giving her unlimited mobility!” Stiles squinted
at him and crossed his arms, leaning forward slightly. Derek leaned back
uncomfortably. “Are you quoting a parenting book?”
 
          “No,” Derek lied.
 
          Stiles’s phone buzzed in his hand and he looked at it, putting a
mental tab on that thought for later. “Lydia says she’s not at her house,
they’re going to head to the north side of the preserve- oh, crap, crap,
Stiles, you’re an idiot sometimes.”
 
          “Well, we weren’t going to say anything to your face,” Derek said
dryly and Stiles responded with a sarcastic haha.
 
          “Cora’s phone—“
 
          “—that you gave her.“
 
          “—that I gave her,” Stiles agreed irritably, “has a GPS signal. I’ve
got the locator app.”
 
          Derek stared at him as Stiles flipped through his screen. “Wow.
That’s some show of trust.”
 
          “It’s insurance,” Stiles retorted. “You’d be thanking me if she had
been kidnapped by the Alphas again.” That shut Derek up. Stiles thrust the
phone triumphantly in his face. “Got it! Come on, we’ll take my car.”
 
Stiles knew the way to the preserve and the old Hale house a little too well.
They pulled up next to where Derek’s SUV was parked. Derek was unbelted and out
of the car, slamming it closed hard enough the jeep rocked on the suspension.
“Hey, she’s been through a lot, can we treat Roscoe with a bit of respect?”
 
“She’s inside,” Derek’s face was trained on the front door and he set off
without a glance backwards. Stiles had to jog to keep up. “I can smell her.”
 
“Gross.”
 
           The house was still here, creepy and foreboding even in the day
light. There was something new, a waist-high clean-cut rock was off to the side
right where they had dug up the other half of Laura’s body. It looked new and
untouched in contrast to the burnt out husk of the Hale house. Derek didn’t pay
it any mind as he strode up the porch and pushed the door open.
 
          “Cora!” he disappeared into the house and Stiles jogged up after
him. 
 
          The basement was cold and damp. Stile hesitated at the top because it
felt a bit too much like the root cellar of the Nemeton but he could hear
Derek’s voice raising and Cora’s angry one shouting over top. Pushing aside his
misgivings about the structural soundness of the house, he followed Derek down.
Cora was there but she wasn’t alone. Johan, Stiles recognised his strong jaw
before anything else, was propped up against a wooden support beam. His face
was ashen pale and matched a makeshift sling around one arm. Cora was crouched
at his side, her hair swept up in a lopsided pony tail like she had done it one
handed. Derek stood looming over the both of them, his fists clenched.
 
          “He’s coveredin you!”
 
          “Yeah, that generally happens when you have a lot of sex with
someone,” Cora snapped back. Her tone was pinched and Stiles realised she had a
hand resting on Johan’s neck leeching black tendrils of pain from him. “Case B,
your boyfriend Stiles.”
 
          Stiles jolted at the sound of his name and both the Hales glanced up
to where he was still standing awkwardly on the last step. Stiles could see a
flash of fang as Derek looked away from him quickly. “I can’t believe you’re so
selfish that you can’t choose—“
 
          “Ah, guys?” Johan’s voice was strained but clear. There was a
fluidness that had been absent from his sister’s and Stiles appreciated that.
However, it was also tight with pain despite Cora’s touch. “Maybe we can fight
later, yeah?”
 
           Stiles came the rest of the way into the basement. He shot Derek a
disapproving look as he knelt on the damp, cold concrete to get a closer look
despite the dark. “Don’t worry, they’re not fighting. This is how they come up
with a plan to get you to the hospital. It’s how they come up with all their
plans. Violently.”
 
          “We can’t go to the hospital,” Cora said in a voice that clearly said
she had been having this argument for a while. “The Argents will know. It’s not
safe.”
 
          “Good thing we’ve got somewhere else we can bring him,” Stiles shot
back reproachfully as he tugged the arm not strapped down over his shoulder and
helped Johan climb swaying to his feet. “I hope you don’t mind some furry
bedmates, dude.”
 
          Johan smiled at Stiles weakly then looked back at Cora. “It’s okay, I
think,” he chuckled then winced as he jostled something. Ah, bestiality jokes
in the face of pain. Stiles decided he liked this guy much better than his
sister even more.
 
          Cora went to go with them but Derek grabbed her elbow. A split second
later Derek went flying as Cora whirled around, her face wolfed out and eyes
red, a harsh snarl making dirt and dust shake loose from the rafters.
 
          Stupid, he fumed as he helped the guy up the steps. He didn’t look
injured anywhere but his arm but Stiles had seen enough injuries from lacrosse
and watching arrests at the station to know that even something small could
have into complications. If his arm was broken like Stiles suspected from the
way he was holding it, then he was probably headed into some mild shock. The
cold basement had probably just made things worse. Johan seemed to understand
what was going on too because while he didn’t hesitate to lean on Stiles he
walked as quickly as he could, the movement warming his body until he could
walk mostly under his own power.
 
          “What about Cora?” Johan finally said as they approached the jeep
Stiles glanced back; neither of the Hales had followed them out and he could
still hear growling and the occasional pained yelp from the sub-basement
windows.
 
          “It’s probably better for them to fight in the house. Hopefully it’ll
fall down and knock some sense into them. Idiots.”
 
          Johan laughed, coughing a little but he climbed into the passenger
side well enough when Stiles opened the door. When Stiles got in his own side
he replied, “You said they don’t fight, just make plans violently.”
 
          “Well, they can make them violently by themselves, somewhere our
human bones won’t get pulverised.”
 
          “Pulverised.” Johan repeated the word slowly.
 
          “It means to get crushed into dust or something really small,” Stiles
cranked the heat as he got onto the main road. Johan already looked less pale
but it was better to be safe than sorry. Without Cora taking his pain he had to
be hurting but he didn’t complain as Stiles tried to steer around the pot
holes.
 
          “Pulverised,” Johan agreed. “I feel pulverised.”
 
          “What happened?”
 
          “I don’t know,” he sighed and shifted to a new position. “I woke up,
in my bed, and just—ow. Pain. My arm is broken. My chest,” he spread a hand
over his collar bone, “has pain. I can’t speak, can’t breathe. Ria called Cora.
We came here.”
 
          Not being able to breathe, chest pain. “Do you have a lock on your
window?”
 
          Johan shook his head. “We are on the fourth floor. Ria likes the cold
so it is always open. Beacon Hills is safe, no?”
 
          “No,” Stiles said grimly. “Not when alps can climb.”
 
          There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, my English is still in the
working. You meant climb the Alps, not alps can climb, yeah?”
 
          “No, I meant Alps can climb,” Stiles said. “Don’t worry, dude, your
English is just fine. It’s the world that’s gone crazy.”
 
          Deaton was at the front desk when they arrived at the Animal Clinic.
So were several patients and Stiles realised he wasn’t normally there during
regular hours. Fortunately, Deaton reassured the lady clutching a fluffy
disgruntled cat and a man with a howling Dalmatian that there was nothing to be
worried about and they would just be a few minutes until their appointments.
 
          “You know,” he said mildly as he quickly unbound Johan’s arm. The boy
was sitting on the exam table and Stiles was wondering just where his life had
gone wrong that this was a normal scene. “I have a backdoor for just these
reasons.”
 
          “Sorry,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a weird day.”
 
          “Your father said.”
 
          Stiles let out a groan before he could stop himself. Of course his
father covered all his bases. It felt evasive, like a parent-teacher interview,
and he wanted to ask just what exactly his father had said but Deaton was
already busy helping Johan take off his shirt. There was a bruise spreading one
side of his ribs and an ugly black-purple one bisecting his arm just below his
bicep. Stiles hissed in sympathy.
 
          “My dad said these things are tricksters, they don’t actually want to
hurt people,” Stiles said. “That looks like it hurts.”
 
          “Pulverised,” Johan had a light sheen of sweat across his forehead as
Deaton lightly probed the area with gloved fingers. “I feel like small pieces.”
 
          “You certainly are,” Deaton said gently. “Your arm is definitely
broken and I’m going to have to X-Ray it before we decide what to do but your
ribs look okay. Johan, right?”
 
          “Yes.”
 
          “Do you have any allergies, anything you can’t eat or drugs you can’t
take?” Johan shook his head and Deaton nodded solemnly. “Okay, good, anything
strange happen in your life recently? Any kind of stress, nightmares and such?”
 
          “Some,” Johan admitted. “I wake up very tired. Like I didn’t sleep at
all. But my family is very stressful now so I thought because of that.”
 
          “Assassination hits,” Stiles supplied helpfully. “That’s enough to
keep anyone up at night.” He fiddled with his phone; he had been joking about
wanting the house to fall down but he wasn’t entirely sure it was out of the
realm of possibility. He tapped a message to Derek first, asking if things were
alright, then another to Cora in much more basic terms.
 
           “I see,” Deaton’s voice was very relaxing, Stiles realised not for
the first time. His phone buzzed, a terse reply that they were on their way and
a picture of an angry squirrel. He sighed in relief. If Cora was sending animal
pictures then they must not have hurt each other in a regrettable way.
 
Stiles sat on a stool along the other metal table and propped his head in his
hands. The lack of sleep combined with the adrenaline rush was exhausting. “Mr.
Argent tells me you and your sister are trying to make a break from the family.
I can see how that can be hard. Have you had any run ins with them recently?
Any strange packages or encounters with friendly strangers?”
 
          “Yes,” Johan frowned. “Maybe a while ago? I don’t remember it much
but three weeks ago we got a package from the Amazon.”
 
“Wait, a jungle in South America sent you a package?” Stiles couldn’t help but
cut in.
 
“No,” Johan frowned at him. “Amazon. The website? Do you not know?”
 
Deaton hid a smile as Stiles smacked himself on the forehead. “Yes, don’t
worry, we know what it is. Please, continue.”
 
“It was for Mr. Argent. He said to me to open it because he was gone but it was
nothing. Just plants and things, from a garden store. Mr. Argent said he didn’t
buy it so we sent back. We thought it was mistake. But it smelled like
something.”
 
          “Yes, your family does like to use the airborne toxins, don’t they,”
Deaton smiled reassuringly. Stiles blinked and sat up. “What kind of smell?”
 
          “Flowers,” Johan said. “Purple flowers, it’s very small. Maybe people
use it for perfume. I don’t know, I wasn’t interested in my family’s business.
My sister likes it though.”
 
          Deaton hummed and went to the bottles running along the wall of the
room. Stiles knew they were camouflaged and looked like anything one would
expect in a veterinarians’ office but if you looked closely they were all
labelled in Latin, Greek and a few more obscure alphabets. Deaton picked one of
them up and brought it over to Johan to smell. When he nodded, affirming that
that was the smell on the box, Deaton smiled and recapped it.
 
          “Lilac. It’s popular for your branch of the family, at least from
what I’ve seen. They like to use it to cover up smells,” Deaton said to Stiles
who was frowning as he remembered the first time he had met Johan and Ria at
the gas station. The bag they had used over his face had smelled like lilacs.
It must have been Ria’s idea, Stiles mentally counted another tick against the
girl. Cora, it seemed, had picked the right sibling. “It also tends to
disorientate their victims. It’s smart, very smart. Most people forget that
there are five senses and you should knock out more than just sight when you
are trying subterfuge.”
 
          “Great, Doc,” Stiles said sarcastically. “I’ll remember that next
time I decide I need to terrorize and kidnap someone.”
 
          Deaton gave him a pitying look. “Mr. Stilinski, you should be taking
notes. With the lifestyle you’re leading this kind of information might be
handy. Scents and masking scents are especially important if you plan to
continue living with werewolves.”
 
          Stiles fell silent as Deaton turned back to Johan. “Have you had any
unusual cravings since then? Things you don’t normally want but suddenly you
can’t do without?”
 
          Johan thought for a minute then said, “Yes, just one thing.” Stiles
had a sudden sinking feeling as the dots lined up in his head. “Suddenly I
really like milk.”
 
***
 
          Cursing someone to become an alp was something Chris Argent had only
heard of, he said. It was supposed to be a myth and he had never heard of it
succeeded. Whatever had been in the box must have exposed the opener to some
kind of trigger and the recipe must have been written in the book Lydia had
been painstakingly working on in her spare time. It was German she explain when
they had their meeting. Just in a cypher she had never seen before. She had
only just cracked it but once that was done she and Ria took no time at all to
pour over the contents.
 
The place felt smaller somehow with all the people involved in there, not just
Deaton, Scott, Derek and Stiles any more but Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Cora,
Chris, his dad, Mrs. McCall with human approved pain killers, and the two
teenagers who had caused this latest mess. It was both nice and unsettling to
see how much the circle had grown and it bothered Stiles how relieved he was to
pass on responsibility. He took a look at his dad, smiling in the corner and
more relaxed than he had seen him in days. No, it was better this way, having
such a wide support system. More hands, more shields—Mr. Argent and Mrs. McCall
drifted to where his dad was standing and though Stiles felt a spark of
nervousness that his father needed those kinds of protections it was also nice
to know they were there.
 
          The sheriff had looked a little ashamed when he saw the setting
plaster on Johan’s arm. He could have reasoned with the thing but he had
admitted seeing it sitting on Stiles’s chest while Stiles gasped for air had
made him take more violent measures. Johan just looked embarrassed through the
whole thing. Ria made quips at him, making gestures to Stiles’s chest that were
obviously insulting and left her and Lydia in giggles.
 
          It had been meant for Chris, they had realised, but Johan had been
the unexpected victim. Johan had finally come clean, in halting English that
was increasingly peppered with foreign prepositions as the painkillers kicked
in. He explained that if Mr. Argent had been made into an alp than the family
would have been justified to go in and kill him outright without all the
plotting and subterfuge. It didn’t matter that alps were tricksters and not
intentional killers, someone was going to been unable to withstand a night
incident sooner or later and would suffer a heart attack or something just as
fatal. They must have realised Chris hadn’t been hit with it but had pieced
together the evidence of attacks just the same as the sheriff, Mr. Argent and
Mrs. McCall had. They had probably decided to eliminate all the people in the
house, just to be safe, which was where Ria had gotten tangled up in things.
 
          “Wait, wait,” Stiles held up a hand as they talked. “I get the whole
night attack things, it’s kind of in his nature. But why was he targeting me?”
 
          Ria said something that made Lydia laugh again but Deaton ignored
them. “Probably because of the easy access to your window,” he sounded like he
was scolding Stiles but, really it was Cora who had broken that lock in what
felt like ages ago. “Also, you may have reminded him of someone Johan felt
attached too. Transformed or not, creatures tend to drift to familiar things.
Can you think of anyone you might be connected with who is also connected with
Johan?”
 
          Scott and Cora were on their side of Johan and he saw Cora flushed
guiltily. “Could it be a smell?” Stiles said finally and Deaton nodded. “Then,
yeah, it might be from our detergent.”
 
          “That would do it, Mr. Stilinski. In fact, I bet if you looked over
the other break ins you’ll find those common factors: broken window, sleeping
alone, and the same detergent.”
 
          “So what you’re saying is we need to switch out everyone’s detergent
brand?” Mr. Argent said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “That seems a bit
impractical.”
 
          “What else can we do then?” Scott had leaned protectively towards
Johan when Chris said that. “It’s not his fault he got hit with the curse
instead of you.”
 
          “I’m not going to kill him,” Chris said wearily. “Obviously. The
family, though, won’t be so kind.” Chris rubbed at his face. “Sending teenagers
who haven’t even gone through a real initiation to spy on me was already a bad
move by their family. I was already halfway through convincing the Council to
change their guardianship to me. But deliberately cursing another Hunter for
trying to live peacefully—I think that will be all the evidence I need.”
 
          “You guys have a Council,” Isaac looked weary. “What the hell does
the Council do?”
 
          “Not terrorize teenagers, for one,” Chris said. “We all need checks
and balances. We protect the uninitiated from rouge werewolves,” he glanced at
Derek who looked murderously back, “And the Council protects the Hunters from
themselves.”
 
          “And who keeps the Council in check?” Cora asked, her eyes narrowed
and bleeding red in the irises.  
 
          At that, Chris smiled in a way that was neither kind nor inviting.
“People like me.”
 
          “We can protect him too,” the sheriff gave Cora a bemused look. “The
law doesn’t look kindly on families taking pot shots at minors, even if they’re
flesh and blood. I’d have to brush up on my international law but I think we
can probably handle this one.”
         
          “We do like to work with the law,” Chris grinned at the sheriff who
touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll catch a flight out to England to
sort this out. And maybe get to work on some citizenship papers.” A pained look
crossed his face. “And probably find a house.”
 
          “With more than just one bathroom,” Allison added.
 
          “Are they really going to let him just go?” Cora demanded. There was
tightness around her mouth and she stood as if she were rooting her feet to the
floor. Stiles wasn’t surprised she was having a hard time believing this but he
knew his father. He wouldn’t say these kinds of things unless he could keep
them. “He’s a danger.”
 
“We can contain him at night, for now,” Chris said slowly. “Whatever they used
to curse him is in that book and most of those spells have counter curses. As
long as we present a solid case for trying to find a reversal—“
 
          “Got it!” Lydia had glanced up from where she was still scanning
pages with a cat-like grin. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to finish speaking or
should I just start on fixing him?”
 
          Derek and Cora had been silent for most of the meeting. Derek stood
next to the door, his arms crossed like he was angry to be here. Cora was
closer, hesitantly keeping distance from Johan but flanking the side opposite
to Scott.
 
          He drifted to the door as Lydia started to explain in detail,
switching between German and English as if she had spoken both her whole life.
He gently elbowed Derek; it was like nudging a brick wall. “So, hey, a Hale and
an Argent. Weird, right?”
 
          “He’s not exactly an Argent,” Derek said. “His last name is
Wolfkugel.”
 
          Stiles winced. “That sounds ominous.”
 
          “You shouldn’t have to watch this,” Derek said suddenly. Stiles
glanced up; Cora had finally broached the space between them as they focused on
Lydia and was resting her fingers on his. “You said it yourself,” he dropped
his voice low. “You’re an only child, you don’t like sharing.”
 
          “I think it’s sweet,” Stiles said, carefully not looking at Derek.
“Sandbox sweethearts, finding each other after all this time.” He could feel
Derek staring at him but he waited before turning and looking at him seriously.
“Dude, I haven’t been sleeping with your sister.”
 
          Cora looked up guiltily and his father with his laser-like selective
hearing also glanced over with suspicious eyes. Stiles wiggled his fingers
innocently but it did nothing to but make the worry lines on the sheriff’s face
furrow further. “Come on, let’s do this without so many ears.”
 
          Stiles put the keys to his jeep in the sun visor and texted Scott
strict instructions that Allison and only driving-law abiding Allison was
allowed to drive her anywhere. He added he knew why the McCall’s car had an
Isaac sized dent in the fender. Scott texted back a few scathing insults (Isaac
was going to be a terrible influence on the guy, Stiles could tell) and then
added they were going to be a while with this. A long while. A few hours at
least. He then added a list of favours he needed and how hard he was working at
distracting the sheriff from wondering about his son until Stiles finally
turned the phone on silent and tossed it in his backpack.
 
          Lilacs; Stiles was hit with the smell as he walked into the apartment
and the final clue slid into space. Derek was shrugging off his jacket slowly,
putting the keys in a ceramic plate by the door someone (probably Allison who
was the only one spending regular amounts of time at the place to think of the
little details) like it was overly important. Stiles huffed and pushed at him
until they were into the kitchen and he manhandled Derek onto a stool. Derek
was avoiding his eyes so Stiles leaned against the counter and crossed his arms
to brace himself.
 
          “Cora’s been with Johan for a while now.”The direct approach seemed
best right now. He watched, forcing himself to keep from pacing because he
wanted to focus, no matter how much the uncomfortable atmosphere made him want
to do at least a dozen other things. “She said you wouldn’t understand why she
was with him.”
 
          “I don’t,” Derek interrupted angrily. He shifted restlessly on the
stool, uncharacteristic from his normal creepy stalker-like posture. “He’s a
Hunter. Last time I checked predators and prey didn’t mix well.”
 
          “So you think Cora gives off some sort of prey vibe?” Stiles raised
his eyebrows. “That’s news to me.”
 
          “That’s not what I meant.” He was avoiding Stiles still, his eyes
moving from the ceiling light, the cupboard behind Stiles’s head, the floor as
his jaw clenched painfully. Finally, though, he looked up square in Stiles’s
eyes and said against his teeth, “You know—about Kate and I.”
 
          “I do,” he said quietly. “And I know Johan isn’t Kate and Cora isn’t
you.”
 
          “It’s the same thing.”
 
          “No, it’s really not,” Stiles shook his head. “Kate was older,
manipulative and deliberately trying to kill your family.”
 
          “How do we know this Johan isn’t the same?” Derek’s voice was a
challenge.
 
          “Oh yeah, he was very threatening there,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I
especially like how he’s lying in wait with 50cc of morphine in his system.
Like a cobra.”
 
          “Once a Hunter, always a Hunter,” Derek said unconvinced. “You don’t
know what kind of training they do, what they’re indoctrinated with. If they
want you dead there’s nothing you can do but run and keep running. We can’t
fight back, we can’t protect ourselves. And if Johan ever turns on her—” His
face twisted into something unreadable.
 
          “Kate wanted you dead,” Stiles pointed out. “And yet, you’re here.”
 
          “I was lucky,” Derek bit out. “And so was Cora. And that luck’s not
going to hold out for another stupid mistake this like one.”
 
          “Johan’s not a real Hunter, you know.” Stiles said. “And he doesn’t
seem to want Cora dead. Did you not see the way he was looking at her?”
 
          “That will change one day.”
 
          “Yeah, maybe,” Stiles agreed. “But maybe not. I’m pretty sure the
only one who is close enough to tell is Cora.”
 
Derek snorted. “You’re going to trust Cora’s judgement?”
 
          “Why not?” Stiles said evenly. “She’s smart; she’s obviously been
hoodwinking you this whole time with Johan. She figured out the whole Allison,
Isaac, Scott thing before anyone else and she’s been orchestrating the Double
Mint Twins behind even Allison’s dad’s back.”
 
          “None of that seems very trustworthy,” Derek pointed out. Then, he
added, “She tricked you too.”
 
          Stiles sighed, finally letting himself run his hand though his hair,
tugging a bit at the strains in frustration. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it
was pretty brilliant. You have to respect the player.”
 
          “I did, you know. Trust her,” Derek said after a short silence. “I
let her keep her stupid phone. And I let her have—” he glanced up at Stiles
with a hard expression on his face. “I trusted her with you, too.”
 
          “Hey,” Stiles said sourly, remembering Scott’s steady hand chastising
him for using the same language not that long ago. “You didn’t trust me to her.
I’m not a child.”
 
          Derek huffed, grinding his teeth a little before answering. “I didn’t
think you two were doing child-like things.”
 
          Stiles sighed before resting on his hands. This was familiar, it was
like talking to a brick wall. But unlike when Cora clammed up, he didn’t back
off to see what would happen next. Stiles felt a need to keep digging if not
for his curiosity’s sake but because whatever caused Derek enough pain to close
up felt like a physical ache in himself. “We weren’t you know. At all.”
         
It seemed to be the right thing to say. The tension slipped a bit in the room
as Derek leaned back, his body relaxing for a moment as he looked like he was
trying to figure something out.
 
          “Nothing happened between you two?”
 
          “No.”
 
          “So, the loud music, her smell all over you, the time you guys lived
together: nothing?”
 
          “Nada,” Stiles made a cross over his chest. “This dick has only ever
touched you and me.”
 
          “But you always seemed,” Derek hesitated before saying, “Happy.”
 
          “Friendship, it’s a magical thing, Derek.” It was painful to think
that Derek couldn’t connect happiness with spending time with people. He
supposed it made sense, Derek hadn’t been building a pack out of loneliness but
out of protection and while Erica, Isaac and Boyd had found a sense of
belonging he wasn’t entirely sure they had all been happy about the
arrangement. “It’s a state where people can enjoy each other’s company without
strings attached.”
 
          Derek seemed to be thinking hard about that one but he reluctantly
added. “The way Cora smelled when she came home—“
 
          “Oh, gross, come on.” Stiles shuddered.
 
          “That’s not what I meant,” Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. “I block
that out most of the time or else I’d go insane living with those three,” he
jerked a thumb towards Isaac’s room, “in the apartment. Even before they
started their activities,” he curled a lip in disgust, “they were so over-
drenched in hormones I stopped even trying. I just meant she smelled like—“ he
looked down. “She smelled like I remember my parents smelling. Content.”
 
          “That was with Johan, not me,” Stiles said.
 
          “I get that now,” Derek rolled his eyes. “It makes sense now. You
never smelled—I mean, you always kind of had a—“ he paused and Stiles was more
than a little delighted to see an angry embarrassed hue under the scruff.
“—Like something was missing. And even that was hard to pick up on.”
 
          Stiles thought back to the times he had asked Cora how she was hiding
Johan from Derek and the shifty way she would brush it off. The perfume, her
insistence on doing his laundry, the weird way she would kiss or touch his
cheek whenever Derek could see: he couldn’t believe he had missed it.
 
          “She’s been messing around the apartment and my things,” he said.
“Deaton said some smells can distort and hide things.” He muttered a curse that
made Derek raise his eyebrows in admiration. “Ria must have been helping her
too, Deaton said their family specialises in that kind of thing.”
 
          “You said she wanted an arrangement between the three of us,” Derek
sounded almost petulant now. The arguments were coming faster now, less
concrete. He could see that even Derek didn’t quite believe them anymore and
was mostly saying them out of frustration and anger. “And she tore your shirt!
You said you made a sex schedule!”
 
“Your sister,” Stiles said clearly because it appeared Derek needed things
spelled out, “is a manipulative, survivalist, lying piece of shit. And the rest
of it,” his could feel his ears turn pink as past conversations ran through his
head. God. He had mentioned a sex schedule at some point, hadn’t he? “I think
there were just a lot of misunderstandings.”
 
          Derek was quiet for a minute. “You two really aren’t—“
 
          “No,” Stiles let out a frustrated sigh. “I swear to God, I’m going to
get it tattooed somewhere.”
 
          “So the only person you’re sleeping with—“
 
          “—is you, you asshole.”
 
          Derek shot out of the stool and had his hands braced on Stiles’s hips
in three strides. Stiles had been expecting it and had his hands on Derek’s
face, tilting his chin so their lips met without any painful clashing. It was
strange how familiar this felt now, like second nature, as Derek wedged himself
between Stiles’s knees and gripped his thighs more firmly until Stiles felt
himself lifted less on the floor and more on the counter. There was something a
big different though; it felt like Derek had been holding back before because
this—
 
          Something smashed on the ground as Stiles scrambled to hold onto the
counter. Derek broke away gasping and Stiles smacked his head painfully on the
cupboards. Stiles was grateful for the blasé shoe rules of the apartment as the
glass crunched under his sneakers when Derek tugged him out of the kitchen and
towards his bedroom.
 
          This time he didn’t really remember what happened to his clothes,
what order they came off in or who did the actual loosening of buckles and
such, but he did remember when and where Derek’s hands touched on his body, the
gasps and sounds he made against Stiles’s skin. He was pretty sure of his shoes
took out a lamp as he kicked it across the room. There was a lot of power in
Derek’s hands and Stiles never fully appreciated it until now as Derek shoved
him against the wall by the door, one hand pinning him almost just as much as
the other hand tried to push him as close to Derek’s body as possible.
 
          Stiles wasn’t passive in this as he hooked an ankle around the back
of Derek’s knee and ground up, grinning as Derek’s fingers spasmed. The wall
burned against the back of his bare shoulders as he inched up until Derek’s
head was level with Stiles’s collar bone. Derek’s hands had to slide down to
support his weight, his hand shoving under the elastic of his boxers and
against his ass, making him shiver. It hurt, in a good way, as Derek dragged
the scratchy stubble on his cheek across his skin, nipping with the sharp
canines of his teeth as they both dug in fingers to brace themselves against
gravity. He was being possessive in a way he hadn’t been before and Stiles felt
the same fond flutter in his chest as Derek dragged his tongue over the red
marks.
 
          Stiles was about to crack a joke about slobbering but Derek yanked
him away from the wall and dropped him on the bed, crawling up the bed until he
could claim Stiles’s mouth again. He was being greedy, running his hands over
every part of Stiles’s body as Stiles just hung on, panting and gasping between
rough kisses as he finally wiggled his boxers down his hips and struggled to
get them off.
 
          “Come on, big guy, these things work better naked,” he pushed until
Derek blinked, dazed, and came back enough to help strip off the last of
Stiles’s clothes so they could finally press skin on skin. Stiles was well on
board, A-Okay, ready and willing, to keep up the frantic pace as he ground his
erection against Derek’s hip. Stiles panted short on breath as he dug nails
into the flexing muscles of Derek’s ass.
 
          “Let me just,” Stiles tried to worm his hand between them to grasp
his aching cock but Derek was pressed too solidly and Stiles groaned in
frustration. His neck was turning red, his skin feeling like it was on fire and
buzzing at the same time.
 
          Then, Derek suddenly stopped and pulled back so he could look Stiles
in the face. The world felt like it was still spinning and it took Stiles a
second to pull himself back. “Come on, man, don’t stop!” Stiles felt like his
body was wound tight like a clock, finally going at a speed that wasn’t the
leisurely pace Derek normally set.
 
          “So if you and Cora never—“
 
          Stiles had had enough. He covered Derek’s mouth before he could get
the next word out and scowled at him, his heart racing enough to make him feel
mean. “I swear to God, I’m going to grab you by the balls and fucking twist
them off if you ever try to bring her up again.”
 
          Derek sighed and rolled his eyes before trying to speak but Stiles
kept his hand clamped so nothing but muffled sounds escaped. He grinned
triumphantly but yanked his hand back disgusted as Derek licked it. “Dude,
that’s disgusting. Do you have any idea where these hands have been?”
 
          “Really?” Derek sounded exasperated and lifted his weight off Stiles
so he could gesture to their tangled limbs. “That’s what you’re worried about?
You’re really not going to like where I want to put my mouth next then.” For a
second Stiles had a flash of Derek’s mouth on his dick but then strong hands
gripped under his thighs, parting and dipping fingers along his ass and he
jerked at the surprisingly electric sensation.
 
          Stiles could feel his eyes dilating at the thought, his mind suddenly
fixated on Derek’s soft, pale lips and exactly what he was implying. He heard a
whimpering sound and was embarrassed to realise it was from him. But then his
senses came back and he shook his head reluctantly. “There is no way I’m going
to let you do that without at least a shower. Do you have any idea the number
of bacteria floating around?”
 
          “Stiles—“
 
          “Way too many, that’s how many.”
 
          Derek gave him a flat look, clearly not worried about any of the
health risk factors but Stiles had done enough late night Wikipedia marathons.
He had been lax putting words where there had only been actions but he was
putting his foot down for the sake of propriety. If he had spoken up before, if
he and Derek had tried to exchange actual words instead of just jumping
(literally in some cases) straight into this than a whole lot of
miscommunication would have been avoided. He stared at, bearing his will down
through his eyes and finally Derek sighed, huffing disappointedly.
 
          “We can keep doing this,” Stiles arched up, trying to get Derek back
on track. “I liked this.”
 
          Derek smoothed his hands down Stiles’s sides until he could circle
his thumbs on his hipbones. Stiles knew what he looked like—he had filled out
some and wasn’t nearly as scrawny has he had been last year and the still red
marks aching on his collar bone were proof enough that Derek had just has much
ante in this bed as he did. But more than that, he saw something in Derek’s
eyes he recognised: a warmth that matched his own, a kind of exasperated
fondness and Stiles gave up the pretense of patience.
 
          Most of the time, Derek had been the one to lie back and let Stiles
enjoy and Stiles suddenly realised it wasn’t so much that Derek didn’t want the
same thing as him, because it was obvious from the way he kissed him back and
the way he seemed to want to smother Stiles with his body that Derek was a
person who wanted. But now it was like Derek had become unhinged, like
something had unhooked him from some kind of restraint. He had spent a lot of
time watching Stiles, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to make it as good
as possible for him and not that it wasn’t good now but there was just
something different about the way Derek was rutting against his hip. He was
taking something, using Stiles like he hadn’t before and Stiles was more than
happy to give as much as he could.
 
          He had been competing Stiles realised suddenly. There had been a
careful way about him before and Stiles had attributed it to Derek putting his
admittedly higher expertise to use. But now he had the horrifying realization
that Derek had just been making sure Stiles had a good time; he was making sure
Stiles had the best time. He didn’t think he would have ever noticed the
difference if it wasn’t for the way Derek put his hands in a place for no
reason other than it was a good grip, finger nails pinched unintentionally as
speed over grace conquered, the unmindful way their skin was just starting to
feel like it was chafing but neither wanted to stop.
 
          Stiles pushed at Derek who went willingly enough onto his back and
Stiles found himself in the familiar position of looking down at him as he
straddled Derek’s thighs. “You’re an absolute idiot sometimes,” Stiles panted
out.
 
          Derek arched his hips, the wet tip of his cock sliding over his
stomach tantalizingly and Stiles couldn’t help but feel something ache inside
his chest. He kissed Derek, reaching to stroke him firmly as he tried to pour
all of those emotions, the anger he still felt at Cora and the apology he
didn’t feel he could adequately express in words, into it. Derek gripped his
shoulders, pulling his upper body up and off the pillows as he responded, the
kiss mangling and turning awkward as he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth
from turning upward.
 
          “What do you want to do?” Stiles pulled away eventually because he
knew he was reaching a limit as much as it felt like there wasn’t one anymore.
“What do you like?”
 
          “Anything,” Derek responded without hesitation and Stiles couldn’t
help but roll his eyes.
 
          “No, you fucker, you get to choose this time. As long as you stop
marking up my neck, there is literally no reason to defend your territory
anymore.”
 
          He could see the conflict in Derek’s eyes but the man finally huffed
a humorous sigh. He gripped Stiles’s thigh, hitching his legs to a more
comfortable position as he sat up, pressing their groins together until Stiles
could wrap a hand around both of them. He reached, rummaging for a tube in the
beside table, flipping open and squeezing the contents down over their hands.
Stiles hissed as the coolness of it almost stung but then Derek tossed it aside
and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’s. “Just kiss me, okay?”
 
          “Easy,” Stiles said.
 
          Sometime later, Stiles fished his phone from his discarded jeans when
it wouldn’t stop buzzing and sighed. Scott couldn’t hold off his dad forever
and the meeting had finally settled on the cure and Johan’s fate. It hadn’t
changed drastically but with Mr. Argent needing to leave for Europe as soon as
possible, the three teenagers were leaving the fourth floor apartment to more
secure locations. Ria would be at the McCall’s and Allison would be staying
with the Stilinski’s, Scott’s text had warned, and Johan was going to bunk with
Isaac for the time being so they were headed over now and Stiles was under
strict instructions to cover his junk before they got there.
 
          “Do our parents really think that by splitting all of us up it’ll
stop the sex?” Stiles grumbled into the pillow propped under his chin as he
tapped a reply. “We’re all pretty accomplished at sneaking around.”
 
          Derek lazily mouthed at the top of Stiles’s spine. “If Cora thinks
I’m going to let Johan sneak into her room at night she’s got another thing
coming.”
 
          “Hey,” Stiles scowled. “You’re sleeping with a minor; I don’t think
you have sexual high ground here.”
 
          He said something but his words muffled against Stiles’s skin. Stiles
pinched him until he moved. “She lied to me,” his voice was angry and he kept
his eyes half closed as if it was easier to talk without looking. Stiles had to
keep himself from pinching Derek again to seem if that would prompt more of a
response but his patience won out when Derek finally cleared his throat and
said. “She knew how I felt and she let me think I had to share you to have you.
I don’t care about sexual high ground.”
 
          “I’m not a thing to have, you know.” He knew his heart must have
thumped a little louder when Derek said that but he didn’t mention anything. He
knew Derek had heard it and from the way he tried to pull Stiles closer into
the lee of his body he didn’t need a reply. Finally, he reluctantly pushed
himself up so he was kneeling on the bed. “I’m going to shower before they get
here.”
 
          Derek curled his arm tighter around his waist, trying to gently tug
him back down. “You don’t have to shower.”
 
          Stiles looked at him disgustingly. “Dude, I reek. I got covered in
the majority of jizz here and I’m not really looking forward to having a pack
of werewolves being able to smell that.”
 
          “I thought you were showering to be considerate,” Derek gave up
trying to pull him down and instead propped himself up on his elbows. “So you
didn’t smell like Cora or I when you went between the two of us.”
 
          Stiles blanched at a little at that thought. “Dude, I was being
considerate because it’s common human decency! Hygiene, buddy. I know you’re
still getting used to having real indoor plumbing but we don’t have to ration
water that much yet.”
 
          “I want her to smell me on you.”
 
          “That’s disgusting,” Stiles rolled his eyes as he got off the bed and
started to gather the rest of his clothes. “Scott’s like my brother and I don’t
want him to smell anything like that on me.”
 
          Derek levered himself to sit cross legged on the bed but didn’t
bother to reach for his shirt tangled in the sheets. Instead he crossed his
arms over his chest, watching Stiles as he tugged on his boxers while making a
disgusted face at the now crusty feeling all over his body. “I may still be a
little angry at her,” Derek admitted mildly.
 
          “Understatement,” Stiles said. “And you’re more than a little
territorial. Well, are you coming?” Derek looked up puzzled. “Dude, we can
still smell a little like each other. Just as long as we mostly smell like
soap.”
 
          ***
 
          Derek was finishing cleaning up the broken glass while Stiles took
care of the broken lamp when lock turned and Cora, Isaac and Johan arrived.
Johan still looked shaky and drugged to the gills but Stiles had broken his arm
once, he knew the feeling. Derek hovered in the kitchen making shooting Cora
scary, uncomfortable looks until she settled Johan on the couch and retreated
to her room. Isaac was a shit host, it seemed, because he was glued to his
phone as Johan slumped half-stoned on the couch. Stiles knew he had to get
going but he wasn’t going to leave the guy shivering and looked for any kind of
blanket to cover him.
 
          He asked Isaac who shrugged distractingly but Johan said sleepily,
“In den Schrank.”
 
          “What?”
 
          “The closet,” he repeated, this time in English, pointing at the
small sliding door by the bathroom. Sure enough, there was a well-worn blanket
that Stiles suspected had been liberated from the McCall house by Isaac because
he recognised the pattern. He passed it to Johan, wondering just how upset
Derek would be to know that Cora had somehow managed to sneak Johan into the
apartment often enough that Johan knew the inner layout. Not my problem
anymore, Stiles decided because he was expressly not going to try and get
between Derek and Cora’s turbulent relationship again.
 
His jeep was parked outside which meant Cora had probably been the one to drive
it back and he patted the hood, looking for any extra dents or bangs before he
got in. Between Derek’s dried black wolfsbane tainted blood stains on the
interior, the arrow divots still decorating the body, the ruined upholstery and
cracked passenger window, Stiles really couldn’t say how his car had faired
with an inexperienced driver but it seemed okay. He drove back slower than
normal because he was dreading the conversation he was going to have.
 
Predictably, his father was sitting at the table with the newspaper spread out
in front of him. Stiles wondered if Allison was already here but from the way
his father looked up, his eyes prepared and ready for whatever kind of epic
throw down they were going to have he suspected not. “Allison is getting ready
to batten down the hatches at the Argent’s apartment before her father leaves,”
his father confirmed Stiles’s questioning posture. “I thought this would be a
good time for a good old father son talk.”
 
“Awe, dad,” Stiles settled himself into the chair opposite his father, his tone
light and casual but his hands curled tight on his knees. “How sweet. Before
you ask, yes, I’d like to go to Disneyland for my birthday this year and, yes
I’m going steal your ticket to FastPass every ride like usual. Great talk.”
 
He rose but one look from his father made him sit back down stiffly. “Your
birthday. Right. Funny you should bring that up. How old are you turning this
year? What, seventeen?”
 
“Hey, it’s eighteen this year and don’t forget it. I can finally stop stealing
your porn mags.”
 
“Somehow I think we’ve got different tastes, son,” his father drawling and
Stiles felt himself get even more on edge. That had almost sounded like a joke
which meant either his father was winding up for a raging fight or—
 
“And I believe it’s eighteen in another ten months,” he said, his voice flat
but not angry. “Which, according to California law, means I can toss Derek
Hale’s ass in jail and this time it won’t be for murder.”
 
“Really?” Stiles decided ignorance was the best approach. “What for? Jaywalking
have a statute of limitations or something?”
 
“All that back talk is going to get you into trouble one day.”
 
“Or out of it,” Stiles said.
 
“How long have you been dating him? And so help me, I’m going to ground you
double for every lie you try to pull.”
 
“Not as long as you think,” Stiles said hastily. “Pretty much just after they
moved out from here.” He winced as he thought about it. “Maybe, like, slightly
before.”
 
“Great,” his father muttered. “And you and Cora—“
 
“No!” Stiles waved his arms so vigorously he smacked his hand hard on the table
top. Rubbing it, he said again, “Never, not in a million years! Why will no one
believe me?”
 
“She does seem like your type, son,” the tone was almost mocking.
 
“I spent the first month terrified she was going to murder me in my sleep, how
is that a type?”
“I’ve been asking myself that very question since you started the third grade
and met Lydia Martin.” That was definitely a mock and Stiles leveled a glare at
his father.
 
“Cora is like female version of Scott to me.”
 
“So you and Scott—“
 
Stiles let out an anguished growl and struggled to stop himself from crawling
under the table in disgust. His father was grinning. “I guess I owe Melissa ten
bucks. Not even a little youthful experimentation? Even just over the clothes?”
Stiles had slid so far down in the chair it really wouldn’t take much at all to
just drop the rest of the way down to the floor and fake a seizure to avoid any
follow up accusation. “Alright, stop being so dramatic,” his father rolled his
eyes. “I’m still not happy about the Derek think. He’s 23, you know.” Then the
sheriff snorted. “And you don’t have a type my ass.”
 
“In human years,” Stiles retorted, still scrubbing at his eyes as if he could
erase the images his father had planted. “Werewolves age differently.”
 
“So you mean he’s older than 23?” his father’s eyebrows shot up. “Kid, you’ve
got to learn when to stop just volunteering information.”
 
          Stiles settled back in his chair, waiting as his father sighed and
seemed to mull that over. “When you say ‘dating’,” his father said the last
word like he would say genocide or vegan mayonnaise, “what exactly do you
mean?”
 
          “First, I never said dating, you said dating,” Stiles couldn’t stop
himself from pointing accusingly. “And secondly, I often define dating as a way
of finding the age of something very, very old.”
 
          “Like your boyfriend.”
 
          “Okay, I stepped into that one.”
 
          “Just, tell me with baseball metaphors.”
 
          “We’re still deciding pitching and catching but—“
 
          That seemed to cancel out whatever thin patience his father had and
Stiles closed his mouth so fast he nearly bit his tongue. “If you aren’t going
to take this seriously then I highly doubt your mental capabilities of being in
a relationship with an older man. Especially a man with a history like Derek
Hale’s.”
 
          “You do remember you were the one to exonerate him,” Stiles said
quietly. “He’s not going to hurt me.”
 
          “I remember. I also remember being the one to tell him his entire
family died in a house fire. Stiles, I know you’re a smart kid. Too smart for
your own good sometimes but smart enough to handle the things you have handled,
though I wish you didn’t have to. If you’re dating Derek Hale then you’re
dating Derek Hale and I’m not going to be happy about it but I can’t claim it’s
your worst decision ever. Though it’s pretty far up there on the list.”
 
          “Before or after the Spiderman vs. Batman Halloween fiasco?” Stiles
asked, hiding a grin as his father rubbed his temples at the memory.
 
          “Somewhere between that and not telling me about who Cora really
was.”
 
          That sobered Stiles a little. But then it hit him. “So, wait, you’re
not, like, forbidding us?”
 
          “I’m not condoning it,” his father snapped. “You’re grounded, for
one, for sneaking behind my back.”
 
          “I barely did that,” Stiles griped a bit but he could deal with that.
“How long?”
 
          “Ten months.”
 
          “What?” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from leaping from his chair at
that, sending it clattering to the ground. His father cracked a sadistic grin.
“That’s outrageous! You can’t expect me to be able to avoid a person for that
long in a town as small at Beacon Hills!”
 
          “I know, I know, I was kidding, jeez,” he rolled his eyes. “You never
let your old man crack a joke anymore.”
 
          Stiles picked back up his chair and fell into it hard, this time his
arms crossed angrily over his chest. “That’s because you’re not funny.”
 
          “I’m plenty funny,” his father said. “Everyone laughs at my jokes at
the station.”
 
          “Because you pay them too.”
 
          “But seriously, you can’t go sneaking off with him. If you’re going
to go and hang out,” his father made a face at the term, “or whatever you kids
call it now, you have to let me know. I worried about you when the worst thing
around here was bored kids with knives and the occasional mountain lion. If I
could microchip I would.”
 
          That wasn’t an idle dream, Stiles knew. As much as he was grateful to
stop lying to his father the man looked more tired now than when he had been
running around confused about the strange, bizarre cases that could never
actually be solved. Stiles was going to have to carry that guilt around and if
his father had asked him to stop seeing Derek, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he
wouldn’t just do that to make his father happy. He reached across the table and
gripped his father’s hand. “Thanks, dad.”
 
          “Don’t thank me,” his father grumbled. “Just don’t tell anyone at the
station I just sanctioned a very illegal relationship between my underage son
and a werewolf. The werewolf thing I think they’d believe but the other part
would put me in front of a mental evaluation review board.”
 
          Stiles wasn’t entirely surprised to see Cora in his bedroom when he
went up. She was struggling with something on his window frame and he was a
little touched when she leaned back and he saw a shiny new bolt.
 
          “Rabid chipmunks,” she said stoically.
 
          “Thanks,” he grinned and settled on his desk chair. “Always a worry.”
 
          “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. She twisted the screwdriver in her hand
over and over again, not meeting his eyes. “I shouldn’t have used you to cover
up my relationship with Johan. It was selfish of me and I’m sorry if I fucked
things up for you.”
 
          “At least you know Derek will put up with a lot,” Stiles said dryly.
“I mean, he thought you were sleeping with me and he still wanted you to stick
around.”
 
          She nodded, poking the screwdriver into the palm of her hand hard
enough her skin turned white. Stiles reached out and plucked it from her hands
easily and she gave him a half grin. “I think I suck at this Alpha thing.”
 
          “Well, at least you’re not Jackson lacrosse captain level of fails at
leadership,” Stiles set the tool down on his desk. “But no one is dead and no
one’s run away yet which is a good thing. I think I’ve got some bad news for
you.”
 
          “More bad news,” Cora slumped, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Okay,
hit me.”
 
          “You know I’ve been having some wicked nightmares, right?”
 
          “Because of Johan,” she said dully.
 
          “Well, yeah, but I think there’s more to it than that,” he resisted
the urge to fiddle with the screwdriver himself. “I think whatever Johan was
doing—which by all accounts seems to be second base – was amplifying something.
All my dreams were about the Nemeton.”
 
          “What exactly are you trying to say?”
 
          Stiles’s knee was bouncing restlessly as he leaned forward, running
fingers over his knuckles as he held her gaze. “I don’t think we can get cocky.
Deaton said it was going to be like a Beacon calling things here. We need to be
prepared which means we need the pack united.”
 
          “Scott and I are fine,” she said confused. “We’re not splitting the
pack up.”
 
          “I meant between you and Derek,” Stiles said. “I mean it this time,
you two need to patch things up. No more lying or manipulating.”
 
          “How exactly do you suggest we do that?” she said. “I can’t exactly
grovel to him forever. I’ve got to be an Alpha if there are threats. I can’t
beg to him for power, he’s got to give it freely.”
 
          “Then you’ve got to start doing things to make him want to give it to
you,” Stiles leaned back and the chair creaked. “You can probably start by
apologising to him too. He thought he was in a weird ménage a trois with his
younger sibling, if that had been me I’d be suffering some pretty bad mental
trauma. Fortunately for you, Derek made of tougher stuff.”
 
          “Fine,” she said though it looked like it pained her. “Anything
else?”
 
          Stiles thought for a moment but his mind was coming up empty. “I
don’t know, man. The last time Scott and I fought I hit him with a crap load of
lacrosse balls. It made me feel better.”
 
          “You’re suggesting I let Derek hit me with a bunch of balls? That’s
not exactly going to make me seem like a dominate leader of the pack.”
 
          “Isaac and Scott are going to need to bone up on their werewolf
skills and you’re the one in charge of that now. You’re going to need Derek to
help,” Stiles shrugged. “You could do a good impression of a practice dummy if
you really tried.”
 
          She nodded and flopped back on his bed. “This is going to hurt.”
 
          “Yup,” Stiles agreed and turned to his computer screen. “The San
Diego Zoo just got new lion cubs. Let’s look at them for a while.”
 
***
 
          The cure Lydia cooked up with equal parts lumpy, gross and horrible
but Johan took it without complaint. He healed quickly before the cure was even
ready though so when Mr. Argent came back with guardianship papers, citizenship
applications and a raging headache from US Immigration he was nearly back to
100%. Allison had been a pleasant houseguest for the two weeks she was there
but Stiles had been demoted back to the squeaky pullout couch and he was
grateful when Mr. Argent also managed to wrangle up the deed to a house fit for
three teenagers. Stiles had managed to secretly video tape the training session
where Cora reluctantly let Derek demonstrate the dozens of painful holds,
breaks and dehabilitaing moves they were teaching Scott and Isaac on the
pretense she was the Alpha and thus would heal better than if she inflicted the
same injuries on Derek. Whenever they fought over stupid things, Stiles let
Derek watch it with a manic glee.
 
          Now that he realised exactly what the giggles, sideways glances and
hidden diagrams were, he became paranoid at school for so many other reasons.
Fine, Scott was a cool dude and Stiles was pretty flattered to think that
people thought they were a good pair. If he didn’t have vivid memories of Scott
shoving worms up his nose and ears so he could pretend to be Dr. Octopus when
they were six then he might have had his bisexual crisis with him. But he made
sure to steer clear of Isaac who did the same to him and he hoped the rumours
were settling down.
 
          The uneasy nightmares featuring the Nemeton were infrequent but still
there. Over the course of the week Derek had stumbled across a kelpie, two
woodland fairies and one very upset unicorn on his patrols of the preserve.
Besides a tense standoff with the kelpie, nothing too bad had happened yet.
 
          “Yo, dude,” Scott nudged his arm as Stiles hunched over his textbook,
pen in mouth as he alternated between highlighting and scribbling in the
margins, library be damned. “Look.”
 
          Instead of their regular history teacher, an elderly woman who often
forgot what decade they were in let alone the one they were covering in the
textbook, a middle aged man was writing on the board. He was handsome enough
but Stiles quickly straightened. New teachers, no matter how normal they were,
were objects of suspicion after Miss Blake.
 
          “Hello class,” the man turned around with a friendly smile. “As you
can see, my name is Mr. Yukimura and I’ll be your history teacher from now on.
Mrs. Perkins has, on the advice of her doctor, decided to retire with her
daughter in New Hampshire so I’ve been hired as her replacement. I hope you’ll
bear with me as I get used to the school and this class, Mrs. Perkins’s notes
were a little,” he made a pained face, “scattered. Also, I’m new to the area,
as is my daughter, Kira—Kira, raise your hand.”
 
          As one, the student body turned to look at a girl slumped in the seat
directly behind them, her textbook propped up on her desk covering her face.
Two white knuckled hands were the only visible things but one released to wave
a quick surrender before retreating. Stiles let out a sympathetic whistle
through his teeth as the girl lowered the textbook, her face flaming red as her
gaze darted looked around the room like a cornered animal.
 
          “Dude, that’s rough…” he turned to say to Scott but the other boy was
staring at her with a stunned expression. “Dude, what are you looking at? Dude,
no. Dude, you’re already in the weirdest relationship ever. Dude, stop it.”
 
          He glanced over to where Allison was sitting with Ria in the front
row, both turned in their seats. If Scott looked stunned than Allison looked
sly and she tore her eyes away from the girl to wink at Stiles.
 
          Ria glanced between the three before she rolled her eyes. He saw her
say something to Allison who just nodded wickedly, her German already
conversational.
 
          Damnit. Between his father being home all the time thanks to that
new, prodigal deputy Parish and the way Mr. Argent policed his charges’
bedrooms like they were in some kind of nunnery, the apartment had been
regulated as pretty much the swinger’s pad Derek had feared. There was a
schedule on the fridge, a dry erase border with colours and codes because
Stiles found it weird when everyone could listen in on him and Derek, Johan
felt nervous with Derek in the house, and Allison and Isaac being a bit to
exhibitionist for all of them. He was going to have to find way to pencil in
anotherperson and it was all Scott’s damn fault.
 
          “Hey,” he heard Scott whisper to the new girl. “Do you need a pen?”
 
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