Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/854710.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey, Peter_Hale,
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Oral_Sex, First_Time, Derek_Has_Issues, Angst, Developing
      Relationship, some_canon_divergence, Slow_Build, Amoral_behavior, Stiles
      is_a_little_bit_dark_in_this_one, maybe_more_than_a_little_bit
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-23 Words: 8641
****** The Electric House of God, Forever ******
by velveteenshadowboxer
Summary
     The sheriff clears his throat. “You can tell me, you know. If he’s
     pressuring you. If he’s pushing you too far.” He hesitates. “You’re
     not afraid of him, are you?” he asks quietly.
     Listening closely, Derek can just imagine Stiles’ amused smile, the
     way his mouth might quiver as he holds back a laugh. “No, Dad. He’s
     afraid of me.”
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Stiles yanks at the collar of his ruined t-shirt, pulling up and peeling the
damp material away from his sweaty skin. He gets caught somewhere in the
middle, and with his face pressed against the fabric from the inside, the dark
flecks of blood splattered against the white cotton create the impression of a
ghostly face with drooping red eyes and jagged teeth.
Derek watches, and his eyes travel lower as the shirt rides up and the hem
hooks gently under Stiles’ chin. He observes the journey of a solitary bead of
moisture trailing from Stiles’ chest down to the waistband of his boxers
peeking out above his jeans, and forces himself to look away once the boy -
young man, if he's honest - finally succeeds in shedding his shirt.
“I should shower here,” Stiles says, scrubbing at the dirt on his upper arm.
“You know, so my dad . . .” He trails off, looking up to meet Derek’s eye.
“Are you alright?” Derek asks quietly. It’s feels like a mantra now, he’s
repeated the question so often. Stiles nods easily, expression betraying no
hint of what he’s feeling.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He shrugs. “A few scratches here and there, probably a bruise
or two tomorrow, but nothing I can’t handle. Honestly, a yeti is a cakewalk
compared to the fight with those pixies last month. Those fuckers are vicious.”
His eyes narrow suspiciously. “What about you? Are you good?”
Derek leans against the doorframe, scratching at his arm. “Yes.”
Stiles frowns. “You sure?”
“I’m fine.” Derek inspects his fingernails carefully as if they’re the most
interesting thing in the world. “Are you sure?” he pipes up after a minute,
still not looking up.
Stiles’ mouth twitches. “Yes, I’m sure.” His tone is superficially exasperated,
but Derek can hear the fondness beneath the annoyed surface. “Are we just going
to go back and forth with this until one of us runs out of steam?”
Derek shrugs. “I’m just thinking that, well.” He coughs. “You were the one who
had to kill it, in the end. And I want to make sure you’re okay. Okay?” He
swallows, staring determinedly at a spot on the floor as Stiles strips out of
his bloodied jeans and kicks them aside to pile on top of his shirt.
“Someone had to do it, dude. Might as well have been me.” The kid yawns,
bringing a fist up to his mouth to stifle the noise. “To be honest, it actually
feels good to be able to help out. In a real way, I mean, not just with
research.”
“Research is a real help,” Derek says, surprised by the fierceness in his own
voice.
“I know that. I just . . . yeah, I know that.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then.”
They stare at each other, silent and unmoving until the squeal of tires on the
asphalt outside signals Isaac’s return. Stiles fidgets awkwardly. “So. About
that shower?” Derek waves him upstairs.
“Sure, go ahead.” Stiles slides by him to round the corner, oblivious as the
werewolf surreptitiously sniffs at his neck. Derek pinches the bridge of his
nose, grunting out a vague acknowledgement when Isaac enters through the front
door.
“I like the renovations, by the way,” Stiles calls from somewhere up above.
Derek grunts in response.
Nearly 17 now, the sly voice in his head tells him suggestively. “Shut up,” he
mutters to himself aloud.
*****
It’s a faerie queen next, impossibly tall and wiry and somehow terrifyingly
beautiful and ugly at the same time. They manage to corner her at the abandoned
plasticware factory on the outskirts of town before she finally stops running
and turns to fight. She manages to knock Isaac unconscious and nearly rip
Peter’s head off his shoulders before Scott and Stiles show up to join in the
fray.
They win in the end, as always. Derek stabs her through the chest with his
claw, and when she feebly tries to push him away, Stiles kicks her over the
railing. She falls two stories before landing on her neck and severing her
spine.
Derek gets an earful from Scott the entire walk back to the road.
“You can’t keep dragging him into your bullshit,” the younger werewolf growls,
eyes blazing and hands balled into fists at his sides. “You want to get
yourself killed, be my guest, but leave Stiles out of it.”
“Stiles is right here, thanks,” Stiles says dully, though with no real heat. He
scrubs at his shoulder, frowning at the smear of jet-black blood staining his
sleeve. “Damn it, another shirt ruined . . .”
“Stiles is going to do whatever the fuck he wants one way or the other,
regardless of what I say,” Derek retorts, glaring at Scott. “I’m not dragging
him into anything. You two are the ones who keep pushing your way into our
business.”
Scott’s fists clench. “Saving innocent people is all of our business. You just
suck at it. Your plans always end with somebody dead.”
Derek snarls, and it looks for a moment as though things might turn ugly before
Stiles cuts in. “Dude, not that I’m defending Derek’s leadership skills or
anything, but I’m not sure what else we could have done differently in this
particular circumstance. She was taking kids, Scott. Sacrificing them. There
wasn’t any other way.”
Scott’s eye twitches. He turns away from Derek and marches off in the direction
of the Jeep. “Let’s just go.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He turns back to the
others, sparing a brief, distrustful glance in Peter’s direction before
focusing in on Derek. “Are we all good here?”
Derek nods. “Yes.”
“Okay, good.” Stiles turns to follow after Scott, pausing to add, “Remember you
have my number. Next time, just call when shit is about to hit the fan. I’m
tired of these territorial pissing matches between you two.”
Isaac makes a soft noise that sounds suspiciously like agreement, but when
Derek looks at him, his expression is completely neutral. Peter just looks
amused.
Derek sighs. “Come on.”
Peter goes upstairs to crash the minute the three of them return to the house.
Derek flops down on the couch and closes his eyes, tries to calm his racing
mind. He can’t.
Isaac ends up coming back downstairs around 2:00 in the morning, hesitating at
the bottom of the steps. “Nightmare,” he mumbles sheepishly in response to
Derek’s raised eyebrow.
“Oh.”
Derek scoots over to make room. Isaac offers a small, grateful smile and plops
down heavily in the empty space. “Sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be.”
They lie head to toe in silence, staring up at the ceiling as the crickets
chirp outside. Derek blinks, and the image of a pale face flashes across his
mind; long blonde hair and cold dead eyes.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Isaac murmurs a few seconds later, like some sort of
mind reader. “You didn’t kill her.”
I might as well have, Derek thinks but doesn’t say. He says, “Okay.”
Isaac squirms, toes flexing as he tries to get comfortable. “Stiles seems
different,” he says after a while. When Derek doesn’t reply, he nudges him
gingerly with his foot. “Don’t you think so?”
Derek twists to lie on his side, turning so Isaac can’t see his face. “I
haven’t thought about it. Go to sleep.” Isaac snorts.
“I don’t need to have heightened senses to know that’s bullshit.”
Derek’s lip curls. “Sleep.”
They’re both quiet after that, and Isaac doesn’t speak up again until Derek is
very nearly asleep. “I’m a little scared of him.”
It’s whispered, soft enough that Derek isn’t certain he was even intended to
hear it. Which is just as well. He doesn’t have anything to say.
*****
It’s just the two of them next time; Derek and Stiles trapped together (of
course) in a compressed wooden crate, slowly sinking into the tar pits 15 miles
outside Beacon Hills.
“Anytime you feel like busting us out of here, you can be my guest,” Stiles
snarks, his breath tickling Derek’s neck from his close proximity. The boy’s
voice is steady enough, but Derek can hear the jackrabbit pitter-patter of his
heart going crazy.
Derek flinches as a big glob of tar oozes through a crack in the panels and
splatters against his leg. “Shut up and let me think for a minute.” He
stretches upward, bracing himself against the walls of the crate with his hands
and feet, chest heaving up and down from the exertion of trying to snap the lid
open.
“How many were there?” Stiles asks, gasping slightly as he slips in the goop
and grabs ahold of Derek’s biceps to stop his fall.
Derek swallows as the kid’s fingers squeeze around his muscles, and he sends a
mental note to his dick to stay the fuck under control. “How many what?”
“The hunters. Did you see how many there were? We’re gonna have to deal with
that shit once we get out of here.”
The wood groans as it begins to bend. Derek grits his teeth as the crack in the
wall widens and the flow of tar quickens. “Not many. Maybe four. Three men and
a woman, I think.” He grunts and ducks his head, knees buckling.
Stiles kicks off his shoes and starts peeling off his clothes. Derek hears the
rustling and frowns. “They’ll just weigh me down,” Stiles explains readily.
“This is going to be hard enough as it is.”
The nails squeak as they start to come loose from the wood. Derek tenses in
anticipation. “Hold on to me if you don’t want to drown,” he says before the
crate practically explodes outward.
Stiles takes a quick breath and wraps his arms around Derek’s middle, squeezing
his eyes shut before the world goes dark. By normal human standards, they’d be
fucked as all get out. But Derek is no human, and difficult as it is, his
frantic kicking through the black muck manages to propel them far enough upward
for him to grab ahold of a thick vine dangling over the edge of the pit.
They spill out onto the grass, gasping for air and dragging themselves as far
away from the ooze as possible. Derek rolls over onto his back, blinking
rapidly up at the stars and taking in deep, grateful gulps of fresh forest air.
He hears the snap of twigs under feet and freezes, craning his neck to look at
Stiles.
The kid is stark naked and covered from head to foot in tar, crouched on all
fours and searching through the undergrowth. He makes a quiet, triumphant noise
and pulls a sharp stick out from beneath a thorny bush.
“What are you-” Derek starts, jaw snapping shut when Stiles makes a shushing
gesture. The boy points silently off to the left, and Derek turns to be greeted
by the sound of nearby laughter and the smell of smoke; the hunter’s campsite.
Stiles ducks low and darts off through the trees before Derek can protest.
“God damn it.”
Derek sheds what remains of his tattered clothing. He wolfs out silently and
stalks towards his prey under the cover nightfall.
The hunters have their guard down, prematurely celebrating with a case of beer,
all kicked back lazily by the fire. Only the woman - a tall blonde with a
crooked nose - looks slightly on edge, glancing suspiciously every now and then
towards the tree line. Derek’s hackles raise, a low growl threatening to rise
up in his chest as he prepares to attack.
“What of the others?” one of the men hiccups, tossing his empty bottle over his
shoulder and popping open the cooler for another. “The old Alpha and the curly-
haired boy?”
“We’ll track them down in the morning,” another - the leader, by the look of
him - says. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find. A disorganized lot like this is
never too -”
He cuts off with a strangled gurgle, eyes bulging and hands scrabbling at his
suddenly dripping throat, trying to remove the stick Stiles has jabbed through
the back of his neck and out the front. The other hunters leap to their feet
with a cry, but before any of them can raise their guns, Derek charges out of
hiding spot with a roar and tackles the closest man to the ground.
It’s quick and bloody, and soon only the woman remains alive.
“Animals!” she shrieks, holding back a sob as she tries to drag herself away
from the slaughter. “Filthy fucking beasts! We’ll kill you all! Every last one
of -”
Stiles smashes a heavy rock over her head, caving in a large chunk of her
skull. She drops instantly, and all is silent.
They put out the fire and pile the bodies into the hunters’ car before pushing
it into the tar pit. Derek watches it sink, breathing hard, still somewhat high
on adrenaline from the fight. He turns to Stiles.
“You’ve gotten good at that,” he says.
Stiles looks at him. “Good at what?”
“Killing.” Even to his own ears, Derek’s not sure if he sounds proud or
disgusted. Neither emotion seems particularly appropriate.
Stiles flinches, looking incredibly young and vulnerable for a moment before
his face hardens into carefully composed indifference. “Practice makes perfect,
I guess.” He shies away from Derek’s gaze, as though he’s suddenly remembering
his nakedness. He folds his arms across his chest and shivers. “If I didn’t
know any better, I’d seriously consider the possibility that the master plan of
all the assholes we have to deal with is to destroy my entire wardrobe. I’m
going to have to buy all new clothes at this rate.”
Derek sighs tiredly, averting his eyes to grant the kid some privacy. “Come on.
Let’s get you showered and dressed.”
Stiles follows him through the trees. “Lead the way,” he says, and Derek
represses a shudder at the unmistakable heat in his voice.
*****
Nothing happens between them that night, however. Nothing happens between them
at all until about a week later when Stiles shows up on Derek’s doorstep in the
early afternoon with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in his
hand.
“So Scott and I think it’s a witch,” he says with no preamble, shoving his way
past Derek without waiting for an invitation. “The one who’s responsible for
all those ritualistic murder sites popping up. Deaton agrees with us.”
“Yes, Stiles. Please come in,” Derek mutters, closing the door and following
Stiles back into the house. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall as
the boy plops down in a chair by the table and opens up the book.
“Deaton says the raven feathers are bad news. Supposedly, they’re only used in
summoning sacrifices, and it’s a pretty safe bet that whatever she’s trying to
summon is probably going to be a pain in the ass for us.”
Derek rubs his forehead. “You’re not in my pack, Stiles,” he growls. “Why are
you here?”
Stiles pauses in his reading to meet Derek’s eye, looking terribly unimpressed.
“You know, it would save both of us a lot of time and energy if we could just
suck it up and agree that, from time to time, it’s to our mutual benefit to
work together against to stop the bad guys.”
“The ‘bad guys?’ Really?” It takes all of Derek’s effort to resist rolling his
eyes. “You sound like a kid when you say things like that.”
“I am a kid,” Stiles fires back immediately, and there’s something a little too
knowing in the meaningful look he fixes Derek with before turning back to his
book.
Derek’s stomach clenches. He walks stiffly over and sits down in the chair
opposite Stiles’. “What else does the good doctor say?” he asks icily.
They go over the plan together for the next hour or so. At some point during
that time, Isaac comes downstairs from his nap and freezes when he sees the two
of them sitting together. Running a hand through his sleep-tussled hair, he
raises an eyebrow at Derek in a silent question, as if to say, All good? Derek
waves him on.
It’s around 2:30 when they finish up, and Derek feels himself sweating through
his t-shirt from the suffocating heat in the house. He absently makes a mental
note to buy a new air conditioner.
Stiles closes the book and yawns, stretching his arms high above his head. His
shirt rides up a bit, exposing a sliver of skin and a dark trail of hair
running down from his bellybutton to his underwear. Derek stares.
He looks up to find Stiles watching him with a quietly nervous expression. They
watch each other for nearly a full minute without uttering a word.
Derek clears his throat. “You’re not in my pack,” he says slowly, reiterating
his earlier statement. “You could be, though. Maybe you should be.”
“I’m not in a pack,” Stiles answers after a short pause. “But if I was, I would
be in Scott’s.”
“Why?” Derek asks.
Stiles frowns disbelievingly. “He’s my best friend. Also, you and I can’t stand
each other.”
“I’m better at this than him,” Derek says stubbornly. Stiles shakes his head.
“You’re really not.”
Derek grits his teeth. “I can stand you,” he mutters. “Although you make it
incredibly fucking difficult most of the time.”
Stiles’ mouth twitches in an almost-smile. “Well, thanks. Right back at you.”
Derek stands up to stretch his legs, walking over to the window. “You are . . .
a complication,” he says after a minute, gazing out through the glass, looking
at nothing.
“So I’ve been told. My dad once threatened to legally change my name to Little
Demon Child when I was little and I spray-painted racing stripes on his cruiser
because I thought it would make it go faster.”
Derek snorts. “He did not.”
Stiles chuckles. “He did so, according to Scott’s mom. Although I’ve never been
able to tell when she’s making shit up.”
“Maybe Peter should have bitten her,” Derek says, only mostly joking. Stiles
makes a weird, muted sound.
“Our lives would definitely have turned out differently if that had been the
case.” He cracks his knuckles and stands up, walking out into the main room.
For a second, Derek thinks he’s left, but then he hears the audible thump of a
body dropping down onto the couch. He follows, pausing in the doorway. Stiles
sprawls out lazily on the soft cushions, one arm thrown up over his eyes.
Derek slides down to the floor and sits cross-legged. He picks at his
fingernails. “I’m not sure I know how to be a good person anymore,” he says,
hating himself for doing this - for airing out his dirty laundry in front of a
teenage boy - but not enough to stop the words from flowing. “I’m not even sure
I ever was to begin with.”
Stiles doesn’t talk for a long time, and Derek can’t get a read on his
expression with his eyes covered. And then, “I don’t know, dude. I’m hardly
innocent myself.”
Derek scowls. “You are compared to me.”
“Wow, really?” Stiles lifts his arm and shoots Derek a withering glare. “We’re
playing ‘my suffering is worse than your suffering?’ I mean, yeah, you totally
win. By like, a landslide. But seriously, dude. Your tall-dark-and-handsome
broodiness only takes you so far before all the self-pity overshadows
everything else you’ve got going on.”
Derek scoffs. “Don’t call me dude.” He sits up straighter. “And stop being a
smart-ass. Ever consider that maybe I have a little more life experience than
you, and that I actually understand some things that perhaps you don’t?”
Stiles flops around to lie on his stomach, burying his face in one of the couch
pillows. “I don’t have to have your life experience to know that the simple act
of being an adult doesn’t guarantee that you know what the fuck you’re doing,”
he says, voice muffled. “The Argents come to mind.”
Derek glares at the back of his head. “I’m trying to actually communicate
here,” he grumbles. “I would have thought you’d enjoy this more. Talking
incessantly is sort of your forte.”
“Hah hah. Also, I’m having a ball here. Are you not?” Stiles lifts his head a
bit to look at Derek out of his right eye. “Hmm?”
Derek huffs out a weary, humorless laugh. “You’re infuriating.” Stiles grins
triumphantly.
“I’m the best.”
Something breaks loose inside Derek, relieving the tension in his chest. He
stands up and walks over to the couch. “Fuck it,” he mutters. He grabs Stiles
by the back of the neck, pulling gently to make him sit up.
Stiles twists to stare up at him, eyes going wide. “What are you doing?”
Derek takes a deep breath. “Taking advantage of you,” he says, trying for
teasing but not really kidding at all. And then he closes his eyes and presses
his mouth against Stiles’.
*****
It starts out with kisses; just sloppy making out on the couch, and then on the
bed once they move upstairs. And then they lose their clothes, and everything
seems 100% more real and a great deal more dangerous. Derek’s amazed by how
briefly Stiles hesitates before stripping off his boxers and lying back on the
mattress completely exposed. Not that the boy hasn’t been naked in front of him
before, but this is an entirely different context and most teenagers tend to
react a little more self-consciously. Especially virgins.
“What?” Stiles asks after Derek stands there for a few seconds without moving,
and he does sound a little insecure now.
Derek shakes himself off and climbs up on the bed with him, seizing Stiles’
wrists and pinning them above his head. “Nothing. You’re just . . . confident.”
Stiles squirms, flushing red down from his face to his chest. “I’m not,” he
murmurs breathlessly, swallowing hard as Derek bends down to kiss his neck.
“I’m fucking terrified. But I know what this is. I know you’re not going to
cuddle with me after and tell me you love me, and then take me out to dinner
later.” He shrugs as best he can with his arms pinned. “There’s a sort of
comfort that comes with being free of the unknown.”
Derek presses his nose into Stiles’ armpit and breathes. He lets go of the
boy’s arms and runs his hands over the smooth planes of his chest; there’s more
muscle tone than he was expecting, and although it’s a superficial factor, it
still makes his cock stir. “Who talks like that?” he says softly, kissing and
licking his way down Stiles’ belly.
“Apparently I do,” Stiles laughs, breath hitching in his chest when Derek’s
mouth and tongue are suddenly all over his cock. “Jesus, fuck -” His fists
tighten on the bedsheets, and he bites down on his lip to hold back a groan.
Derek pulls off briefly to look up at him. “No, be loud. I want to hear you
enjoy it.”
Stiles’ face goes through a complicated series of changes. He makes a strange,
garbled noise. “Figures. Of course you’re so considerate and attentive now.” He
swallows thickly and bursts into nervous giggling. Looking closer, Derek
realizes with a thrill of horror that there are tears in his eyes. He tries to
back off, but Stiles’ legs come up quickly and hook around his back, drawing
him in. “No, don’t stop. Just let me have my panic attack in peace, alright?”
“Okay.” Derek glances down at Stiles’ still-hard dick, then back up to his
face. He can him trembling. “We don’t have to if you-”
“Oh, for f-” Stiles blinks away his tears and glares up at Derek. “I want to do
this. All of this. Anything you want to do, I want that too.” He flops back
down, looking away. His cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I’ve never done this
before, okay? I’m just a little freaked out. You’re about to suck my dick.
You’re probably going to fuck me later. It’s weird and scary, and I do better
with scary shit when I just dive right into it, so pretty please with sugar and
fucking cherry on top, just get on with it!”
Derek blinks. And then he smirks. “As you wish, your majesty.”
Stiles’ retort is lost in a groan as Derek bends back between his legs and
swallows him down.
*****
They sit together on the bed for a while after redressing, neither one quite
able to look the other in the face. Derek sits rigid and unmoving. Stiles
fidgets uncomfortably. A dark, purplish bruise sticks out from under the collar
of his shirt, and Derek feels a perverse twinge of possessive pride when he
chances a peek at it.
“I think I know . . .” Stiles begins slowly, then stops. He bites his lip. “I
think I can guess pretty much everything you want to say. Why it was a mistake,
why it shouldn’t happen again. How guilty you feel.” He sighs and rubs the back
of his head, grimacing. “And I just don’t-” He looks up. “Can we maybe skip
that part?”
Derek shrugs. “Okay.”
Stiles looks simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “I feel like this was
bound to happen one way or another,” he says. “I saw the way you looked at me,
even back when you really hated me.” His mouth twists into a half-smile. “As
opposed to the way you mostly tolerate me now.”
Derek snorts.
“Anyway. I saw and I knew, and I knew that you knew how I looked at you. And
what with the constant threat of death hanging over our heads combined with our
trust issues and sexual frustration, it’s no real surprise that we ended up
here.”
“Yeah.” Derek nods. “Maybe so.”
“For sure so.” Stiles pushes himself off of the bed and walks slowly to the
door. He pauses with his hand on the handle. “I’ll see you when I see you?”
Derek looks down at his feet. “That would be a safe bet.”
He doesn’t look back up until he hears the sound of the Jeep’s tires rolling
away on the gravel outside.
*****
Derek runs into Chris Argent at the grocery store, and remarkably, it doesn’t
end in bloodshed.
“You look well,” Chris says, after a few tense moments of icy silence. Derek
shakes his head stiffly.
“We’re not doing this.” He tries to push past, but Chris puts a hand on his
cart and keeps him in place.
“Fine, no small talk.” He straightens up to his full height, fixing Derek with
a weirdly passive stare; like he’s trying both to intimidate and seem less
threatening at the same time. “I just got a call from an old acquaintance last
night. He’s thinking of coming up here with some hunting buddies.” He says the
last bit with a meaningful raise of an eyebrow.
Derek glowers. “For us?”
“No.” Chris glances around, ensuring no one can hear. He leans in closer,
whispers, “They’ve been tracking a troll. All the way from Mexico. They’re just
passing through, so I recommend laying low while they’re here, if you can
manage it.”
“And you’re sharing this . . . why?” Derek’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Out of
the goodness out of your heart.”
Chris leans away, annoyance contorting his features before they relax into
weary defeat. “In case you haven’t heard, I and what remains of my family have
chosen to pursue a new line of work. We’re no longer a threat to you. The truce
holds.”
“Personal revelations about your idiocy aside,” Derek snarks, “you still
haven’t explained why you’re bothering with any sort of warning. Why should I
trust your word?”
Chris lets go of Derek’s shopping cart and starts pushing his own towards the
registers up front. “My goals now are the same as ever, Hale. I want to avoid
as many deaths as possible.”
He shoves past roughly and doesn’t look back. Derek lets him go.
*****
The troll rears back to full height, bellowing as it swings out blindly and
knocks three of the hunters into a nearby tree. Two more hunters rush forward
with their rifles raised, firing repeatedly. One is dispatched quickly with a
swift kick to the head, while the other is lifted screaming into the air and
subsequently silenced as his head smashes to pieces against a nearby rock.
“Peter!” Derek yells, whistling loudly to try and draw the beast on a path
headed away from the town.
“Working on it, nephew!” The older werewolf darts out from the trees and nimbly
scales his way up the troll’s back. Reaching the top, he jabs his claws into
the creature’s neck and twists, cutting and slashing and sending dark green
ooze splattering to the forest floor.
The troll roars and swats Peter away, knocking him to the ground.
“Backup’s on the way!” Isaac shouts, running to Derek’s side. The Alpha stands
in front of him protectively, wincing as the troll stomps another hunter to
bits.
“Backup from who?”
Isaac’s response is lost in the overwhelming din as the last hunter standing
lobs a grenade into the air. The explosion shatters the trunks of at least
three trees, and Derek pushes Isaac to the ground and shields him with his body
as chunks of wood and debris come raining down.
As the dust clears, he hears an ear-splitting shriek. The troll, limping badly
and bleeding from a deep cut in its side, seizes the hunter in its hand and
chomps down on his neck.
“It’s wounded,” Derek says, helping Isaac to his feet. “Now’s our chance.”
The troll spits the mangled carcass of its victim on the ground, then turns to
bare its bloody teeth at the werewolves, snarling.
Twin beams of light erupt through the bushes and the all-too-familiar squeal of
an immediately recognizable vehicle’s tires catches the troll’s attention about
a second before the Jeep flies over the ridge and slams into the beast’s face.
“Holy shit,” Isaac breathes. Derek just stares, wide-eyed.
Stiles kicks open the driver’s side door, looking dizzy and confused. He
glances at the monster’s now-headless corpse before turning a mournful gaze to
survey the wreckage. “You had a good run, baby,” he sighs, patting the Jeep’s
crumpled hood.
The passenger’s side door flies off as Scott topples out and promptly vomits.
He stumbles around to Stiles’ side and glares. “What the hell?!?! That wasn’t
the plan, dude! You could have killed us both!”
Stiles flaps a dismissive hand. “You’re fine, buddy. And even if you weren’t,
you would have healed.”
“But you wouldn’t have!”
“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite,” Peter drawls, sauntering over
to survey the scene. He leers at Stiles hungrily.
“That was fucking insane,” Isaac says with grudging admiration, walking over to
examine the troll’s body, his mouth twisting upward in a lopsided grin.
Derek shakes his head disbelievingly. “What,” he mutters numbly. He stares at
Stiles. The kid grins.
“And the human comes to your rescue yet again,” he says cheekily. “Seat of the
pants innovation trumps grumpy rawr-power any day of the week!” Derek’s eyes
narrow.
“Grumpy rawr-power?”
The Jeep sputters pathetically and spits out a black cloud of smoke. Stiles’
grin fades, replaced by resigned weariness. “Not sure how I’m going to explain
this one to my dad. Or how any of us are going to explain the fucking giant
corpse over there.”
“I’ll deal with that,” Peter sing-songs, strutting over to join Isaac by the
body. “Lend a hand, won’t you?”
Scott wipes at his mouth, spitting on the ground before straightening and
letting out a dramatic, put-upon sigh. “I guess I’ll go help them,” he
grumbles.
Derek reaches out without thinking and puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ll
drive you home,” he says. “You should be there when your father gets back.”
Stiles opens his mouth, pauses, then snaps it shut. He nods. Scott shoots Derek
a suspicious look, but he doesn’t say anything; he just claps Stiles on the
back and runs after Peter and Isaac. Derek and Stiles meander off into the
thickets, deep into the dark in search of the road.
*****
They don’t make it to the house before Derek has to stop. Fingernails digging
harshly into the steering wheel, he pulls over to the side of the road and
unhooks his seatbelt, nearly smacking himself in the face in his haste.
“We’ve ruined you,” he murmurs in between kisses, running his hands over
Stiles’ face reverentially, like he’s afraid the boy will vanish if he stops
touching him. “We’re supposed to protect you, and you’ve turned into this thing
. . .”
Stiles tilts his head back and fists his hand in Derek’s hair, biting back a
groan as Derek laps greedily at his neck. “You sure know what to say to make a
girl feel special,” he deadpans.
“I’m serious.” Derek buries his face against Stiles’ chest, nosing at the
collar to expose more skin. “If nothing else, I wanted you to get out of this
place alive and sane. I wanted you to be good.”
“That’s big talk from a guy who fucked a 16-year-old. A guy who’s probably
about to do it again.” He chuckles when he feels Derek tense up. “Hey, if you
get to beat yourself up about it, I get to beat you up about it.”
Derek sighs, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ middle and holding him tight. He
never wants to let go. “Like I said, I’m not a good person. I never was.”
He glances up and sees that Stiles’ expression has gone soft. “And like I
said,” the kid whispers gently, “neither am I.” He touches Derek’s cheek. “I
was never a good person either.”
Derek makes a fist around Stiles’ belt and yanks it off. He fumbles at the
jeans button, craning his neck to lick his way back into the boy’s mouth.
“We’re so damaged,” he mumbles, meaning it as a joke but hearing the truth in
it nonetheless.
Stiles returns the kiss with enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around Derek’s back
and clinging tight, snaking one of his hands up under Derek’s shirt. “We’ll be
okay,” he reassures. Derek rocks his hips forward, eyes flashing red at Stiles’
resulting gasp. He hums approvingly as the boy spreads his legs.
“We won’t.”
*****
Scott shows up on his front porch early the next morning. “I know,” he says
simply, forgoing any sort of commonplace greeting.
Derek doesn’t bother with pretending not to understand. There’s no point.
“Okay.”
Scott crosses his arms, his face scrunching up in a complicated mixture of
dislike and exhaustion. “I won’t tell, and I won’t try and stop you.” He
snorts. “Like you’d listen to me anyway.”
Isaac clears his throat, standing up from his chair by the railing and slipping
past Derek into the house. “I’m just gonna . . .” he mutters, disappearing out
of sight.
“What do you want, Scott?” Derek asks quietly.
“I just wanted you to know,” Scott says. “That I know. And I know you don’t
feel threatened by me, but if you hurt him, I will end you. That’s a promise. I
haven't been the best friend to him recently, but tearing you apart will be a
good start towards fixing that.”
Derek can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. It’s stupid and
there’s no reason to provoke a fight, but there’s just something about the kid
that gets under his skin. “You’re right,” he says. “You’re not a threat.”
Scott just raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what I said.” He turns and walks
away. Derek watches him leave, then turns to go back inside the house. Isaac is
nowhere to be seen, but Peter is there, waiting for him.
“My, my,” he purrs mockingly. “What have you gotten yourself into, nephew
dearest?”
Derek shoves past him. “Save it.”
*****
They go three weeks without disaster; three blissful weeks of peace and quiet,
of sneaking off to the woods together for swim and sex. Derek’s pretty sure
only a few others know about the spring down by Donelson’s Pike, and he revels
in the opportunity to be the one to show it off for once.
“I used to come here with my family when I was a kid,” he says, surprised by
the lack of twisting pain in his gut. It’s the first time he’s been able to
speak of his parents since the fire without hurting. “My sisters and I would
stand up there at the top of the waterfall and my dad would swim down below and
yell for us to jump. Laura always did, but I was too chicken.”
Stiles squeezes his hand. “Come on,” he says and sheds his shirt, running for
the edge. He leaps out over the falls and whoops, cannonballing down into the
clear blue water below. Derek grins and follows.
They play at chase underwater, and once Derek catches Stiles by the leg, he
can’t let go. He loves the feel of soft skin under his fingers, running his
hand up Stiles’ back as the waterfall thunders down upon them. The boy arches
into the touch and leans forward, catching Derek’s mouth in a sloppy kiss.
Together, they sink down to touch the sand at the bottom of the spring.
“Would it be so bad for you to show this side of yourself more often?” Stiles
asks later when they’re sprawled out on grass under the shadows of the trees.
“I want you regardless, but I like you like this. You seem happy.”
“Happiness is dangerous,” Derek says sleepily, playing with Stiles’ hair. “It’s
a drug, and the more you crave, the weaker you become. Moments like these can’t
last forever.”
“That’s so sad,” Stiles murmurs. He traces the outline of Derek’s abs with his
forefinger, watching the muscles jump under his touch. Derek kisses the top of
his head.
“You’re young. You’ll know better when you’ve lived longer.”
Stiles twists to look at him. “You think I don’t know about loss? I don’t have
to sit around and not die for a little while more before I gain that particular
insight. I know plenty already.”
Derek squeezes his shoulder. “Okay.” Stiles makes a soft, frustrated noise.
“You’re always doing that. Pretending to agree so you don’t have to have a
conversation you’re uncomfortable with. It’s a good thing that you’re able to
talk about this at all, with anyone. Don’t shut down when it gets hard.”
Derek smiles self-deprecatingly. “I’ll try.”
Stiles nods. “You’d better.”
*****
“I’m not going ask,” Isaac says. “Because I don’t know anything.”
“Alright,” Derek replies, looking determinedly at a spot on the wall. “Then
don’t ask.”
“I don’t know anything,” Isaac repeats slowly. “But I am worried about you. I’m
worried that you’ve gotten in over your head.”
Derek’s fingernails dig into the chair, leaving jagged claw marks in the
cushion. “You might be right about that.”
Isaac sighs. “Again,” he says after a minute of silence, sounding even timider
than before, “I don’t know anything. And I’m not judging. But, you know . . .
he’s my age. Which isn't very old at all.”
Derek has to count to ten to keep from biting his own tongue off. “I am well
aware of that,” he says finally. “Believe me, I don’t need to be reminded.”
Isaac squirms.
“Yeah, well. Okay. Just as long as you know what you’re doing.” Derek laughs
mirthlessly.
“I’ve never known what I’m doing. I thought you would have guessed that by
now.”
*****
Derek sees Allison across the street while he’s filling up the Camaro at the
gas station. She looks more or less the same as she did when he saw her several
months ago, although perhaps a bit paler. Somewhat gaunt, like she hasn’t
gotten quite enough to eat.
She’s talking with Lydia, and though neither of them are smiling, they don’t
look miserable. They’re eating ice cream and sitting together on the hood of
Lydia’s car. It’s all very normal.
Allison brushes her hair out of her eyes and freezes, noticing Derek watching.
They stare at each other unblinkingly as the cars zoom by. Derek’s not sure
what his expression looks like - angry, guilty, tense, none of the above - but
Allison’s left eye twitches in the ghost of a flinch, and she looks away first.
She must say something to Lydia because the other girl looks up a few seconds
later and catches Derek’s eye, her mouth thinning out dangerously.
They whisper in hushed tones, and then Lydia nudges Allison’s shoulder and the
two clamber off the hood and go to toss away their cones. They get back in the
car and drive away without sparing Derek a second glance.
The gas pump dings to signal the car is full, and Derek goes to remove the
nozzle, heart beating a little faster than usual. He feels a little queasy, but
he swallows back the bile and snatches the little printed receipt, climbs back
in the car and turns the key.
*****
“Do you want to know what I think?” Peter asks, slinking out from the shadows
to loom over Derek’s shoulder.
Derek taps at the keyboard and doesn’t look up. “Not even a little.”
Peter squats down beside him. “I think it’s good for you. You need a little
more control in your life.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“I mean it. The others might not be so understanding, but I am happy for you.”
Derek glares at the computer screen and doesn’t move until he hears his uncle’s
footsteps fade away.
*****
The witch finally makes an appearance. Because of course she does.
Derek struggles, tied down at the altar by chains laced with wolfsbane. He
stares up at the crucifix looming above, and the unseeing gold-flaked eyes of
the Jesus sculpture stare back down at him. Silent and judging.
Isaac cries out in pain as the witch breaks his arm and kicks him aside like
he's nothing but a rag doll. “Stay down, pup” she sneers, and turns to walk
back up the center aisle of the church, back to the altar. “It will all be over
soon, my pet,” she croons, stroking Derek’s cheek. “Just stay still and you
won’t feel much of anything.”
Great bolts of blue lightning strike back and forth across the ceiling,
smashing large chunks of the rafters to smithereens. The wood catches fire.
“To the Dark Lord Kȍv̊oṣhka, I offer this sacrifice!” the witch cries, hands
held aloft. “Please accept my humble offering and rise forth from the darkness
to guide your faithful servant’s hand!”
The silver bowl on the floor beneath the altar rattles. The liquid contents
begin to swirl.
Derek grits his teeth, straining at his bindings with all his might. It’s no
use. Craning his neck to look out over the rows of pews, he sees that Peter -
the God damn coward - has fled and Isaac is still unconscious. Scott is
crawling determinedly up the aisle, but his back is still broken. He’s not
healing fast enough.
The witch trembles with excitement, unsheathing her dagger and raising it high.
“On this, the holiest of nights, I-”
She cuts off with a gasp, eyes bulging in their sockets. Derek feels a thrill
of triumph as he sees the blade of a dragon-glass katana sticking through the
front of her chest. Stiles stands up from his hiding spot and drives the sword
in deeper. “I’ll take that, thanks,” he hisses, snatching the dagger out of the
witch’s hand and dropping it behind him before swinging the blade upward.
Derek closes his eyes as a shower of crimson rains down on the altar. The
lightning above disappears, and one of the chandeliers comes loose as the
burning support beam snaps in half. It all comes crashing down and obliterates
a huge section of benches on the left-hand side of the building.
“And the human saves the day again,” Derek remarks as Stiles fishes the key out
of the corpse’s robes. “Care to rub it in?”
“Maybe later.” Stiles unlocks the chains and pulls Derek to his feet. We should
probably get out of here first.”
“Don’t mind me!” Scott shouts from the floor, covering his head as more of the
ceiling starts to crumble and fall. “Just helpless and injured over here, no
big deal!”
“Coming, buddy!” Stiles yells. He drops the blood-soaked katana on the floor
and runs down the steps towards his friend. Derek shakes off his restraints and
charges past the burning wreckage of the chandelier, bending down to scoop
Isaac off the ground before making for the exit.
Outside, the four stand together on the hillside and watch the church go up in
flames. The steeple crumples inward, and sparks explode into the night like a
million fireflies swarming together before blinking out of existence.
Stiles’ face flickers in the glow, cheeks streaked with blood, clothes
drenched. Scott’s teeth chatter in the cold as he leans on Stiles for support,
and Isaac stares numbly as the distant sound of police sirens draws nearer.
Derek jerks himself out of the reverie, coughing to catch the others’
attention. “We need to leave before they get here,” he says.
“Agreed,” Scott says, wincing as he tries to stand up straight. He heads off
over the far side of the hill. “Stiles?”
“Coming,” Stiles says, sparing a long glance at Derek before following. Derek
watches him go.
“Derek?” Isaac tugs on the Alpha’s sleeve anxiously.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
They disappear over the hill as the sky turns red and blue, illuminated by the
light of the cruisers as they converge on the scene of carnage and destruction.
*****
“I’ve been waiting,” Stiles says when Derek slides in through his window later
that night. He pats the bed invitingly. “We don’t have to be quiet. Dad’s still
out.”
“I think I could love you,” Derek blurts out, immediately wishing an abyss
would open up in the earth and swallow him whole. His cheeks redden with
embarrassment, but he forces himself to not look away.
Stiles gapes at him. “Uh.”
“No, I mean, I don’t,” Derek is quick to amend. “Love you. I don’t. Not yet.”
He scratches the back of his head. “But I could. If we keep doing this, I think
I will.”
“Oh.” Stiles stands up slowly. His expression morphs into something complicated
and vulnerable. “But we barely even like each other.”
“Yes,” Derek agrees, “but I don’t think it matters. Not to me.”
Stiles leans forward like he’s about to step closer, then hesitates and ends up
pivoting back to the same spot. “Alright. So what are you saying, exactly?”
Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. I know this isn’t what we agreed on, or what we
thought this was supposed to be. What do you want to do?”
“Jesus, Derek . . .” Stiles closes his eyes, head dipping downwards. His
shoulders slump. “I can’t be responsible for your feelings,” he says after a
long pause. “I have too many issues of my own, good as I am at hiding them. Do
you have any idea how long it took to convince myself that you were actually
looking at me the way I thought you were? I mean, look at yourself and then
look at me.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Derek says immediately, forcefully. He can’t help himself.
Stiles’ mouth quirks.
“I don’t know if I can be the person in charge of making sure your heart stays
unbroken.”
“I’m not asking you to be.” Derek steps closer, carefully, like he’s trying not
to spook a frightened deer. “All I need is for you to tell me if you think you
could love me back. Someday. Even a little bit?”
Stiles frowns, rubbing at his elbow. He slowly drags his gaze up to meet
Derek’s. “I think so. Yeah.” He grabs Derek’s wrist loosely. “Yes.”
Derek lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “Okay.” Stiles
smiles tentatively, cautiously hopeful.
“Okay.”
*****
The sheriff doesn’t say anything for a very long time. Derek fidgets nervously,
looking down at the carpet. The clock ticks noisily on the wall.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you right now,” the older man
says eventually, voice ice cold.
Derek doesn’t hesitate. “You can if you want to,” he says honestly, a small
part of him hoping the man actually will. “I won’t resist.”
The sheriff snorts, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes. “I need a drink.”
He stands and goes to the nearby cabinet, returning with a pair of glasses and
a bottle of whiskey. “Most of my department thinks you’re a criminal,” he says,
pouring. “Some still think you’re a murderer.” He snatches up the fuller of the
two cups and pushes the other towards Derek. He sits back in his chair with a
soft groan. “I never believed that. Although you seem determined to convince me
otherwise.”
“No, sir.”
“Hmm.” The sheriff takes a long swig, grimacing as he swallows the alcohol
down. “You’ve had sex with my son,” he says, not phrasing it as a question.
“Yes,” Derek affirms, answering anyway. The sheriff glowers.
“And you are aware that he is legally a minor in the eyes of the state?”
“I am.” Derek rubs his palms together, choosing to focus on the glass in front
of him rather than the other man’s face.
“I see.” The sheriff finishes his drink. “Does my son love you?” he asks
unexpectedly.
Derek blinks. “No,” he answers after being prompted by an impatient glare. “At
this point, he would probably stop seeing me if you ask him to.”
The older man laughs, and there’s not a trace of humor in the sound. “If you
know Stiles half as well as I do, you know nothing in the world will stop him
from doing exactly what he intends to do. Regardless of what I tell him.”
Derek nods. “You’re probably right.”
The sheriff refills his glass. “I know I’m right.” He glares at the wall,
shaking his head. “You’re coming over this weekend,” he says eventually. “We’re
going to eat, and we’re going to talk. That’s not negotiable.”
Derek’s shoulders slump in relief. He stands up and extends a hand. “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t like this, Hale,” the sheriff says, pointedly ignoring the handshake.
“A better man would have looked for someone else. Someone who isn’t a child. A
better man would have waited, at least.”
Derek swallows. “A better man would have,” he agrees.
*****
So they eat.
The sheriff grills out steaks, and Stiles fixes asparagus and sweet potatoes -
“They’re healthier for you, Dad,” he insists when his father grumbles - and
they sit together at the kitchen table and eat, like they’re already family.
Stiles averts his eyes from both Derek and his father, and he keeps his head
down while he cuts into his food. He eats quickly, and the steaks bleed red
onto the plate, juices dribbling down his chin when he chews.
The questions don’t start until after the meal, and they’re straightforward and
to the point. It’s everything Derek was expecting, and they end the evening
right back where they started; at grudging acceptance.
Afterwards, while Derek is washing up in the bathroom, he hears them talking
together at the sink while they clean the dishes.
“If I thought for a moment that he was forcing you, he’d be behind bars in a
second,” the sheriff says. “You know that, right?”
“Yes, Dad,” Stiles says, sounding fond and exasperated. “I know.”
There’s a long pause, filled only by the sound of running water and scrubbing.
The sheriff clears his throat. “You can tell me, you know. If he’s pressuring
you. If he’s pushing you too far.” He hesitates. “You’re not afraid of him, are
you?” he asks quietly.
Listening closely, Derek can just imagine Stiles’ amused smile, the way his
mouth might quiver as he holds back a laugh. “No, Dad. He’s afraid of me.”
End Notes
     First fanfic ever. Hope it wasn't awful!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!