Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/915211.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Isaac_Lahey, Vernon_Boyd, Scott_McCall,
      Allison_Argent
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Canon-Typical_Violence, Character
      Death, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Drug_Addiction, Recovery, Nightmares,
      Masturbation, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Pack_Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      AO3_Fundraiser_Auction_Fics
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-06 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 37376
****** The Old Familiar Sting ******
by the_deep_magic
Summary
     To say the nightmares started back up again would be inaccurate –
     they never really went away, but they had faded to something
     manageable.
     Not anymore.
Notes
     Warnings: underage, canon-typical violence, CHARACTER DEATH (not main
     pairing), grief, intravenous drug use, addiction, mentions of past
     trauma, angst
     Spoilers: none for S3, canon-compliant through S2
     Written for Rae for the AO3 auction, based on a prompt from this_gif.
     Please heed the warnings – this is pretty intensely angsty at the
     beginning, but it eases up, I promise. See end notes for more details
     (and spoilers). Title from “Hurt” (I imagined the Johnny Cash
     version). Eternal thanks to aliassmith for her feedback and support
     (and to Rae for her patience)!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
He only knew about it because of Laura.  Not that sweet, perfect Laura would
have anything to do with that sort of thing.  But once upon a time, she’d met
some werewolf junkies from Portland who knew a guy in southern Oregon who could
mix you up some stuff.  And she made the mistake of telling her little brother.
“Isn’t that insane, Derek?  Who would willingly do that to themselves?  Not to
mention what would happen if hunters started up an operation like that – they
could mix anything in there.”
Derek was only half-listening at the time, because he was thinking about the
next time he’d get to fuck his girlfriend.  The one who turned out to be a
hunter.
If she’d been mixing drugs instead of flammable chemicals, Derek would be the
only one dead.
                                      &&&
The alpha pack delivered Erica’s body to the burnt-out house on a Tuesday.
They delivered the other half three days later.
Isaac vomited, Scott wouldn’t come near her, and Stiles… Stiles wept openly. 
He was the one who helped bury her in a grave near where Laura had been.  When
they finished, he asked for a moment alone and Derek went inside, focusing on
the wind rushing through the holes in the walls so he wouldn’t hear the last
words Stiles said to her.
Derek remembered first approaching her in the hospital.  She was wearing
nothing but a flimsy gown, looking like a cornered animal, and he’d slid his
hands up her legs and all but seduced her.
Because he thought she’d be useful.
Just like Kate had done to him.
                                      &&&
Peter said the worst part was in the waiting, in the calm before the storm.
Peter was wrong.
The worst part was the storm, when the alpha pack finally descended in full
force.  They’d kept Boyd alive but had given him something that kept him
feral.  When they let him loose, he killed Peter, but only after a long fight. 
In the end, Peter was no match for Boyd’s strength, amplified by whatever was
in his system.  Boyd fought like a cornered animal – even Derek probably
couldn’t have taken him, if he’d even been able to break out of the mountain
ash circle that had trapped him with Isaac and Scott.  Stiles broke an arm and
two ribs giving Boyd enough sedative to down an elephant, and that was after
Boyd was exhausted from the fight and full of Allison’s arrows.
When Deaton concocted something to flush Boyd’s system, at least Boyd was
spared the memory of what he’d done.  But he also had to be told about Erica. 
The sickest part was that they would always wonder if Boyd was the one who’d
done it.
When the time came, Derek let Boyd be the one to tear Deucalion’s head off.
                                      &&&
Instead of bringing them together, it pushed them farther apart.  Isaac moved
into a foster home but spent nearly all his time with Scott, who began avoiding
Derek altogether despite the truce they’d formed when the alpha pack arrived,
and Allison had no reason to come in contact with Derek.  With school out for
the summer, Boyd would disappear for weeks at a time, and though it actually
made Derek sick with worry, he knew anything he might try to say would make it
worse.  Jackson and his family had left before the whole thing went down, and
while he heard Lydia was still in town, she wanted nothing to do with any of
them save Allison.  Derek didn’t blame her.
And Peter, of course, was gone for good.  Derek doubted even the blackest magic
would resurrect him this time, even if someone could find all the pieces. 
Derek alternately mourned him and felt sick for it.  Even as a liar, a
manipulator, and a killer, he was the only family Derek had left, and even that
had been taken away now.
That left Stiles.  Derek assumed his loyalties would be with Scott, but Derek
spotted Stiles putting flowers on Erica’s grave once, and from then on there
were new ones every week.  Stiles didn’t seek him out, didn’t come to his loft,
but he would at least acknowledge Derek in public.  And he would call every
once in a while to see if there were any new threats and to check up on Boyd. 
Why he didn’t just call Boyd himself, Derek didn’t know.
Stiles asked Derek once if there was anything he could do for him.
As usual, the words came out all wrong, but Derek hoped he at least sounded
more exhausted than angry.  “Stiles, what could you possibly do for me?”
There was a pause.  “Nothing, I guess.  Not a thing in the world.”
He still called, but he never asked again.
                                      &&&
To say the nightmares started back up again would be inaccurate – they never
really went away, but they had faded to something manageable.  Since Kate died,
Derek would wake up in a cold sweat instead of chest-crushing paralysis, and
he’d smell the remains of the takeout in the trash in the kitchen instead of
charred wood and smoke.
Not anymore.
Now, the only way to keep from hearing the screams, the crackling of both wood
and flesh burning, was to keep from falling asleep altogether.  He couldn’t
stop sleeping completely, of course, but he worked out long into the night,
past his supernatural endurance just on the hope that he could pass out for a
few hours without dreaming.  It didn’t work, of course, and he walked around
like a zombie during the daylight, rarely leaving his loft.
It took a full month of that before he tried to contact the guy in southern
Oregon, though he had to go to Portland first to get a name.  The werewolf
community there was small and tight-knit, and they had heard what happened to
Derek’s family.  That alone was enough; he didn’t even have to tell them about
the alpha pack.
He watched the guy – Terrence – mix the stuff, but there could have been
anything in those bottles.  All Derek told Terrence was that he wanted to sleep
without dreaming, and the guy gave a knowing nod and started combining herbs
and minerals in measurements apparently only he knew until he produced a small
bag full of gray powder that looked, fittingly, like ash.
“Dissolve a little of this in saline.  None of that spoon-and-lighter shit,”
Terrence said.  “And it works faster if it goes right into the vein.  Oh, and I
threw in a little something extra just for fun.  Make you forget your
troubles.”
Back at the loft, Derek wasn’t sure which was more pathetic: what he was
actually doing, or the fact that he had to Google how to do it.  He’d never had
a shot or a blood draw in in his life – never needed to – and even he knew
copying the little bit he’d seen in movies was beyond stupid.  Trusting the
internet probably wasn’t much better, but at least there was some consensus
from people who seemed to know what they were talking about.
He still managed to hold out three more days, but when he woke up with his
claws buried in his own thighs, anything seemed preferable to a few more hours
alone with his subconscious.  He was careful with the tourniquet, with finding
a vein and injecting the stuff properly.  Anything strong enough to get him
fucked up could potentially be strong enough to kill him; he knew that much.
That first time, he shot up on the bed, carefully laying everything down on the
nightstand when he was done.  He assumed he’d simply lose consciousness and he
had no intention of waking up on the floor.
He didn’t lose consciousness.  At least, not right away.
It started with a fizzing in his veins, like his blood had been replace by
champagne.  The more it fizzed, the lighter his body became, until he was sure
he was floating above the bed.  His eyes had slipped shut at some point; he
didn’t remember doing that, but there were bursts of color flaring behind his
eyelids – not the scalding heat of red and orange but cool blues and greens;
warm, comforting amber and brown.  He smelled the forest, the rain, clean skin
and fresh grass and earthy desire.
There were moments of semi-lucidity where he remembered there was something he
was supposed to forget, but even in those moments he couldn’t recall what it
was.  There was nothing but the present, the sweetness of right here, right
now.  No pain or worry or even thought.  Just feeling, pure sensation.
He had no idea how long it lasted – time had lost its meaning within seconds of
the hit – but slowly the bubbles in his blood started to pop, one by one. 
Maybe it should’ve hurt, but it didn’t.  In fact, it even tickled a little as
the euphoria eased off and he felt slowly lowered back down to the bed.
He slept for fourteen hours without moving and didn’t dream once.
                                      &&&
Derek wasn’t completely naïve about addiction; he was able to ration the stuff
at first.  Iron self-discipline had been the only thing keeping him going for
years, and he wasn’t about to abandon it now.  Once a week, that’s all he’d
allow himself.  Once a week he could get a full night’s sleep, preceded by an
indeterminate amount of semi-waking peace.
Before the month was out, he was up to twice a week.  How the fuck was he
supposed to keep functioning if he couldn’t sleep, for fuck’s sake?  Just
because things in his territory were calm now didn’t mean they would be for
long.  Something else was bound to come searching for them, out to prove itself
or just cause havoc, and Derek wouldn’t be able to face it if he was an
exhausted wreck.
Boyd, when he came by, said Derek was looking a little better.  Isaac told
Derek he was glad Derek was sleeping again.  Derek’s body apparently
metabolized the stuff by the time he woke up, so there wasn’t any lingering
scent for the betas to pick up, and he’d been able to push himself harder
during his workouts.  Only Stiles looked at him strangely, and it made Derek’s
insides twist whenever Stiles stared at him for just a beat too long.  He came
by to tell Derek that they were talking about starting up movie nights again –
something they’d done before… before – but that Scott and Allison, and
therefore probably Isaac, would only do it if it took place at Scott’s house.
“You guys have fun with that,” Derek said, trying not to roll his eyes.
“Dude, you’re invited,” Stiles said, gesturing back and forth between them. 
“This is an invitation.  I am inviting you.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“C’mon, it’s just movie night.  You don’t even have to talk to anybody if you
don’t want to.  In fact, talking during the movie is actively discouraged with
popcorn ballistics.  Which you don’t even have to clean up, because apparently
Scott experienced a traumatic incident where he accidentally ground a popcorn
kernel into the carpet and, to hear him tell it, his mom made him pick it out
with his teeth, so now he’s totally paranoid about popcorn in his living room
and picks it up practically before it hits the floor.  So, y’know, a movie and
live entertainment.”
Derek sighed.  “As fun as that sounds, no.”
He went to close the door, but Stiles stuck his foot in it.  Literally.  There
was predictable flailing.
“Okay, number one, ow.  Number two, this is Scott reaching out to you.  We’ve
been talking about the territory, what we need to do to prevent something like…
what happened from happening again.”  Stiles put his hands firmly on his hips. 
“I repeat: Scott.  Reaching out.  To you.  You know how serious that is, even
if it’s probably going to involve a Katherine Heigl movie at some point.  She
really needs a better agent.”
“Still not interested.”  It seemed so pointless now, a pathetic attempt at
bonding.  Derek didn’t have a pack anymore.  He didn’t have anyone.
Stiles squinted at Derek.  “What’s up with you, man?”
Derek had just been annoyed; now he was starting to get legitimately angry. 
“Did you seriously just ask me that question?  What’s up?”
 “I know what happened.  I was there.  And I know how everyone else is coping
with it except you.”
“What’s there to cope with?” Derek growled.  “Same shit, different day.”
But Stiles didn’t give an inch.  “You realize if I said that to you, you would
rip my throat out, right?  I’m not trying to start a therapy session or
anything, but Boyd and Isaac both said you were doing better, and I’m really
not seeing it.”
“Don’t pretend like you know anything about me.”
“It’s not all about you!” Stiles said, throwing his hands in the air.  “You’ve
got betas who need you, a… whatever the hell Scott is… who can’t hold things
together on his own, and a couple of humans who know what’s out there and what
happens when it crashes the party.” He put his hand on Derek’s arm, and it
looked like it surprised him almost as much as it did Derek.  “We need you,
Derek.  Even if it’s just sitting on the couch watching a shitty movie, it’s
something.”
“Call me when you’re in actual danger or I’ll put you in danger,” Derek
snapped, shoving Stiles back just enough to get him out of the doorway.  “And
enjoy your movie night.”
He didn’t slam the door; he shut it calmly, but he did make sure to click the
deadbolt.
“You’re not the only one who’s going through this, Derek,” he heard in a quiet
voice.  He stood and listened to Stiles’ heartbeat on the other side of the
door for a few long minutes before it finally moved away down the hall.
Derek swore.  If only Stiles would mind his own goddamn… 
This was going to be the third night this week.
                                      &&&
It only took a few more weeks for Derek to stop trying to kid himself – he
couldn’t sleep without it.
He could step back from the whole situation, see it objectively: the high was
never quite as high as the one before, he had to use a little more each time,
he couldn’t stop thinking about it during the day.  He could see it happening
and he couldn’t stop it.  Worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.
 
It was the only good thing in his life, and it was tainted by guilt and secrecy
and weakness.  That seemed somehow appropriate.  It didn’t help that he
sometimes heard Laura’s voice as he was about to shoot up, about how insane and
dangerous it is, and he couldn’t retort you don’t know what it’s like without
itbecause she did.  She lived with it nearly as long as Derek had, and she
broke down sometimes, but she always got up again.
Maybe Derek should have let himself break down more often.
Or maybe Laura was just stronger.  Better.  She would never have needed this.
The bag was running empty.
                                      &&&
Terrence was happy to mix him up another batch – for twice the price.  Derek
came within a knife’s edge of asking him to make it stronger this time.  But he
didn’t, and that had to count for something.  He’d just have to ration it more
carefully this time, keep to the same dose no matter what.
That lasted less than a week, when he woke up with his mouth tasting like
ashes.
Derek rarely left his loft anymore.  There was a 24-hour convenience store two
blocks away, and when he had to, Derek would stay up past midnight before
getting what provisions he could.  Boyd was still coming over occasionally, and
usually brought food, but Isaac had stopped entirely.  And Derek could hear the
godawful rattle of the Jeep a mile away in plenty of time to bolt the door,
though he certainly wasn’t fooling Stiles by pretending not to be home. 
Sometimes Stiles sat against the outside of his door for hours, usually just
reading or typing away on the computer, but sometimes talking softly, knowing
Derek could hear him.
He talked about neutral things mostly – school, lacrosse, his dad.  He gave
Derek updates that Derek would never have asked for.  Isaac’s grades had
dropped perilously at the end of the year, so his foster parents made him start
seeing a counselor, and it seemed to be working.  Scott’s summer school grades,
on the other hand, were going back up, possibly because the sort-of breakup
meant he and Allison were actually studying instead of “studying” all the
time.  His dad was happy, if puzzled, that the animal attacks seemed to have
stopped, though they were still repairing the station from the Argents’
assault.  Finstock held summer lacrosse practices and constantly bitched about
the loss of one of his co-captains.  Stiles was sorely tempted to tell the
coach what really happened to Jackson just to see if his head would actually
explode.
Stiles rarely talked about himself, save for mentioning the anticlimactic
nature of his seventeenth birthday, and it nearly made Derek crazy.  How was
Stiles dealing so well with all of this?  He was badly hurt in the fight, and
aside from Boyd, he had taken Erica’s death the hardest.  But he just kept
going, kept moving forward as Derek sank deeper and deeper into the hole he’d
been digging for himself.
It ended the same way every time: three short knocks and Stiles saying,
“Please, Derek, open the door.”  He never said it more than once, but he would
wait for at least five minutes before leaving.  Derek didn’t know what would
happen if he opened it.  Sometimes Stiles made him angry – Derek might lose
control and attack him.  Sometimes the melancholy in Stiles’ voice would rip
Derek to shreds – he might simply crumble into dust if Stiles looked at him. 
Sometimes Derek would remember Stiles’ hand on his arm, a warm, firm touch that
asked for nothing in return – Derek might throw his arms around Stiles, tell
him everything, ask for help.
At one point, Derek was on his knees, hand on the doorknob but unable to turn
the lock.
Stiles stayed a long time that day – almost twenty minutes, just standing in
front of the door.  When he finally left, Derek crawled back to his room and
pulled out a fresh syringe.  It wasn’t even sundown yet.
                                      &&&
It could have been anywhere from a few days to a few weeks later; time had
really stopped meaning much to Derek.  Even the cycle of day into night – even
the full moon – ceased to have any meaning.  There was just when Derek was
conscious, when Derek was high, and when Derek was not conscious.  He only knew
that the first state was barely tolerable and the second was getting shorter
while the third got longer.
He’d stopped working out a long time ago.  It seemed pointless now.  He wasn’t
too far gone to realize that he was of no help to anyone like this.  The fact
that no one was even asking for help made his uselessness all the more
obvious.  At least he wasn’t getting in anyone’s way.
So when he felt the hard slap to the side of his face and heard the resulting
curse, he thought he was hallucinating.  Another slap, another bout of
swearing, and Derek managed to open his eyes, though it took them a few seconds
to focus as his brain simultaneously tried to descramble the sounds into actual
words.
“—again, because even your face is made of fucking granite, I swear to god,
Derek, I will—”
Derek managed a grunt, and the shape in front of him stopped moving.  He picked
out the eyes first, then the nose, then the gaping mouth.
Stiles.
“Are you actually awake?  C’mon, Derek, you gotta give me more than caveman-
ese.”
“Only—” Derek started, finding his mouth dry as cotton.  “Only ‘f you stop
slapping me.”
“Oh my god.  Oh my god,” Stiles said, gripping Derek by the shoulders and
shaking him.  “Can you sit up?”
Surely this would all go away if Derek just closed his eyes.  But as soon as he
did, he got another slap, followed by fingers grabbing his nipple and twisting.
“Motherfucker,” Derek groaned, propping up on one elbow.  “Stiles, get out of
here.”
He could see Stiles in more detail now, looming over him on the bed and looking
pissed.  “Not a chance.  Not until you tell me what the fuck this is,” he
snapped, pointing to Derek’s other arm.
Shit, Derek had passed out last night before he even took the needle out.  He
forced himself to sit up and do it now, not even watching as the small puncture
wound healed itself before he could even pull off the tourniquet.  “It’s just
something to help me sleep.”
Stiles’ laugh sounded more like a cry of pain.  “Derek, it’s four o’clock in
the afternoon.”
“So?”
“So nobody’s seen you in weeks, and you haven’t answered calls or texts in
three days.  I talked to Boyd yesterday and he said the last time he saw you,
you smelled weird.  I came over here to make sure you weren’t dead.  Usually I
can at least hear you moving around, but I pounded on the door for a good five
minutes and for once you didn’t even tell me to get lost.”
Derek was having trouble following all of that, but he knew Stiles shouldn’t be
in here.  “Did you break in?”
“Yeah, and I’m not going to apologize, because for about a minute and a half
there, I thought you were dead.  What are you shooting up with?  It’s nothing
Deaton gave you, I sure as hell know that.”  Stiles held up the small plastic
bag of gray powder.  “What is this stuff?”
“Where did you get that?” Derek growled.
“On your nightstand, dipshit.  If you were trying to be stealthy, you failed. 
Tell me what this is.”
Derek groaned, seeing how close to empty the bag was.  He wasn’t sure he was
capable of making another trip north.  “I don’t know.”
“Tell me what it is or I’ll flush it.”
Derek didn’t even remember moving, but he suddenly found himself crouched over
Stiles’ prone body, fangs out, one hand around Stiles’ throat and the other
around his forearm.  With his claws piercing Stiles’ skin.  Horrified, Derek
leapt back before the stench of Stiles’ fear could hit him.  He hadn’t lost
control like that since he was a teenager.
Stiles, of course, had moved quickly away from the bed and toward the door, not
turning his back on Derek.  He was rubbing at his arm, which didn’t seem to be
bleeding much, but Derek could smell it anyway and it was like shards of glass
digging under his skin.  He’d harmed a human.  He’d harmed Stiles, and he’d
done it without even thinking.  He just stared at the bed, where Stiles had
dropped the baggie.  “You need to go.”
“No.”
Derek stared up at him.  “I didn’t mean to do that.  It’s not safe to be around
me right now.”
Stiles stared back defiantly.  “Yeah, I got that, thanks.  But if you think I’m
leaving you like this, you’ve actually lost your mind.”
“Stiles, please leave,” Derek said, too humiliated and terrified to even care
about the plaintive tone of his own voice.
“What’s in that bag?” Stiles repeated.
“I.  Don’t.  Know,” Derek gritted out.
“You’re sitting there telling me you don’t know what you’re injecting into your
own body.”
“It helps me sleep,” Derek muttered.  “I don’t dream.”
“You really don’t know what’s in it, do you?” Stiles said after an agonizingly
long moment, looking just as frightened as he had when Derek had attacked him. 
“Where did it come from?”
“A—a healer in Oregon.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s just a guy who mixes stuff up for werewolves.”
“Stuff to help them sleep,” Stiles said disbelievingly, his eyes narrowing.
“Sometimes.”
“Okay, let’s try something different.  How much have you been ‘sleeping,’
Derek?”
Derek knew Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat, couldn’t smell the fear in his
sweat, but those eyes seemed to pierce right through him and Derek knew he’d
get caught if he lied.  “I only use it when I need it.”
“And how often do you need it?”
Belated rage suddenly boiled up in Derek’s gut – this little shit had broken
into his apartment and was now grilling him on things that were none of his
goddamn business.  He told Stiles as much.
“It’s none of my goddamn business if you’re killing yourself?” Stiles retorted.
“I’m not—”
“The hell you aren’t.  Have you looked in a mirror lately?  I came in here and
found you unconscious with a needle in your arm, lying next to an almost empty
bag of unidentifiable powder.  How long has this been going on, Derek?”
“What part of ‘none of your business’ confuses you?”
“The part where my friend would rather shoot werewolf heroin than actually see
the light of day!  Do you really not see the problem here?”
Just as suddenly, all the rage drained out of Derek like a stopper had been
pulled.  He had just woken up but he was still so tired, and he just wanted
Stiles to leave.  “It’s not heroin.  The nightmares started again, and this is
the only thing that stops them.  You know what that’s like.  After your mom…”
It was a low blow and it landed perfectly.  Stiles’ mouth pressed together in a
tight line, his eyebrows furrowing, and he glanced back toward the door, like
all he wanted to do was storm out of it.  He started to turn…
…and stopped.
“No.  I know what you’re trying to do, and no.”  He ran both of his hands
through his hair, which had grown out enough that it stuck up at all angles
when he was finished.  “Be an asshole all you want, I’m still not leaving. 
Because the second I step out of here, I know that needle’s going back in your
arm.”
Stiles was right.  Derek must’ve skipped right past the denial stage, because I
can stop any time I want to sounded laughable even in his own ears.  He’d had a
problem; he’d fixed it.  He’d just managed, as usual, to do it in the worst
possible way.
“What do you want me to do, Stiles?  Get by on maybe two hours’ sleep a night? 
And when I do, relive the worst moments of my life every single time?”
Stiles’ face fell as his arms dropped to his sides.  “You’re not going outside,
not talking to anyone.  I’m not even sure if you’ve been eating.  Is this
really better than the nightmares?”
Derek didn’t answer.  If Stiles didn’t understand that, there was no way Derek
could explain it to him.
They both spent a moment trying to stare the other down until Stiles finally
blinked.  “Come with me.”
“What?  Where?”
“Your kitchen.”
“No.”
“Derek, I’m not asking you to go frolic in the sunlight.  Just come with me to
the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“Just…” Stiles rubbed a hand across his face, turned, and walked out of the
room.
For a second, Derek thought he’d somehow succeeded in making Stiles leave.  But
no, his heartbeat was still in the loft.  Derek groaned, got off the bed, and
pulled a relatively-clean shirt over his head before going down the stairs.
Stiles was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, a hand clamped over his
mouth and nose.  Derek looked around; everything looked normal.  “What am I
supposed to be seeing here?”
Stiles eyes went wide.  “Seeing?  You mean you don’t smell that?  It hit me
like a baseball bat when I walked by on my way in.”
Derek concentrated.  He hadn’t spent much time in the kitchen, true, but there
couldn’t be…  His nose picked up something… off.  Okay, so he hadn’t taken the
trash out in a while.  But the smell was strongest near the refrigerator, and
when he opened it, Stiles leaned forward to take a peek, then dashed back into
the living room, as far away as possible.
Everything in the refrigerator was rancid.  Derek slammed the door in disgust.
“You couldn’t even smell that, dude,” Stiles said, his voice high as he pinched
his nostrils shut.  “Tell me how that’s okay.  Tell me what justifies getting
high and living in filth.”
Derek’s stomach churned hard, whether because of the smell – which he was still
too accustomed to for it to be overpowering – or because of the whole
situation, he couldn’t tell.  He walked out into the living room like he was on
autopilot, knee bumping the corner of the sofa on the way.  The pain barely
even registered.  “What…” he started, swallowing hard against a dry throat. 
“What do I do?”
Stiles didn’t looked relieved, exactly, but the look of horror left his face. 
“You go back in there and double bag that shit – all of it – while I open some
windows.  We take it to the dumpster, and if it turns out I can breathe in the
kitchen after that, I help you clean it.”
Derek nodded and went to get the trash bags.
                                      &&&
Derek still had halfway-decent cleaning supplies, and Stiles did stick around
to help.  He couldn’t go near the fridge without gagging, but the sink and the
floor needed work, too.  Derek thought he saw Stiles’ eyes watering, but Stiles
just turned away when ever Derek tried to look at him.
By the time they were done, the sun was beginning to set.  Derek looked around
the kitchen, smelling only bleach and lemon, and asked, “What now?”
“Be brutally honest with me,” Stiles said.  “Is the state of your bathroom
going to make me vomit?”
Derek ducked his head in shame.  “I… I don’t think so.  I’ve been using it more
than the kitchen, so I think I would’ve noticed… something this bad.”
Stiles looked seriously skeptical, but once upstairs, all he did was frown at
the slightly moldy shower grout and the rust ring in the toilet.  He opened all
the windows in the bedroom and the bathroom, and they silently got to work.
The bathroom didn’t take as long, but when they were finished, Stiles let out a
groan and leaned back against the wall to slide down and sit on his haunches. 
After a few moments, he looked at his watch and groaned again.  “Fuck, I’m
going to be late for dinner.”
Derek offered a hand to help him back to his feet, wondering what exactly to
say next, but Stiles was already speaking.  “Alright, buddy, you’re lucky we’re
on summer break.  And my dad leaves for a conference tomorrow, so I can come
back and stay for a few days, but I’m expected to be at home tonight.”
“I’ll be fine—” Derek started, but Stiles glared at him with such sudden heat
that the words dried up in his mouth.
“I don’t want you to be alone tonight,” he said, pulling out his phone.  “Let
me see if Isaac or Boyd is free.”
“No!” Derek yelped, and he just barely stopped himself for lunging for the
phone, but Stiles listened to him for once and put it back in his pocket,
looking at Derek expectantly.  “I… I don’t want them to know about this.”
“They’re your pack,” he said softly.  “They’ll want to help you.  They’re
already worried.”
Derek felt himself break out in a cold sweat.  “No, it’s… it’s because they are
in my pack.  I’m their alpha.  It goes against every instinct I have, to let
them see me…”
Stiles had a look of compassion on his face, but he wouldn’t let Derek leave it
at that.  “See you what?”
Derek shut his eyes and looked away.  It was bad enough to admit this to a
human.  “Weak.  Vulnerable.”
When Derek glanced up again, Stiles was gnawing at his lower lip, deep in
thought, and even when Derek had been held down by the alpha pack, Deucalion’s
claws raking across his throat, he had never felt so deeply at someone’s mercy
before.  Stiles could tell anyone and everyone if he wanted to.
“All right,” Stiles said after a long minute.  “For now.  I think they’re going
to find out eventually, and I think you need to be the one to tell them.  But
you’re obviously not ready for that.  So here’s what we’re going to do.  I
don’t like it, and I don’t think you will, either, but I want you to be safe
tonight.”
Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out the bag of gray powder.
Fortunately, Derek was too stunned to react as he had before when Stiles had
threatened to flush it.  Derek hadn’t seen Stiles pocket it, probably done
while taking a quick break from cleaning the bathroom, and he hadn’t smelled it
on him.
Before Derek had a chance to process confusion into anger, Stiles said, “I’m
not getting rid of this, okay?  We may need to wean you off of it slowly.  I’m
going to say it again, and I want you to listen to my heartbeat.  I will not
dump this.  I will keep it safe until we know you don’t need it anymore.  Do
you believe me?”
Derek, whose claws had come out but who was otherwise under control, nodded.
“Okay,” Stiles said, looking like he’d just managed to avoid stepping in front
of a speeding bus.  “That’s the part you don’t like.  Here’s the part I’m not
going to like.  Since I can’t stay with you tonight, you don’t want anyone else
to stay, and we don’t know what happens if you quit cold turkey…”  Stiles took
a deep breath.  “You’re going to show me what you do with it.  You’re going to
take a normal dose to help you… sleep tonight, or whatever.  Absolutely no more
than you’ve been taking, but no less, either.  I’m going to have to trust you
on this not to try to do something incredibly stupid and take too much, and
you’re going to trust me to hold on to the rest of it while we get this figured
out.  Thoughts?”
Stiles had laid it all out, and even compromised as he was, Derek knew better
than to try to argue with Stiles when he had formed a plan.  There had been no
lie in Stiles’ promise to keep the stuff safe, and Derek hadn’t actually agreed
to wean himself off anything.  This could be negotiated tomorrow, when Derek
wasn’t exhausted from cleaning (since when had mere cleaning exhausted him?)
and had a full night’s sleep.
“You really what me to show you how I…?”
“No,” Stiles sighed.  “But I don’t want you to do anything stupid tonight, and
since this stuff will knock you out until I can come back, we’re going to have
to risk it.”
It wasn’t even 8 o’clock, but Derek wasn’t hungry and the idea of not having to
think about any of this for a few hours was deeply appealing.  Stiles handed
over the bag, and Derek went to work, calmly preparing the dose, getting into
bed, and injecting himself with it.
“I’m going to stay here until you fall asleep,” Stiles said, taking the syringe
gingerly and setting it on the nightstand.
“You don’t have to,” Derek said, already starting to slip under.  “I’ll be fine
now.”
“No.  I need to know.”
Know what? Derek thought, but he was beyond words by then.  The stuff took
longer to hit his system these days, but when it did, the dying light from the
window fractured into a color spectrum that made the whole room look like
stained glass.  Except for Stiles.  All Derek could see of Stiles were the
small drops of crystal that slid slowly down his cheeks.
                                      &&&
When Derek woke, the sun was already streaming in through the blinds and he
could hear someone puttering around downstairs.  His claws were already out
before he remember the previous night, before he recognized Stiles’ heartbeat.
Fuck.
It wasn’t that Derek had been expecting Stiles to forget or flake out on him –
he was the least likely person in Derek’s life to do that.  Derek just… didn’t
know what to expect.  Knowing Stiles, he probably had researched half a dozen
different detox procedures and somehow managed to send a sample of the gray
powder to a crime lab for analysis.
Derek showered in the newly-clean bathroom, resting his head back against the
tiles until the water ran cold.  The last thing he wanted to do was go
downstairs and deal with Stiles.  But Stiles still had the precious last
remains of Derek’s stash.  He would just have to find a way to get it back.  He
didn’t even want to think about what was going to happen when he ran out this
time.
Creeping carefully down the stairs, Derek managed to get right up behind
Stiles, who was putting cans in the kitchen cupboards, and wait for him to turn
around.
 
“Mother of god!” Stiles yelped.  “Well, good to know you haven’t gotten less
stalker-y?”  Then, oddly seriously: “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine, Stiles.  That was the point.”
Something indecipherable flickered across Stiles’ expression for a fraction of
a second before he broke into his usual grin.  “Since you’ve been eating like a
broke college student, I thought I’d go grocery shopping.  Y’know: fruits,
vegetables, meat that doesn’t end in ‘jerky.’”
Derek looked around at the stack of empty bags and the bags yet to be
unpacked.  “How did you pay for all this stuff?”
“That cash you’ve got stuffed in a Mason jar at the back of the bookshelf.”
Derek’s eyes flashed red and his voice deepened.  “How the hell do you know
about that?”
“Everyone knows about that,” Stiles said with an eye-roll.  “A hardcover three-
volume set of the Gulag Archipelago that’s sticking out about five inches from
the rest of the books?  Really, Derek?  I am totally adding a picture of you to
the Wikipedia page on hermits.”
“Stiles…”
“Okay, okay, I probably should’ve asked first.  But seriously, if it weren’t
for the werewolf thing, you’d probably have scurvy by now.  Which reminds me:
vitamin C.”  He chucked an orange at Derek’s head.
Derek caught it easily, intending to wing it right back at Stiles, but it
smelled fresh and ripe, and before Derek could even think about it, he was
using a claw to slice through the peel.
He was dividing it into segments before he noticed that Stiles was watching
him, his lips slightly quirked.  “Close your eyes,” he said.
“What?”
“When you bite into it, close your eyes.”
Derek eyed him suspiciously.
“Oh my god,” Stiles yelped, throwing his hands up.  “I didn’t poison it!  Sniff
it if you don’t believe me.  Or throw it away, whatever.”
Stiles seemed so worked up about it that Derek sighed and shut his eyes before
biting the first piece in half.  There was a momentary bitter tang from the
white pith he hadn’t bothered to peel away before the sweetness of the juice
burst across his tongue.  God, when was the last time he had eaten real food? 
Or even bothered to taste it?  One bite of an orange and he was practically
shivering.  He forced himself to savor the rest of the wedge, spitting the
seeds into the palm of his hand.
As soon as he opened his eyes, Stiles turned away to finish putting the cans
away, but even human ears could have heard the hitch in his breath.
                                      &&&
Stiles hooked up his Wii to the barely-used TV and they played through all the
sports games for most of the day; Derek was not given a choice.  Well, Stiles
had said he could pick a game, but the boxes all looked the same to him –
pictures of heavily-armed, blood-streaked men.  He didn’t understand why Stiles
would want to play at war when his life was already so full of violence, but he
didn’t ask.  And it did feel surprisingly good to crush Stiles at baseball,
even if it was fake.
Stiles was “taking a break” – face-down on the couch like Derek couldn’t smell
his sweat or hear his racing heartbeat – when he surprised Derek by wheezing,
“Dinner?”
Derek wasn’t sure he was actually hungry, but Stiles needed to eat, and he’d
probably expect Derek to join him.  “What are you making?” he asked dryly.
Stiles didn’t miss a beat.  “Chili.”  He popped back up to sit properly on the
couch, grinning even though his cheeks were still flushed with exertion.  “And
you’re going to help.”
“I don’t think you want me in the kitchen.”
“C’mon, if I can make it, it’s, like, the easiest thing ever.”
“So make it yourself.”
“You don’t cook, you don’t eat, Wolfman,” Stiles said, eyebrows furrowing, and
Derek knew there would be no squirming out of it.
And it wasn’t a total disaster – though he had no intention of telling Stiles
he’d managed to drip burning hot grease on his arm while he was draining the
ground beef.  He healed before Stiles could see anything and give him crap
about it.
They didn’t talk much over dinner, but the silence wasn’t as awkward as Derek
had prepared himself for.  They even packed away the leftovers together in the
plastic containers that Stiles had apparently bought for him.  Derek didn’t
even grasp how disturbingly domestic it was until he realized that Stiles
apparently planned to spend the night in the guest bedroom.  Derek knew there
was a bed; there had to be some extra sheets around somewhere.
“I think we can fit in at least two movies before bed,” Stiles said, digging
through one of his duffel bags.  “Burton Batman or Nolan Batman?”
“Do you have anything that’s not based on a comic book?”
Stiles shot him an exasperated look.  “Of course.  I was just trying to go for
a theme.  Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon?”
“Burton Batman.”
That got a grin out of Stiles.  “Excellent choice.”
Somehow Beetlejuice got added on to that as well, and Derek actually yawned
when it was over.  Stiles looked at him, and Derek froze.  Somehow, he’d
managed to forget.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” Stiles said quietly as he plucked out the DVD and shut
everything down.  “We’ll try giving you a half-dose and see how it goes.”
Derek nearly bit clean through his lip with all the things he wanted to say,
most of them things that would make Stiles spit in his face and leave.
Stiles turned to face him.  “You looked good today, Derek.  Better than I’ve
seen you since— Better than I’ve seen you in months.”
“That’s because I slept last night.  You give me half a dose, tomorrow I’ll
look like shit.”
“And you’ll probably feel like shit, yeah.  But you’ll get through it.”
Derek looked away.  The thought of going back to the dreams was terrifying. 
But he’d been dulling his senses, living like a dog in the gutter, and that was
liable to get him and what was left of his pack killed if they faced another
threat.
Derek got ready for bed, brushed his teeth for the first time in god knew how
long with the brand new toothbrush Stiles had bought him, and when he was
finished, Stiles was sitting on the bed holding the familiar plastic bag.
Wordlessly, Derek got out the equipment he needed, and Stiles must have been
paying close attention the previous night, because he measured out exactly half
of what Derek had taken.  Before Derek could inject it, though, Stiles stood.
“Good night, Derek.  I… I can’t watch you do this again.”  He glanced down at
the sealed bag clutched in his hand, then back at Derek.  “Wake me up if you
need me.”
Derek didn’t expect to get much of a high on half a dose, and he didn’t.  He
didn’t expect to fall asleep, either, but he was out within minutes.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Derek woke up convinced he was actually on fire.  His entire body was burning,
and it took him a long time to realize that the crackling sound wasn’t his
searing flesh, but the wet rasp of breath in and out of his lungs.
The top sheet was tangled between his legs and he had soaked the bottom sheet
with sweat.  As soon as he could move, he made his way downstairs – and
straight to Stiles’ collection of duffel bags in the living room.  Derek’s
sense of smell still felt dull, but he knew the scent of the powder, and he was
getting faint traces of it from somewhere in the bags.  He pulled out DVD and
video game cases, opening each one and sniffing them, checking every pocket of
the bags before he realized that it all smelled just a little bit like the
powder, as if Stiles had rubbed the plastic bag over everything.
Derek growled and started to pull the cloth lining of the duffel bags apart,
looking for anything hidden.  Nothing.
Of course.  Stiles wouldn’t leave it out here.  He’d keep it close to him. 
Still aching and sweating, Derek crept into the guest room as quietly as he
could, and even though he was far less than stealthy in his present state,
Stiles was out cold on the mattress.  He hadn’t found sheets for it, but he was
wrapped up in an old, soft quilt.
The bag with Stiles’ clothes in it had the same faint scent, and Derek shook
out each item before tossing it aside.  When the duffel was empty and the
powder was still nowhere to be found, he swung around to look at the bed.
Where Stiles was sitting up, staring at him, mouth agape.
“Where is it?” Derek growled, his voice dropping into alpha command mode.
“I wasn’t going to leave it sitting out,” Stiles said.  His tone was even, but
his heart was racing and that merely served to anger Derek more.  His skin was
still burning, and Stiles had the only thing that would stop it.
“Where is it?” he growled again, lunging on top of Stiles and pinning him to
the bed by his throat.
Stiles reeked of fear, but his face betrayed nothing.  When he didn’t answer,
Derek followed his line of sight to look at Derek’s own hand, the one not
holding Stiles down, claws out and raised.  Derek didn’t remember doing that. 
“Are you going to hurt me?” Stiles asked, his voice only quavering a little,
considering the speed of his heartbeat.  “Because you could.  You could tear me
apart if you wanted to.  Is that what you want?”
“No,” Derek finally said, pulling away from Stiles.  When Stiles sat up, Derek
could see four pinpricks on the side of his neck; evidently, all of Derek’s
claws had been out.  He hadn’t been this out of control since… actually, he
couldn’t ever remember being this far out of control.
He opened his mouth to apologize, then shut it again as Stiles pressed a hand
to Derek’s forehead.  “Jesus, you’re burning up, even for you.  I could feel it
coming off of you in waves.  Get in the shower.”
The urge to fight back had left him completely, and Derek went straight for the
guest room shower.  They hadn’t cleaned it the other day, but it hardly got
used and wasn’t dirty.  Derek stepped in, not bothering to remove his boxers as
he turned on the water as cold as it would go.
The spray stung his burning skin, and Derek half expected the water to
evaporate into steam as soon as it hit him.  It didn’t, of course, and Derek
stared at his hands, watching his claws slowly retract.  Eventually, the water
began to cool him, but only from the outside – he still felt like his insides
were boiling, even when he began to shiver.
He shut off the water, standing mostly naked and dripping without a towel in
sight, feeling utterly lost and humiliated.  There was a soft knock at the door
before it cracked open just enough that a hand holding a towel extended into
the bathroom.  Derek took it, and the door closed again.
Being a born wolf meant Derek was rarely squeamish about nudity, but he felt
utterly naked leaving the bathroom in nothing but a towel.  He’d left his
sodden boxers on the floor of the shower, not that they would have helped
much.  But before he could get to the stairs, Stiles was waiting for him just
outside the kitchen with a glass of cold water.  Derek drained it quickly, and
when he handed it back, Stiles said, “Put something on and come back down here,
okay?”
Derek nodded, strangely glad to have someone tell him what to do next. 
Apparently he’d lost the ability to decide for himself.  He put on pajama pants
and a fresh t-shirt, but despite the heat still searing through his body, he
was tempted to pull on his jacket, just to feel less naked.
Again, Stiles had water waiting for him when he came back down, and Derek tried
to drink it slower this time as they both went to sit on the couch.  He noticed
how tired Stiles looked – not surprising, since it had only been about three
hours since Derek had gone to sleep.  Fuck, half a dose only bought him three
hours.
“Nightmares?” Stiles asked after a long period of silence.
Derek just glared at him.
“Okay, stupid question.  Look, I researched non-chemical ways to reduce
nightmares, but you’re not going to like them.  There’s meditation and writing
and… talking.”
“Talking?”
“About the nightmares.  Telling someone else.”
Derek could feel his eyes start to glow red with fury.  “Do you really think
that after more than six years, talking is going to—”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, surprisingly firmly.  “Yeah, I kind of do.  Because wolfy
healing doesn’t do a damn thing for PTSD.”
“I’m not crazy,” Derek growled, unable to keep his fangs from dropping.
“Never said you were.  But you’ve been through so much trauma I’m amazed you’re
still functioning at all.”  Then, softer: “I understand why you started using
that stuff.  I do.  But you can’t tell me that it fixed anything, that you’re
better off than you were before.”
Derek shut his eyes and breathed deeply until he felt his anger slowly recede. 
“I can’t control the dreams,” he managed.  “And my control is all I have.”
Suddenly there was a cool hand on his forearm; Stiles had slid next to him on
the couch.  “That’s not true.  You have… okay, this is going to sound corny as
fuck, but you have me and Isaac and Boyd.  And Scott if you really need him. 
And Lydia sort of indirectly, you know, depending on her mood and the weather
and… okay, maybe not Lydia.”
Derek almost smiled at that, but couldn’t quite manage it.  “None of you can
help me with this.”
Stiles shook his head.  “That might not be true.  Did you ever talk about the
fire with Laura?”
“Not… not really.”
“It can help.  They put me on medication for the panic attacks, but they didn’t
go away until I started talking to someone.  And not my dad – we just…
couldn’t.”
“You just want me to start talking about the fire?”  Derek felt like it would
be easier to saw his own arm off.
“And Erica.  And Peter.  What happened with the alpha pack.”  Stiles gave a
small, rueful smile.  “I told you that you weren’t going to like it.”
Derek closed his eyes again and leaned his head against the back of the couch. 
What was Stiles expecting from him?  Derek wasn’t even sure the words would
come if he tried.  Laura had talked to him about maybe seeing a therapist after
they left Beacon Hills, but Derek didn’t even want a stranger knowing that he
was responsible for the death of his entire family.  Stiles hadn’t actually
said that he expected Derek to talk to him about any of it, but it was
implied.  He couldn’t tell the full truth about the fire to any therapist even
if he wanted to, nor could he talk about the alpha pack.  And he couldn’t talk
about any of it with his betas.
The hand returned to his forearm, but this time it was warm and gripping him
tightly.  “Derek,” he heard Stiles say.  “Derek, you’re shaking.”
Derek opened his eyes and came to the sudden realization that he was freezing. 
The sweat-soaked clothes he was wearing now felt like ice against his skin, and
his teeth were starting to chatter.  “Cold,” he managed.
Stiles was already up off the couch.  “I’ll get you some blankets.”
Derek didn’t know how Stiles knew where to find them, but he’d found one for
himself.  It seemed like an eternity before he returned with the quilt that had
been on his bed and a second one that smelled stale and dusty.
“These were all I could find.  Remind me to take you shopping for more than one
set of bedding.”  He glanced over Derek.  “Better take that shirt off.  It’s
probably making it worse.”
Derek wordlessly stripped out of the shirt and accepted the blankets, allowing
Stiles to help him wrap himself up and lay down across the couch.  He even
lifted up to allow Stiles to sit at one end and hold Derek’s head in his lap.
“I don’t guess your, uh, supplier said anything about withdrawal symptoms.”
Derek growled by way of answer.
“Didn’t think so.  Are you tired at all?
“No.”
“Okay, that’s… that’s probably for the best right now.”
“Why?  Are you going to make me talk all night?”
Derek’s head shook a little with the vibration as Stiles laughed.  “I’m here to
help you, not torture you.  I wouldn’t even subject me to that.”  Then his tone
became more serious.  “But I’ll always listen.  Please remember that.  If you
need to talk, I am actually capable of shutting up.”
Then he leaned down and sort of awkwardly hugged Derek’s shoulder and head. 
Derek didn’t complain because he was cold and Stiles’ body heat felt good.  He
had the brief urge to ask for more, but bit down on his lip just in time.
“You want me to put in another movie?” Stiles asked.
That would mean Stiles getting up and leaving him there, cold and shivering, if
only for a minute.  “Not really.”
“Okay.  You feeling any warmer?”
Derek still felt the cold deep in the core of him, just as he had felt the
burning heat, but the blankets were helping.  “A little.”
“Good.  I might nod off here in a few minutes, but if you need something, just
wake me up.”  With that, Stiles laid one arm easily across Derek’s shoulder and
sank back into the couch.
The thought of trying to find where Stiles had hidden the bag only came in
passing – Derek was still shaking, and he didn’t want to leave the cocoon of
blankets.  And Stiles’ arm over him felt so warm, even through all the fabric,
that he briefly wished Stiles would stretch out next to him.  There wasn’t much
room on the couch, but if Stiles held him close…
But Stiles was already falling asleep, his breathing evening out.  Derek tried
to focus on Stiles’ heartbeat to block out the unfamiliar coldness.  He never
quite managed to drop into sleep, but the steady beat lulled him into a
drifting haze as the shivering eventually stopped.
                                      &&&
Once daylight was shining through the curtains, Derek could no longer stay
still, even though Stiles was snoring.  Make that especially because Stiles was
snoring.
The sun hurt his eyes.  Usually he could consciously scale down his heightened
vision, but he seemed unable to do it now and his head throbbed.  Maybe this
was what being hung over felt like.  Still, he gravitated toward the window. 
The bone-deep cold was gone, but the warmth of the sun still felt good on his
skin.
There was a gnawing in his stomach that took him a good thirty seconds to
recognize as hunger.  Had he been merely feeding himself, when he remembered
to, out of habit all this time?  It was disturbing, being so out of sync with
his body.  All his life, he’d been taught how to listen to his body, control
it, feel its changes and know what they meant.  And then his survival had
depended on it.  He couldn’t believe that he’d not only thrown that away, but
that he hadn’t even realized it until now.
Despite his hunger, the fully-stocked kitchen intimidated him with choice.  But
he wasn’t too out of it to hunt for breakfast food, and even his rudimentary
cooking skills were up to the task.
He intended to let Stiles sleep as long as possible, but thirty seconds after
the bacon hit the frying pan, Stiles was stumbling into the kitchen, making
soft humming noises of approval.  “Bacon, yes,” Stiles mumbled, wiping the
sleep out of his eyes.  “Bacon makes everything better.”  He went for the
fridge and pulled out two cartons of orange juice.  “Are you a pulp guy or a
no-pulp guy?  I didn’t know, so I got both.”
Derek snorted.  “If I want pulp, I’ll eat an orange.”  He definitely did not
blush thinking about doing just that the day before.
Stiles made an offended noise.  “This is never going to work out between us. 
I’m sorry, we’re too different.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Derek said dryly, wondering if that was something
Stiles thought about, the two of them.  It was a thought that was popping up
distressingly often for Derek with Stiles making himself impossible to ignore.
“More pulp for me then,” Stiles said cheerily, hopping up on a kitchen stool
and drinking straight from the carton as he watched Derek finish up the bacon
and scramble some eggs.  When Derek turned around, Stiles was waiting for him
with two plates and a bag of shredded cheddar.
As breakfasts went, it was fairly basic, but Stiles grinned anyway,
particularly when Derek followed his lead and drank his pulpless orange juice
from the carton.  That had worked out pretty nicely, actually.
                                      &&&
Derek put up an enormous amount of resistance before he let Stiles drag him out
shopping for bedding, but truthfully, it felt kind of good to get out of the
loft.  His head still ached and he felt exhausted, but he was pretty sure
laying around all day would only make him dwell on it.  He wasn’t sure he
wanted to try to sleep, if he even could.
Shopping with Stiles was an experience unto itself.  Derek knew Stiles couldn’t
possibly be like this when he went to the store himself – after all, he’d
managed the groceries – but the Bed Bath & Beyond had to have been specifically
designed with ADHD kids in mind.  Anything with “As Seen on TV” written on the
box yanked at Stiles’ attention like a fishing line.
“Do you think you need one of these?”
“Stiles, nobody needs a spinning mop.”
“You’re gonna need some kind of mop, because—ooh!”
His eyes suddenly went wide as he reached for something called a Pocket Hose,
the words THE HOSE THAT GROWS written prominently on the box.  Before he could
even open his mouth, Derek swatted his hand and said, “No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Fine,” Stiles muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  “I’ve already got
one of my own, anyway.” And then Derek could’ve sworn he heard, “In my pants.”
They managed to buy several sets of sheets and some extra pillows and blankets,
plus fresh cleaning supplies, before Derek gave in to his urge to throttle
Stiles.  Just barely.
They got lunch from a Mediterranean food truck and sat in the shade to eat. 
The heat didn’t bother Derek, and the brightness of the sun was dampened by his
sunglasses now, but Stiles was starting to turn pink and began shedding layers
of clothing until he was down to a t-shirt that said “My other car is your
mom.”  The sight of Stiles wolfing down a gyro should have been disgusting, but
he had a smear of tzatziki sauce on his cheek that Derek wanted to lean over
and brush off with his thumb.  Or his tongue.
Before his brain could process that thought, Stiles had finished his last bite
and cleaned his face – his whole face – with a napkin.  “How are you feeling?”
he asked.
Derek bit back on the urge to simply say “fine” and instead took stock of
himself.  “Better,” he said.  “There’s still some light sensitivity, but my
headache’s gone.”   He paused.  “Should my headache be gone?  My senses are
still dulled, but shouldn’t I feel a lot worse?”
“You might come nightfall.  Or you might not.  We know nothing about this stuff
– could be that your metabolism and healing will burn the rest of it out of
your system and cover the physical withdrawal.  But…”
“But?”
Stiles grimaced.  “I don’t think there’s a shortcut on the psychological
addiction.  Sleep and nightmares both have a big psychological component.  And
you don’t crave the stuff now, right?”
Derek shook his head.  “I think about it if I’m not doing anything else, but I
only feel like I really need it at night.”
“I think that’s the psychological part.  The part that’s going to be the
hardest to get through.”
Derek buried his face against his hands.  “I can’t go back to the nightmares,
Stiles.  I can’t live like that, either.”
“I know,” Stiles said quietly, resting a hand on Derek’s shoulder.  “But you
don’t have to do this alone.  I’m not going anywhere.  And we can call Isaac
and Boyd if you want.”
“They wouldn’t come.”
“Of course they would.  They’re still your pack, Derek.”
“Are they?” Derek asked miserably.  “I haven’t seen them in weeks.”
The hand on Derek’s shoulder gave a squeeze.  “They’re hurting, too.  Scott
told me that when Isaac hangs out with him nowadays, most of the time it seems
like he’s somewhere else in his head.  I don’t think Boyd’s parents know where
he goes half the time.  They see their alpha dealing with it on his own and I
think they decided that’s what they’re supposed to do.”
A chasm opened up in Derek’s chest when he thought of his betas suffering
alone.  He’d hardly spared them a thought; he’d convinced himself they didn’t
need him.  Still, though, he didn’t want to add to their pain by putting his
own on their shoulders.  “I still don’t think I can face them.”
“I think it would help all of you,” Stiles said.  “But I get it.  I haven’t
told them anything.  Once you’re clean, will you take them back?”
Derek nodded, the lump in his throat making him unable to speak.  He couldn’t
imagine they’d want to take him back.
They sat in silence for another minute or so before Stiles said, “Let’s go find
somewhere air-conditioned before I melt.”
                                      &&&
The rest of the house wasn’t nearly as filthy as the kitchen and Derek’s
bathroom had been, but it still needed a good cleaning.  Stiles didn’t even
have to talk Derek into it this time, and splitting up the work made it
faster. 
The evening passed with another movie marathon – well, okay, it was just the
extended version of Fellowship of the Ring, but it felt like a marathon.  Derek
had no idea how Stiles, who couldn’t stop moving all day long, could sit
transfixed for nearly four hours, draped across Derek’s couch but completely
still.  Even Derek had started to fidget by the time the Fellowship were
paddling down the river. 
It had nothing to do with the way Stiles’ shirt was riding up just a little,
exposing a dark trail of hair leading down from his navel, a sharp contrast to
the pale skin around it.  Nothing at all.
Once Frodo and Sam had finally sailed off in search of Mordor, Stiles was
yawning so hard that his whole body was stretching with it, pulling the t-shirt
up until Derek could see softly defined abs.  It was definitely time for bed.
Stiles put the DVD away and turned to Derek.  “So, how do you want this to go
tonight?”
He waited for more, a suggestion from Stiles, but apparently Stiles was leaving
it all up to Derek.  “Maybe… try without anything.  See if it really is out of
my system.  Do you, uh, still have—”
“Yes,” Stiles said, giving Derek a moment to read his heartbeat.  “I do.  But
can we make a deal that if it gets intolerable, you won’t try to attack me this
time?”
Stiles looked genuinely concerned, and Derek felt the weight of guilt pressing
against his chest, because he had to answer honestly, too.  He could still see
the four small puncture marks on the side of Stiles’ neck.  “I don’t know if I
can promise that,” he said quietly.
Stiles scooted closer to him on the couch, putting a hand on his knee, and
Derek couldn’t help staring at it as Stiles spoke.  “You’ve been able to stop
yourself from hurting me – I mean really hurting me – so far.  Just… maybe you
could stop before anything sharp touches my skin?  Considering the look of this
place, I hate to tell you to punch a wall, but if that’s what it takes—”  
Derek snorted.  “If it is mostly psychological at this point, theoretically you
can control it.  You’ll still want it, but your body won’t crave it to the
point where it physically overrides your control like it did before.”
That sounded overly optimistic to Derek, but he was determined not to frighten
Stiles again.  Quite frankly, he couldn’t figure out why Stiles hadn’t left
already.  But after a quick squeeze of Derek’s knee, Stiles smiled tiredly and
headed toward the guest bedroom, which had a brand new sheet and comforter set
– bright red, because Stiles was still a little bit of an asshole and insisted
one room not be decorated “like the inside of a cave,” direct quote.
Derek headed upstairs to his own room.  He was sleepy, but he didn’t foresee
himself falling asleep for a few hours, if at all.  He’d gotten at most three
hours the night before, but in the past he’d been able to go much longer
without sleep.  Of course, it was usually because he was coasting on the
adrenaline of facing some sort of grisly death.
Stiles had changed Derek’s sheets before dinner, and though he’d washed them,
underneath the familiar smell of Derek’s detergent, the plasticky smell of the
packaging still clung to them.  Derek figured tonight was as good as any to
break them in and mark them with his scent.  Really mark them.  With any luck,
it would relax him and possibly help him sleep.
As Derek reached into his boxers, he had the startling thought that he couldn’t
remember the last time he’d done this, the last time he’d wanted to do this. 
He almost laughed – there was a whole anti-drug campaign right there.
It took him a while to get hard, like his body needed time to remember how, but
Derek wasn’t in a rush.  He tried to remember what he used to do when he was
looking for more than just a quick release.  Fingering himself was probably a
little too much for right now, and he didn’t want to go hunting for the lube
anyway, so he stretched out on his back on the bed, pulling his boxers off and
feeling the softness of the sheets all over his body.  He’d been pissed at
Stiles for insisting on what seemed like a stupidly expensive thread count, but
now they felt worth every penny.
He absently dragged a hand up and down his chest until his thumb caught the
edge of a nipple and he shivered.  It took some restraint to tease himself, toy
with both of his nipples lightly until they were pebbled and demanding more
attention.  Pinching was too much, but gently rolling them between his thumb
and forefinger made his blood start to rush south, and he waited as long as he
could stand before reaching down and fisting his cock.
He started slowly, rubbing the foreskin over the head as he felt himself harden
in his own hand.  It felt good, remembering a long-lost pleasure, like biting
into the orange.  Along with that sense memory came the hitch in Stiles’
breathing, the uptick in his heartbeat as he ignored Derek a little too
studiously.  Derek had done that to him just by eating a piece of fruit.
He knew he was heading into dangerous territory here.  Stiles might be better
able to take care of himself than most of the adults Derek knew, but he was
still seventeen, and also the only person Derek trusted to help him now.  Derek
had never really fantasized about specific people when he jerked off – Kate had
been the exception, but for a long time after the fire, just the thought of her
face nearly made him retch.  So Derek fantasized about sensations, bodies,
racing heartbeats and the heady smell of someone else’s arousal.
So if he just imagined a strong hand wrapping around his cock, long, nimble
fingers starting up a slow, steady rhythm, maybe that was all right.  There was
no need to hurry, and it felt good after so long.  Not the sudden, ethereal
high of the drug, but something grounded in his body, in his muscles and
bones.  The inward focus made him hyperaware of the slide of the sheets against
his skin, the sound of his breathing, the feel of his other hand stroking his
chest.
His cock was fully hard now, starting to leak a little at the tip, and as he
rubbed his thumb over it to spread the slickness around, his mind wandered a
little further.  To the sweet friction of skin against skin.  To a smooth,
leanly-muscled body, lithe and flexible, pressed up against his own.  Panting
breaths and a racing heartbeat, soft cries of pleasure.  Bright amber eyes
flying wide open…
Despite the long buildup, Derek’s orgasm hit him out of nowhere.  It rushed
through him like a wave, leaving tingling pulses in its wake as he kept
stroking himself past the point of oversensitivity, wanting to feel that, too,
the nearly-painful sharpness of it that made his abs clench until he let go
entirely, feeling a strange sense of peace rush in.
He had the presence of mind to clean himself off with a tissue, but when he
laid back down, he was surprised to find the calmness still there, quieting his
mind and body.  He didn’t fall asleep right away, but he drifted slowly, until
finally he was so deeply relaxed that sleep took over.
                                      &&&
It couldn’t have been more than an hour before the nightmares hit.  Though they
were as intense as ever and Derek woke up sweating, he didn’t feel as though
his skin was on fire this time, and some of the immediate terror backed off as
he dragged himself fully awake and made himself pull on his boxers and a pair
of sweatpants.
He went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, then came
back and sat on the bed.  He didn’t especially want to try to go back to sleep,
so he descended the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.  This, of
course, was negated entirely when he accidentally turned the ice maker on while
trying to get a glass of water.
“Derek?” he heard softly from the guest room.
He spun quickly to tell Stiles it was okay, not to get up, but the glass
slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.  And then, all he could do
was stare down at the mess.  He couldn’t clean it up; his hands were shaking
too badly.  Maybe the rest of him, too.  When had that started?
That was how Stiles found him, standing in the kitchen surrounded by ice and
water and shards of glass, staring at his hands.
“Jesus,” Stiles breathed.  “Don’t move, I’ve got it.”  And, piece by piece, he
picked the glass up.  He cleaned up the rest of it, too, while Derek just stood
there, watching as Stiles mopped up the water with a wad of paper towels and
tossed the melting ice cubes in the sink.
Derek didn’t know how long Stiles had been calling his name before he felt warm
hands cup his face and he blinked back to awareness.  “Thank god,” Stiles
said.  “I was afraid I was going to have to slap you, and as satisfying as that
would have been, I don’t think it would’ve ended well for me.”  Derek didn’t
say anything, merely blinked at him.  “You’re shaking all over.  Are you cold
again?”
Derek had to take a moment to process that.  “No.”
“Derek, you’re freaking me out a little.”
“I’m kind of… out of it,” Derek managed.
Stiles sighed, sounding relieved, though his brow was still furrowed.  “Do you
want to go back to bed?”
“I don’t…”  Derek paused.  He legitimately didn’t know what he wanted to do. 
He didn’t think he wanted to go back upstairs, but what else was there?
“Tell you what, come to my room,” Stiles said, taking Derek by the hand like he
would a child and leading him away from the kitchen.  Derek wasn’t even
offended by it; Stiles’ hand felt warm and solid, an anchoring point.  “Change
of venue.  Maybe you can get settled in there.”
And it did help, Stiles tucking him into the guest bed.  It was a little too
warm, but the pressure of the blankets around him was soothing.  Like being
held.
Stiles extended his hand toward Derek, like he intended to run his fingers
through Derek’s hair, but he seemed to change his mind at the last moment and
pulled back.  “Need anything else?” he asked.
“Where are you going?”
“Couch.  Pretty sure I could crash on any horizontal surface right about now.”
“Stay,” Derek said, the word out of his mouth before he could think better of
it.
“Um.” Stiles looked around the sparsely furnished room.  “There’s just the bed,
and I know I said ‘any horizontal surface,’ but hardwood floors aren’t
exactly—”
Derek rolled his eyes; apparently Stiles’ babbling brought him back to himself
a little.  “In the bed.”
“Oh.”  Stiles’ lips pursed around the sound, and suddenly Derek couldn’t help
but stare at Stiles’ mouth.  Soon it was moving again, rapidly as usual.  “I
guess it’s a pretty big bed.  Just to warn you, I kind of flop around in my
sleep, but you can shove me out of the way if you need to.  I’ll usually just
roll over without waking up.”
He circled around to the other side of the bed and Derek watched as Stiles
untucked his side of the covers, carefully sliding in and keeping his space. 
Derek was surprised to find he didn’t want Stiles to do that.
But Derek remained still.  His steady gaze seemed to be enough to make Stiles
anxious.  Derek’s thoughts were simple, short and dazed, but he didn’t want
Stiles to feel anxious.  Not now.  He forced himself to talk; talking would
make Stiles comfortable.  “What were those things you mentioned the other day? 
The things to reduce nightmares.”
Stiles’ eyebrows shot up.  “The things I said you wouldn’t like?”
“Yes.”
“Well, um,” Stiles began, “they sound kind of trite.  Apart from, y’know,
talking to someone, which I already told you about, there’s different kinds of
meditation.  Before you go to sleep, you try to clear your mind of thoughts. 
Or you purposefully think about good things, concentrate on how they make you
feel.  It’s not, like, a cure, but it’s supposed to help.”
Stiles had started fidgeting, and no, that wasn’t right.  Derek couldn’t have
said why, but he needed Stiles to be calm and relaxed, especially since Derek
still felt involuntary trembles in his arms and hands.  So he pushed toward the
middle of the bed, getting into Stiles’ space.  He didn’t move to embrace him,
just buried his head against Stiles’ neck and pressed in close.
“Whoa, okay,” Stiles said, going perfectly still.  “So now this is a thing. 
That is happening.  Derek, are you alright?”
“Don’t know,” Derek muttered, his voice muffled against Stiles’ skin, and
Stiles gave a quick shiver.
“You’re… you’re in bed with me and you’re close to me.  Like, really, really
close.  I’m not sure but there might be some nuzzling?  Just wanted to update
you on the situation.  In case that’s not what you want to be happening. 
Because it is.  Happening.”
Derek lifted his head.  He knew Stiles must get this close with Scott – they
smelled too much like each other sometimes for there not to be a lot of body
contact – so Stiles should be all right with this in principle.  Was Derek the
problem?  “Is it okay?”
He felt Stiles slowly relax, muscle by muscle.  “If that’s what you want,
yeah.  I don’t want to brag, but I’m a pretty awesome at cuddling.  Nine out of
ten body pillows agree, and the tenth one’s a jerk, anyway.”
His voice was strained, like he was trying to joke and not quite making it, but
when Derek didn’t move away, Stiles put his arms around him.  “Fuck, you’re
still shaking a little.  Is this what you need?”
Derek tucked his head back against Stiles’ shoulder and nodded.
“O-okay.  I just wanted to make sure you’re cool with this, because I never
really pictured you as a snuggler.  I guess it kind of makes sense, though.” 
He made a soft, low noise, something that sounded to Derek like sorrow.  “I
mean, when was the last time someone touched you just to touch you?  You’ve got
to need that, right?  Everybody does.”
Derek remained silent, but Stiles squeezed him a little bit tighter.  Derek
could feel each of Stiles’ fingers spread out across his back, the solid
presence at his front, and he remembered what he’d done just a few hours ago. 
What he’d imagined as he was jerking off.  He hadn’t had the time to feel
guilty about it then, but he did now, especially when Stiles was holding him so
carefully.  Derek could feel himself tremble a little harder, but at least he
was too ashamed to feel aroused.
All Stiles did was rub a hand up and down Derek’s back, a slow, soothing motion
that Derek didn’t think he deserved.  But his body disagreed, and the shivering
faded, though it didn’t go away entirely.  Soon he began to feel sleepy, but he
didn’t want to fall asleep.  And Stiles was still stroking his back, so he was
obviously awake.  Derek didn’t really want to talk about the details of his
nightmares, but he had to start somewhere.
“It’s not like I think about it all the time,” Derek said, breaking the quiet
in the room.
“Think about what?” Stiles asked softly.
“The fire.  That’s… that’s what the nightmares are about.”
“Always?”
No.  Kate showed up, of course, sometimes with the fire, sometimes without. 
And Laura and Peter and the betas, in various forms.  Sometimes they were
burning, too.  “Usually.  But it’s not like a… a story or anything.  It’s just
images and sounds.”  Scenes Peter had shown him from the fire: hands and claws
alike scraping at glass, the home that had been their protection crumbling
around them, crackling and screaming.  Kate’s grinning face.  Peter clawing his
way up out of the ground.  Erica’s body, charred and blackened instead of cut
in half.
“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered.  “That’s terrible.  You don’t deserve to go
through that every time you close your eyes.” 
Before he could control his reaction, Derek went rigid in Stiles arms, and
Stiles’ hand paused on his back.  “Unless,” Stiles whispered, his voice
cracking.  “You think you do deserve it.” 
Derek tried to consciously relax, but he just ended up breathing harder, his
heart racing so fast that even a human would be able to tell.  Particularly a
human with most of his body wrapped around Derek.
“I know you feel responsible for Erica and Peter – even though that wasn’t your
fault – but this is about more than that, isn’t it?  Do you… do you blame
yourself for the fire?”
He wanted to say no, wanted to go back to Stiles just silently holding him, but
he’d already given himself away.
“Derek, why?  You were just a kid then.  You were at school, right?  So you
think you should have known to go home and save them?”
Derek shook his head, a jerky motion against Stiles’ shoulder.  Part of him
wanted to yell stop, to get up and leave, to find something, anything that
would push the feeling away.  But part of him actually wanted Stiles to drag it
out of him, to make him say it.  He’d hidden the truth so deeply because of
Laura, because she was the only thing he’d had left and if he’d told her, he
would have lost her.  Just like he’d lose Stiles, but he could feel the words
pressing against his vocal cords and he wouldn’t be able to hold them back much
longer.
“Then what is it?” Stiles asked, resuming the stroke of his hand down Derek’s
back.
“Kate,” Derek croaked miserably.
And then proceeded to spill all of it, starting with meeting Kate as the
substitute P.E. teacher whose gaze always lingered on him a little longer than
the rest, who made him pick up the equipment at the end of the period so he’d
be alone in the locker room showers when she came in.  Who had met him in
secret for months, not just fucking him but asking questions about his life,
his family until he thought she cared.  Who told him she loved him, then sent
three of her hunter buddies to surround the Hale house with mountain ash, pour
chemicals down the hidden entrance to the basement that Derek had shown her
once, right at the time she knew most of the family would be home. 
Who chained him up years later in that same basement and did everything she
could to shred whatever dignity he had left.
Through all of it, Stiles’ hand never stopped rubbing his back, never slowed
down, not even when Derek’s voice broke and he had to wait for it to come
back.  Only when he was finally finished did Stiles dig his fingers into
Derek’s back to clutch him as tight as he could.  “Jesus,” Stiles whispered,
burying his face against Derek’s hair.  “I’d dig that bitch up and kill her
again if I could.”
“If I hadn’t told her everything—” Derek began miserably.
“She’d have found a way anyway,” Stiles finished.  “Look, I spent maybe ten
minutes total around the woman and I could tell she was psychotic.  She was
going to… do what she did no matter what.  She probably even tried other stuff
before going after you.”
“But I—”
“You were a teenage boy.  I’d probably have done the exact same thing you did
if someone like that seemed the least bit interested in me.  I’d have lost my
mind trying to make her happy.  She used you, Derek.  She was an adult and you
were a child.”
“I was sixteen.  I should have known—”
“What, that a hot older woman who was finally paying attention to you was out
to kill your whole family?  Why would that have possibly crossed your mind? 
Your family had been living safely here for generations.  How could you have
known?”
Derek knew what Stiles was trying to do, but it still felt like twisting the
knife.  “I didn’t even question it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles whispered.  “It wasn’t your fault.  None of it was
your fault.  I know you don’t think of yourself as a victim, and I don’t want
you to, but you were.  You were every bit her victim as the rest of your
family, except you were taken advantage of sexually – which, legally, was rape
– and then physically and psychologically tortured.  Even if you did something
wrong, which you didn’t, haven’t you paid enough?”
“It’ll never be enough,” Derek whispered miserably.
Stiles was silent a moment before asking, “Am I the only one you’ve told?”
Derek nodded.
“Not even Laura?”
“Especially not Laura.”
“Christ, you’ve been keeping it a secret this long?  I’m amazed you didn’t try
this werewolf heroin shit years ago.”
“I couldn’t.   Laura would’ve—”
For the first time Stiles pulled back and tilted Derek’s chin up, meeting his
eyes.  “She would’ve told you what I’m telling you now.  That it wasn’t your
fault, and slowly killing yourself won’t bring them back.”
Derek tried to push him away, unable to bear the earnestness in Stiles’ eyes. 
“Don’t you think I’ve tried telling myself that?”
“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted.  “But you haven’t heard anyone else tell you
that, and maybe that’s part of the problem.”
“What, you’re going to absolve me of this?”
Stiles brushed his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone, but Derek didn’t jerk away. 
“I would if I could.  It’s not my forgiveness you want, but if it helps, I can
forgive you for the mistakes you made since I met you.  I forgive you for
cutting yourself off from the rest of your pack and finding a dangerous way to
escape the nightmares.  I even forgive you for knocking my head against the
steering wheel – which really fucking hurt, by the way.”
Derek wanted to grumble that Stiles was taking this too lightly, but Stiles’
steady heartbeat told Derek he meant every word he said. 
And then Stiles’ face fell.  “Sorry, I just remembered why you tried to give me
a concussion.  I used your body to get Danny to do what I wanted.  I should be
asking your forgiveness.”
“Y-you don’t have to,” Derek stuttered, thrown by the sudden turn in the
conversation.
“I feel like I do,” Stiles said.  “I’m sorry for using you like that.  It
wouldn’t have been right anyway, but especially not after what you’ve been
through.”
Truthfully, Derek bore Stiles no resentment over it.  It had gotten them the
information he needed, and it wasn’t like Derek was unaccustomed to being
stared at.  “It’s all right.  You didn’t know.”
Stiles pulled Derek back into his arms.  “You didn’t know either,” he
whispered.  “You didn’t know who Kate was or what she was planning to do.  You
didn’t know the alpha pack was so close when you let Boyd and Erica go.”
“Not the same.”
“Maybe not.  But it’s still not your fault.  Maybe if you hear me say it enough
times, you’ll start to believe it.”
“Maybe,” Derek said to appease Stiles, but doubtful it would actually have any
effect.
“You can forgive yourself, though.  I’m not saying it’s easy or that I even
know how, but it’s possible.  And I think that’s the key to the nightmares.”
After that, Derek fell silent, because what else could he say?  He still felt
like he was too damaged to be fixed, no matter what Stiles said.  How was he
supposed to just let go of seven years of blaming himself, even if he could
believe it wasn’t his fault?
A few minutes later, Stiles let out a ferocious yawn, and his arms were too
wrapped around Derek to cover his own mouth.  “Sorry,” he said.  “Still tired. 
You?”
“I don’t know,” Derek muttered.  His eyelids were heavy, but his brain was
spinning, and he couldn’t imagine falling asleep anytime soon.
“Flip over,” said Stiles, opening his arms and poking at Derek’s side.  He
assumed Stiles wanted more room, but as soon as Derek was facing away, Stiles
scooted right up against his back, draping an arm over Derek’s stomach and
resting his cheek between Derek’s shoulder blades.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked dumbly, body starting to tighten up again.
“Being the big spoon,” Stiles chuckled.  “This okay?”
Derek tried to force himself to relax.  It was easier than he anticipated, with
Stiles’ warmth at his back and Stiles’ arm tight around his middle.  “Fine.”
“’kay, good.  I’m probably gonna drift off pretty soon.   If you fall asleep
and the nightmares come back, just wake me.  I’ll be right here.”
                                      &&&
Eventually, Derek did fall asleep, but when he woke up soaked in a cold sweat,
Stiles was already awake, smoothing his hand down Derek’s arm and whispering
soft, reassuring nonsense in his ear.
Derek drifted off again, and there were no nightmares this time, though he
wasn’t sure waking up with Stiles like that hadn’t been a dream.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Well, at least the “Stiles in his bed” part (or, more accurately, “Derek in
Stiles’ bed” part) was real.  If either of them had moved in their sleep,
they’d moved back in the night, so that Stiles was still at Derek’s back, limbs
wrapped around him like a monkey’s.   There was also, however, the issue of
Stiles’ morning wood pressed perilously close to the crack of Derek’s ass and
the faint scent of his arousal in the air.  But Stiles was completely still –
for once – and his grip was loose enough for Derek to slip out with only an
unconscious noise of protest from a sleeping Stiles.
It was at least past sunrise this time, but still early, and Derek wanted to
let Stiles sleep in.  He’d barely slept more than Derek had over the past two
nights, and it would start to take its toll pretty soon.  So Derek declined to
cook breakfast, instead just helping himself to one of the protein bars in the
cupboard (Stiles even knew what flavor Derek liked – when did that happen?) and
preparing to work out.
It had been a while – no use, really, wondering how long – since Derek had
worked out.  Long enough that his muscles started to burn much earlier than
usual, enough that the soreness built up faster than his body could heal it. 
Still, it felt good, pushing himself like this, further grounding himself in
his body.  He quickly lost himself in it like he used to, the rest of the world
and his own thoughts fading away.
He was on the floor doing crunches, grunting with effort after too many idle
weeks, when he became aware of a second heartbeat in the room, going almost as
fast as his own.  He rolled up to his feet to see Stiles standing there in
faded pajama bottoms that hung too low on his hips and some superhero t-shirt
or other, his eyes wide.
Derek was used to people staring at his body, but for some reason it was
gratifying to be able to keep Stiles quiet without saying a word or laying a
hand on him.  He let it go on for a second, watching Stiles’ cheeks get pinker
and pinker, until Derek finally asked, “Need something?”
“Um, breakfast?” Stiles squeaked.  “Yes, that.  What would you like?  For
breakfast.  Which I will make.  In the kitchen.”
For the first time in a long time, Derek bit back on a genuine laugh.  “I’m
set.  Make yourself whatever you want.”
He passed Stiles on his way to the stairs and got a whiff of arousal, stronger
than it had been in bed earlier that morning.  By the time Derek got out of the
shower, it was almost 11:00 – he must’ve been working out for hours.  He toyed
with the idea of going back downstairs damp and shirtless, just to see the look
on Stiles’ face, but ultimately decided it wasn’t fair to toy with him,
especially considering their middle-of-the-night conversation.
Derek wasn’t ready to face those repercussions yet, even if the nightmares had
been greatly reduced when he finally got to sleep.  He worried it was a fluke
and forced himself not to get his hopes up.  He’d been experiencing some kind
of delirium last night – that was the only reason he could think of for telling
Stiles things he’d never even said aloud.  He was just now realizing the
immensity of all he’d revealed while so exhausted and addled and wrapped tight
in warm, surprisingly strong arms.
So Derek was a little wary walking into the kitchen, but the attitude was hard
to maintain while watching Stiles stuff his face with pancakes.  He looked up,
cheeks bulging and a little startled, at Derek.  “I’m calling this brunch,” he
said after he’d swallowed
Derek slid on to the stool across from him.  “So, what did you have planned for
today?”
Stiles stared down at his pancakes.  “Did you want to go see Isaac or Boyd? 
You don’t have to tell them anything if you don’t want to.”
Derek balked at that, and not just because, despite the shower, they’d be able
to smell Stiles all over him.  They’d be able to smell Stiles all over the
apartment, come to think of it, but Derek would deal with that if he had to. 
No, he still didn’t feel ready to face them, and felt extra raw after last
night.  “Not… not yet.”
Stiles just shrugged.  “Okay, what did you want to do?”
“I get to pick?”
“Well, you haven’t taken it upon yourself to remind me in a while, but I am
not, in fact, the boss of you.”
“You’d never know it,” Derek muttered, without bitterness and mostly to
himself.
“Any ideas?”
Before Derek could think better of it, he said, “We could drive out to the
coast.”
Stiles grinned, and Derek had to struggle not to squirm in his seat at the
sight of it.  “Sounds good.  I’m driving, though.”
“Not my car, you’re not.”
Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Did I say that?  No.  I know the majestic Camaro is
sacrosanct.  Even though you let Scott drive her.”
“That was one time, and it was an emergency.”
“Still: Scott.  Scott has troubling operating a Schwinn.”
It was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes.  “Werewolf senses.”
“Do not translate into knowing how to drive a stick shift.  And you don’t get
to use ‘werewolf’ as a justification for everything.”
“Actually, I kind of do.”
“Fine,” Stiles said, squinting.  “Go make me a soufflé using your werewolf
senses.”  He wiggled his fingers in the air.  “Nice and fluffy.  You’ve got all
the ingredients.  Get to it.”
“You don’t even know how to make a soufflé,” Derek countered.
“As it happens, I do.  But you objected so strongly to Egyptian cotton sheets
that I’ve decided to introduce you to the finer things in life slowly.  We
should probably work on the huge-ass hole in your living room wall first.”
“As opposed to the huge asshole in my kitchen?”  Stiles gleefully flipped him
off.  “Fine, fine, you were right about the sheets,” Derek sighed.
Stiles licked his finger and made an imaginary tally mark in the air.  Derek
absolutely did not stare at his mouth.  “Weren’t we going to the coast?”
“Oh, right.  Swimming or no swimming?”
Derek hesitated.  He’d never loved being in the water, even before being
paralyzed by the kanima and thrown in a pool.  “You can swim if you want.”
“Eh, maybe,” Stiles said, his mouth full of pancakes again.
                                      &&&
Stiles talked for most of the three-hour drive to the coast.  While not ideal,
it was infinitely preferable to Stiles’ music, which did nothing so much as
make Derek feel old – is this what the kids are listening to these days?  Derek
hadn’t paid much attention to music trends over the last few years, but surely
the stuff he had listened to as a teenager had been infinitely better in
quality, hadn’t it?
At the thought, Derek groaned and let his head thump against the passenger
window.
Stiles immediately pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and shook Derek’s
shoulder.  “Hey.  You okay over there?”
When Derek looked up, there was genuine concern in Stiles’ eyes.  Well, he
guessed he hadn’t really given Stiles any warning, and considering what he’d
been going through the past few days…  “Yeah, fine, sorry.  I was just having
a… moment?”
Stiles heaved a sigh.  “Well, the next time you decide to have a ‘moment’ with
yourself in my car—” he must’ve suddenly realized how that sounded, because he
immediately flushed pink “—try not to make it look like you’ve just passed
out.  I don’t have anything in my first aid kit for swooning werewolves.”
“Your concern is touching,” Derek groused, even though it was, kind of.
Stiles grunted and pulled back onto the highway, but it didn’t take long before
he’d resumed his monologue on the myriad of problems with hiring a British
actor to play Superman.
He quieted down once they neared their destination, though, and instead of a
beach, they pulled into the parking lot of a state park.  It wasn’t terribly
crowded, considering it was summer; all the action must have been at the public
beaches.
There were some decent walking trails, and while Stiles seemed intent on
verbally cataloguing every form of wildlife listed on the map he’d picked up
from god-knows-where, Derek focused on how different the smells were – briny,
ocean smells instead of earthy, woodsy scents.   The sounds were different,
too, the steady lap of the waves underlying everything else.  The change was a
pleasant one; it reminded him to use his senses after having spent far too long
cloistered in his apartment.
There was – or at least there had been – an older pack that lived near the
coast, though Derek couldn’t say where exactly.  The Hales used to visit them
sometimes on vacation.  There were no kids Derek’s age to play with, but he and
his siblings used to get into enough trouble all on their own.  His youngest
brother once swam out so far that he got caught in a rip tide and Laura had had
to swim out and bring him back.  Any of them probably could have done it, but
Laura was by far the best swimmer in the family.  She’d wanted to be on the
swim team back in high school, but was too competitive and never could hold
herself back, so their parents forbade her from joining.  If Derek remembered
right, they’d still been fighting about it when the fire happened.
Derek realized he’d stopped walking, and when he glanced beside him, Stiles was
gazing at him with wide eyes.  Shit, Derek must have said some – or all – of
that aloud.
“I’m sure…” Stiles started, looking like he was unsure if he should continue,
but he did.  “I bet she blamed herself sometimes.”
Laura had never said as much, but Derek remembered the early days, when he
would walk in on his sister crying.  He’d always wanted to comfort her, but his
own guilt ate at him so badly that he usually just ended up sneaking away,
retching into the bathroom sink until tears were running down his own face. 
And fucking Stiles had to go and bring all that up again.  “It’s not the same,”
Derek snapped, striding off down the path without looking back to see if Stiles
was following him.
They were practically at the water by the time Stiles caught up with him,
panting and sweaty.  “I’m sorry,” he wheezed, hands on his knees as he tried to
get air back in his lungs.  “I went too far.”
Derek said nothing, just unzipped Stiles’ backpack and got out his water bottle
for him, which of course Stiles drank too fast.
“Don’t choke,” Derek said dryly.  “I can’t exactly speed up your healing
process, though I’m willing to give it a try.”
“Augh, no,” Stiles gasped, slowing down on the water.
They’d come out of the treeline onto a rocky shore, and they must have been
walking for longer than Derek thought, because the sun was just beginning to
set.  He picked his way over to a flat, sun-warmed rock and sat, not saying
anything but leaving room for Stiles.
Stiles practically collapsed beside him, digging around in the backpack.  “I
have some snacks in here if you’re hungry.  We can get real dinner on the way
home.”
“I could eat,” Derek said, and was promptly handed a tiny Quaker granola bar,
s’mores flavor.  “What the hell is this?”
Stiles looked at him flatly.  “It’s a granola bar.”
“It has chocolate and marshmallow bits in it.”
“Well, yeah,” Stiles said, biting into his own with a flourish.  “That’s what
makes it taste good.”
“That’s what makes it dessert.”
Stiles shrugged.  “The healthy ones taste like cardboard.  We’ve been walking
all day and you have that werewolf metabolism, so I don’t know what you’re
complaining about.”
“Thought I wasn’t allowed to use ‘werewolf’ as an excuse.”
Stiles jabbed Derek sharply in the ribs with his elbow.  Thus began an elbow
war that Derek could’ve easily won, but he let Stiles get in a few more pokes –
and finish swallowing his granola bar – before knocking him clean off the rock.
“Un-fucking-fair,” Stiles grumbled, picking himself up and dusting off the sand
before realizing that Derek had spread himself out completely across the rock. 
“If you think I won’t sit on you, you have been severely misinformed.  Even
Scott’s werewolf spleen is no match for my bony ass.”
Derek decided to be charitable and move over to give him some sitting room.  He
didn’t quite scoot over as much as he could have, though, and Stiles had to sit
pressed against him to get both butt cheeks on the rock.
Together they watched the sky flare into shades of pink and orange. 
Miraculously, Stiles was silent, and while his head wasn’t exactly resting on
Derek’s shoulder, he was definitely leaning into him more than he needed to. 
Derek knew that they’d need to go soon – the walk back would be quicker without
Stiles pretending to be a BBC documentarian, but the path wasn’t lit.
Slowly, Derek became aware that Stiles was no longer leaning against him and
watching the sunset, but was watching him instead.  Derek turned, intending to
point out to Stiles that werewolves didn’t have the patent on creepy staring,
but Stiles’ face was so earnest – and so close to Derek’s.  It would’ve felt
more unnatural to back away than to close the few inches between them and kiss
Stiles.
It was a soft, chaste kiss, an unhurried one, and Stiles was only frozen with
surprise for a split second before he reciprocated.  Derek felt warmth suffuse
his belly as Stiles’ nose bumped gently against his own.  After what seemed
like a long time and no time at all, Stiles sighed and rubbed his lips lightly
against Derek’s before moving away.
All the warmth drained away when Derek saw the shock on Stiles’ face, but
before Derek could say anything, Stiles pressed his fingers to Derek’s lips. 
“Don’t apologize,” he said softly.  “It’s okay if you’re sorry, but I’d rather
not hear it.”
Derek was at such a loss for words that Stiles had zipped up his backpack and
was heading back up the beach before Derek could say anything – even if he had
known the right thing to say.
                                      &&&
The drive back was nearly silent, but only mildly uncomfortable.  They got
drive-through cheeseburgers and ate them in the car, Stiles only giving Derek a
half-hearted threat not to get ketchup on the upholstery.  The radio was set on
some classical station, and Derek was very nearly lulled to sleep by the quiet
rumble of the car, but sleeping was the last thing he wanted to do.
Trying desperately to keep his mind off the kiss, he kept thinking about how
Stiles had brought up the idea of Laura blaming herself, how angry it had made
Derek… and how quickly the anger faded away.  It should have had him stalking
back to the car, leaving Stiles far behind on the trail, but instead he’d
continued on to the beach, and by the time Stiles had caught up – a matter of
minutes – Derek’s first impulse was to get Stiles his water, not strangle him.
It was a little frightening that even now Derek couldn’t even muster up that
momentary burst of anger he’d felt.  There was so much he had to be angry
about, and at the top of the list was Stiles barging into his life and staging
a one-man intervention that Derek still wasn’t completely sure he was on board
with.  He used to be able to summon anger as easily as he could shift, but now
when he tried, all he felt was a kind of vague despair.  Had the drug taken his
anchor away from him, too?
They got back sooner than Derek would’ve thought.  Stiles groaned as they
walked the stairs up to the loft, muttering to himself about being so out of
shape that practice, which had stopped until school began in the fall, was
probably going to kill him when lacrosse season came around again.
“Do you mind if I crash on your couch for a few?  I swear I’m gonna go shower
and I don’t have any sand on me anyway, but I just need a couple minutes to not
be driving or going up stairs.”
“Driving?” Derek asked incredulously.
“Hush.  It’s taxing,” Stiles replied as he flopped onto the couch, arms spread
over the back and legs splayed out in front of him.  He closed his eyes and
groaned as he let his head rest back against the cushions.  Baring his throat.
Derek turned on his heels and went to the kitchen, not really hungry but unable
to stand there and watch Stiles like that, spread out and vulnerable, his pale
skin still pink from the sun.  Derek downed an entire glass of water and
started back out toward the living room – they were going to have to talk about
what to do tonight, the sleeping arrangements.  But then Derek realized the
subject of the kiss would probably come up, and spun back around to go back to
the kitchen and… alphabetize the canned vegetables or something.  No, that was
stupid, better to get it over with now.  Derek got a step further than he had
before, but ended up turning back.
“Dude, I can hear you pacing,” Stiles said, not moving a muscle.  “Don’t even
need werewolf ears.  You’re about as stealthy as an indecisive rhinoceros.”
Derek ran his hands through his hair and steeled himself as he walked back
around the couch to sit on the small space that Stiles wasn’t currently
occupying.  Stiles turned his head toward Derek and opened his eyes, and the
sight of it struck Derek right in the sternum.  Stiles’ eyelids drooped a
little, his long eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheekbones, and his
drowsy, slightly-unfocused eyes were a warm, inviting amber.  Derek swallowed
hard and tried to remember what they were supposed to talk about.
“I understand if you want to pretend it didn’t happen,” Stiles said lightly,
not even sounding annoyed or resigned.
Derek didn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to
regret it, either.  It was just that the timing could hardly be more wrong. 
Stiles was so young and Derek was supposed to be more of an adult than this. 
And he didn’t want Stiles to think it was mere gratitude for the last few days,
because it was… well, it was something Derek couldn’t name.  Something that had
just felt so right in the moment – still felt right to remember it – but that
moment shouldn’t have happened yet.  Derek couldn’t even begin to think how to
word all that without it sounding like an apology.
Stiles smiled sleepily.  “Yeah, here’s where your ‘not talking about it’ thing
comes in handy.  Just wanted you to know that it was…  It’ll just be a really
good memory to have.”  He laughed softly.  “On the beach at sunset with an
incredibly gorgeous guy.  Couldn’t have scripted a better first kiss if I’d
tried.”
“That was your first kiss?” Derek asked before he could stop himself.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice still maddeningly calm but his heart rate
increasing slightly.  Not the sudden skip of a lie, but the rush of
embarrassment.  “Thanks for the genuine surprise, by the way.  Don’t get that a
lot.”
“I’m not sorry,” Derek said suddenly, but then didn’t know how to follow it
up.  But you’re seventeen.  But I don’t know if I’d be ready for this anyway. 
But I’ll only end up taking you down with me.
Stiles gnawed on his lower lip.  “That’s… something, I guess.”
He didn’t push any further, which seemed like a minor miracle.  Still, there
were things they did need to talk about.  “What’s the plan for tonight?”
“What do you want to do?”
Derek closed his eyes and sighed.  He was fairly certain that it had been
Stiles’ presence in his bed that had kept the nightmares to a minimum.  But
that was a bad idea not just for the obvious reasons, but also because Stiles
would be gone in a few days.  Derek couldn’t reasonably expect a high schooler
to fall asleep next to him every night, to be there if he did wake up in fear.
The thought of that fear made the anxiety he’d been holding off flood back into
him, and he remembered the drug – he’d forgotten it today, actually forgotten
about it while they’d been out.  He was finally able to admit to himself that
he had a problem; that was supposed to be the first step, but Derek never could
do things the right way.  The desire for the quick fix hit him like a brick
wall and he could feel his hands wanting to tremble again.  Okay, so this was
the psychological part.  Fuck.
He was snapped out of his daze by Stiles squeezing his knee.  Suddenly he was
up and alert, right next to Derek on the couch, smelling of bug spray and
sunscreen that could never entirely cover his natural scent.  “Hey, big guy. 
What’s going on up there?  Because as obviously gifted as I am, I still can’t
read minds.”
“I can’t keep you.”  Oh god, did that actually come out of Derek’s mouth?
Stiles blinked rapidly, but Derek could hear his heartbeat shoot up.  “Um,
true.  But how’s about we back up about four or five mental steps there, for my
sake.”
Derek groaned and put his head in his hands.  “What I meant was, I think I
might be past the physical part of the addiction.  But the thought of the
nightmares makes me crave it again, and I’m pretty sure the only reason I’ve
been getting through the night is because you’re here.  And you can’t stay
forever.”
“Okay,” Stiles said slowly, but looking much less startled.  “But don’t look
too far ahead and freak out.  I’m here now.  We’ll figure out what do when the
time comes, okay?  But what do you need from me right now, tonight?”
Derek didn’t know whether to laugh or put his fist through a wall, because the
simple answer to that question was hold me.  It took him a while to calm down
enough to say, “The same as last night, I think,” hoping Stiles wouldn’t make
him elaborate.
“Your room or mine?” Stiles asked.
Derek still didn’t want to face his bed, to smell nothing but his own sweat
(and cum) on the sheets.  “Yours.”
“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling faintly but genuinely.  “I’m gonna go take that
shower now, because even I think I reek.  You go do your— Hey, do you have,
like, a manly beauty regimen you do every night?  Because let’s be honest, I
could use some tips.”
Derek snorted, as much because Stiles didn’t need a damn thing as because it
was a ridiculous question.  “Ask me again when you have facial hair.”
“Hey,” Stiles retorted, poking Derek in the chest.  “I can totally grow facial
hair when I want to.  And all three of them are really impressive.”
Derek meant to grab Stiles’ wrist, but what he ended up doing was more like
holding it, his thumb against Stiles’ pulse.  “Get in the shower.”
Stiles blew a raspberry and jerked his hand away, and Derek had a moment of
disappointment before he realized he was going to have to deal with another
night in bed with Stiles.  Paradoxically, he was dreading how much he was
looking forward to it.  He could control his body’s reactions – he wasn’t so
worried about that – but sleeping with the comfort Stiles’ warm, lean body
pressed against his, Stiles’ scent soaking his sheets…  Derek feared he was
trading one psychological addiction for another.
Derek was already in bed, pretending to read, when Stiles came back from the
shower, smelling like – Jesus – smelling like Derek’s soap, his shampoo.  He
was wearing the same t-shirt and pajama pants from the night before, but Derek
hadn’t really been looking closely then.  Now he had no choice, and everything
about Stiles – his soft, worn clothes, his clean skin, his open expression –
just seemed so inviting.
When Stiles got into bed, Derek gave up on the book and went to switch the lamp
off.
“You can keep reading for a bit if you want,” Stiles said, vigorously squashing
the pillow until it was shaped to his liking.  “The light won’t bother me.”
“No, it’s fine, I was at the end of a chapter anyway.”  It wasn’t technically a
lie, since Derek hadn’t really even begun the new chapter.
“You want to be the big spoon tonight?” Stiles asked with a goofy grin, like it
was nothing, like it was a conversation they had every night.  Before going to
bed.  In the same bed.
“I might smother you in your sleep.”
“You’re not going to accidentally smother me in my sleep.”
“Who said anything about an accident?”
“You’re funny,” said Stiles, settling down with his back facing Derek.  “Like a
clown.  Or a trained seal.  Or a cat falling off a—oomph.”
Derek let his arm land heavily over Stiles’ side as he scooted close to, but
not quite touching, Stiles’ back.  “Happy?”
“Mmm,” Stiles hummed sleepily.  “You’re like a furnace.”
“You didn’t notice that last night?”
“Last night you weren’t wrapped around me like a blanket.  Speaking of which,
just kick the covers down and I’ll be fine.”
Derek did and settled back down.  “This okay?”
“You can get closer, big guy.  The Stiles is for cuddling.”
Derek sighed and pressed himself up against Stiles’ back.  It practically
shoved his nose against Stiles’ neck, which put a heavy strain on Derek’s
control.  But for once, Stiles was perfectly still.  He wasn’t treating this
like something sexual – which it wasn’t, Derek reminded himself – and that made
things a little easier.
Still, it took Derek a while to really relax.  The way Stiles was breathing,
Derek thought he was asleep, and he felt a pang of jealousy for the ease with
which Stiles could just drop off.
But then Stiles took a particularly deep breath and Derek heard Stiles whisper,
“Thank you.”
“For what?” Derek whispered.  His breath stirred the short hairs at the back of
Stiles neck and Derek could feel him suppressing a shiver.
But Stiles’ voice came out low and even.  “For opening up to me last night.  I
know that was big for you.  We never have to talk about it again if you don’t
want to, but if you ever do…”
Stiles trailed off and Derek waited, but apparently that was all Stiles had to
say.  After a few more minutes, Derek could hear (and feel) Stiles’ heartbeat
slow as he fell asleep for real.
Derek lay awake for a long time, though.  He remembered what Stiles had said
the night before, though it felt like days ago: think purposefully about good
things, concentrate on how they make you feel.  He was willing to try, even if
he wasn’t ready to admit to Stiles that he had tried.
So he thought about his family visits to the beach – not the one where his
brother almost drowned, but other years.  How good it felt to meticulously
create a sand castle, complete with outer walls and turrets and a moat, and
then how satisfying it was to pounce on it and destroy the whole thing.  Derek
the tried to push out the thought of all the other things he’d destroyed and
thought of one of the rare moments when he’d walked into the train depot and
found Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all sitting around, talking laughing together. 
Moments where Derek felt like he had a real pack.  He thought of all those
weeks when he’d known Stiles was sitting just outside his door, and even though
that wasn’t exactly a happy time in his life, Stiles’ presence had been just
about the only constant, the only person he could count on to be there, whether
Stiles talked or not.
It took more than three hours, but eventually Derek did manage to fall asleep.
He didn’t dream at all.
                                      &&&
Derek woke alone in bed, the sheets cool enough for him to know that Stiles had
been up for some time.  He looked at the clock – it was nearly noon.  He hadn’t
slept that long in… Well, he definitely hadn’t slept that long since moving
back to Beacon Hills.  Not while unmedicated, at least.
When he walked out into the living room, he was greeted with the sight of
Stiles flopped face down on the couch, appearing to read a book he was holding
open on the floor.  “How can you possibly read like that?”
Stiles looked up at him and grinned, and Derek had a fleeting thought that this
was something he could stand to wake up to every morning.  “Don’t knock it ‘til
you’ve tried it,” Stiles said, closing the book around his finger and sitting
up properly.  “Also, good morning, yes, I slept fine, thank you for asking. 
You?”
Derek was almost afraid to say it out loud, like that would somehow jinx it. 
“No nightmares.”
Stiles dropped the book altogether and popped up off the couch, taking a step
toward Derek like he was going to hug him.  He seemed to balk, though, and
instead just said, “Derek, that’s awesome!  How do you want to celebrate?”
Derek could think of any number of ways to celebrate, particularly with Stiles,
but he held them back.  He’d had plenty of time to think last night, and he’d
realized there was something he needed to do.  “I want to go visit Erica’s
grave.”
The stunned look on Stiles’ face would’ve been hilarious at any other time. 
“That… uh… That is not what I was expecting to hear,” Stiles said, far more
diplomatically than his usually reaction to surprises.
“I know.  But I know you’ve been going, and I just… I feel like I owe it to
her.”
This time Stiles did step forward and put his hand on Derek’s arm.  “It’s
totally up to you.”
“You think it’s a bad idea?”
Stiles shook his head quickly.  “Not in itself.  But if you’re just going so
you can beat up on yourself some more…”
“That’s not why.  There are just some things I need to say.”
“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling faintly as he squeezed Derek’s arm.  “After lunch,
though.  Because I’m starving and you need your meat or protein bars, or
whatever.”
Derek rolled his eyes.  “Stiles, you saw me eat falafel two days ago.”
“Still protein, even if it’s deep-fried.”
Just to spite him, Derek made himself a grilled cheese sandwich.
                                      &&&
They took the Camaro this time, Derek driving (obviously).  The silence was
entirely comfortable this time, and Derek rolled down the windows as soon as
they got to the preserve.  He hadn’t been here in weeks, and the scent of these
woods was both soothing and heartbreaking.
Derek parked in front of the house, which seemed stubbornly intent on staying
upright long after it probably should have crumbled to dust and ash.  Well,
parts of it, anyway.  When they got to Erica’s grave, fresh flowers – probably
from Boyd – laid near the simple cairn acting as a headstone, Stiles nudged
Derek gently with his shoulder and murmured, “I’m gonna go for a walk.  Take
your time.”
After the crunching footfalls let Derek know that Stiles had gone beyond the
treeline, he knelt near the headstone.  This was something he hadn’t done
before – not with the rest of his family, not with Laura, and certainly not
with Peter.  He knew Stiles visited his mom regularly, but Derek had never seen
the point in it before, talking to the dead.  He’d never considered the fact
that it might actually be for the benefit of the living.
“Erica,” he started, then hesitated, not knowing where to begin.  “I don’t… I’m
working on not thinking of this as my fault.  Stiles says you wouldn’t blame
me, but I am responsible.  Or I was supposed to be responsible when I brought
you into my pack.”
He took a deep breath, not knowing how to word what he needed to say next.  “I
know I didn’t tell you everything.  I know I… I took advantage of you while you
were in no position to resist.  But I chose you because you were already
strong, already a fighter, and I thought you deserved better.  I wanted to give
you a body that wouldn’t fail you.  I didn’t even think about the ways I could
fail you.”
Derek’s eyes burned with tears.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  You weren’t wrong
to want to leave.  You deserved a better alpha.  And I’m going to try to do the
best I can for Boyd and Isaac.  And Scott, if he’ll let me.  And Stiles.” 
Derek dropped his voice, even though he knew Stiles wasn’t listening.  “You
were right about Stiles.  He’s…”  He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t find
the words.  But if by some miracle Erica could actually hear him, she’d
understand.  “I’ll try to do right by him.  Once I figure out what that is.”
He’d said all he needed to say, but he stayed kneeling by her grave for a long
time, until he heard Stiles approaching the house.  Derek rubbed at his eyes
before he stood and turned around, but it wasn’t as though he could entirely
hide how he felt.
Before he could even make it all the way back to the car, Stiles had Derek
enveloped in a tight hug.  Derek felt awkward putting his arms around Stiles’
waist, but Stiles didn’t seem to notice.  “I asked her, once, soon before she
and Boyd left,” Stiles said softly.  “If she regretted it.  Taking the bite. 
She said she didn’t.”
“That’s what she said?” Derek asked, trying to resist the urge to bury his face
against Stiles’ neck.
“Well, that and ‘You should think about it, Stilinski.  It would do you some
good.’  And then she slapped my ass on the way out.”
Derek snorted, his body shaking with silent laughter, and soon Stiles was
joining him, and he imagined Erica smirking and rolling her eyes at both of
them.
The laughter slowly died down, and Derek could hear Stiles swallow loudly. 
“Did, um… did you want to say anything to Peter?”
Derek though of the mound of dirt out back, marked with another cairn but not
with any flowers.  “No,” Derek said quietly.  “I’ve already grieved for the man
he used to be.  Not the thing that’s lying in that grave.”
“Okay,” Stiles said, sounding a little relieved, but he didn’t let go of Derek
for a long time.
                                      &&&
The rest of the day passed quickly, though they didn’t do much.  After leaving
the old house, they went out for ice cream, which didn’t feel as disrespectful
as Derek thought it might when Stiles first suggested it.  Stiles told Derek
about everyone in chemistry class fighting to be Erica’s lab partner –
apparently, two girls got into an actual, hair-pulling fight – and Derek told
Stiles about Erica’s strange insistence that Derek get a cat.
“What would I even do with a cat?” Derek asked as Stiles tried to laugh and
swallow a huge spoonful of rocky road at the same time.
“You could have contests to see who could look more disaffected.  Y’know, a
disdain-off.   I have to tell you, though, a cat might actually give you a run
for your money.”
“I hate cats.”
Stiles grinned.  “Yeah, but I bet they love you.”
“In human form, yes,” Derek sighed.  “Our neighbor in New York used to have a
cat.  It never left me alone.  And here I’d almost forgotten what that was
like.”  He glared across the table at Stiles, but by now all that did was crack
Stiles up.
“Be prepared to wake up tomorrow with me asleep across your face.”
Derek could think of all kinds of inappropriate ways to respond that would make
Stiles blush until he burst a blood vessel, but then it reminded Derek of
something.  “You have to go back home tomorrow, don’t you?”
Stiles immediately sobered up, though there was still a streak of chocolate on
his chin.  “Yeah.  My dad gets home tomorrow afternoon.  I could go see him and
try to push for staying at Scott’s for a few more nights—”
“No.  You’ve done enough lying for me.”
Stiles’ face went grim.  “I don’t like it either, but if you need me…”
Derek regretted bringing it up – they would have to have this conversation, but
it didn’t need to be here or now.  “Later.  Right now, you look like you lost a
food fight with yourself.”  Then Derek licked his thumb and acted like he was
going to clean Stiles’ chin with it.
“AAAUUUGH, NOOOO!” Stiles shouted, warding him off with flailing arms until
everybody in the place was staring at them.  Stiles blindly grabbed for a wad
of napkins and buried his face in them, while Derek just buried his face in his
hands and wondered how the hell his life had gotten to this point.
                                      &&&
“You sure?” Stiles asked.
Derek had dreaded the question, because no, of course he wasn’t sure.  God knew
what was going to happen after Stiles left, or after the next blow landed. 
Because there was always going to be a next one, and one after that.  But Derek
had tried this way of coping and he knew what it had done to him, so he said a
firm “Yes,” never so glad that Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat.
Stiles seemed to know anyway and narrowed his eyes a little.
“Fine,” Derek sighed.  “I’m not sure.  But we know I don’t need it physically
and… and I’m through with it.  Whatever happens now, I deal with in other
ways.”
The small bag of powder was in Stiles’ hand, but he let Derek lift the toilet
lid.  After a long, awkward moment, Stiles broke the silence with a rude
snort.  “We totally should’ve done this at the beach yesterday.  Way more
dignified, not to mention dramatic.  The sun setting in the background and
everything.”
“I don’t think I was ready then,” Derek said, which was safer than admitting
but then I might not have gotten to kiss you.
“Fair enough,” Stiles said softly, and handed Derek the bag.  “Do the honors?”
Derek’s hand trembled as he took it, and Stiles clasped Derek’s other hand
tightly, twining their fingers together.  Derek was so shaken at holding the
drug again that he barely noticed the casual intimacy of the gesture.
He didn’t know how long he simply stood there and stared at it, but Stiles
didn’t rush him.  Finally, Derek dumped the contents in the toilet, followed by
the bag, and flushed before he could think too hard about it.  Stiles
immediately gathered him up in a tight hug.  “I’m so proud of you,” he
whispered.  “You are such a badass, you know that?  You beat this thing faster
than I ever thought possible.  And you never actually beat me up in the
process, which, thanks for that, by the way.”
Derek buried a pained laugh against Stiles’ shoulder, because he had come
perilously close, twice.  But he hadn’t really hurt Stiles.  He’d controlled
himself, backed away from his anger instead of centering on it, and that still
left him feeling anchorless, but he’d obviously latched on to something.  He
was just frightened to acknowledge what that something was.
But it was hard to deny when he was breathing in Stiles’ scent, so pure and
undiluted this close up.  He meant to lift his head from Stiles’ shoulder, but
his nose only dragged up Stiles’ throat until Derek’s mouth was positioned
right at the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw, and it was as necessary as breathing to
taste the salt of Stiles’ skin.
Stiles made a soft, surprised noise and turned his face just enough that their
lips dragged against each other and Derek’s mind went blissfully quiet, aware
only of the moment, nothing before or after.  Stiles was tilting his head,
yielding to Derek in a way that made his hands tremble because Stiles never
yielded, not in anything.
Derek raised a hand to cradle the back of Stiles’ head and the kiss slowly slid
into decidedly less-chaste territory.  Derek couldn’t remember when their
mouths had opened, but Stiles’ tongue was pressing curiously against Derek’s,
maybe testing what he could get away with, and it was all Derek could do to be
patient and let Stiles explore.  There was an unmistakable innocence to the way
Stiles pressed in tentatively, but he was quickly gaining confidence.
So Derek was stunned when Stiles once again pulled away first.  Derek should
have been grateful; he’d been able to control himself so far, but once he let
himself start, he was afraid he wouldn’t know where the breaking point was
until he’d passed it.  Still, his heart dropped when Stiles pressed a closed-
mouth kiss to the corner of Derek’s lips and stepped back.
But his hands still rested on Derek’s chest, like he couldn’t quite bear to let
go just yet.  “Derek,” he said, his eyes sliding shut when his voice cracked. 
“We can’t.”
Derek stared at the floor, too ashamed of himself to look at anything but
Stiles’ feet.  “I know.”
“It’s not that I don’t—” He heard Stiles take a deep breath.  “I can’t take
advantage of you like this.”
That made Derek’s head snap up.  “You think you’re taking advantage of—”
Stiles’ eyes were warm, but pinched with regret.  “You’re doing so well, but
you can’t tell me you’re 100% yet.  And whatever you’re feeling, it’s so mixed
in with what you’ve been going through over the past few months—”
“You think I’m confused about this?  About what I want?”
Stiles’ eyes darted away.  “Actually, until a minute ago, I thought you wanted
to pretend it never happened in the first place.”
“I wasn’t the one who said that.”
“Well, I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it, at least.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Derek blurted out.
“Okay,” Stiles said, his voice steady but his breathing erratic, and Derek had
no idea how to interpret that.  “But I think you need some time to sort out
your feelings.  I know I definitely do.  And I know this is something you don’t
take lightly, so I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”  He slid his hands
up to squeeze Derek’s shoulders.  “Or question each other’s motives.”  He
smiled, a little sadly.  “I guess it’s not a matter of wanting.”
Derek nodded, wondering how the hell Stiles could be this mature about it when
Derek was barely managing it himself.  Well, he supposed Stiles would imply
that Derek and maturity were only passing acquaintances, and that would be a
hard point to argue.  Still, he had Stiles all to himself for one more night… 
“Do you, uh.  Could you still stay with me tonight?  I can control myself.” 
Derek wondered if he should admit more, but it came out before he could stop
it.  “I’ve been controlling myself.”
Half a dozen emotions flickered across Stiles’ face so quickly that Derek
couldn’t catch any of them until Stiles finally landed on a small smile. 
“Yeah.  Yeah, I’d like that.”  Just as suddenly, he frowned and looked down at
his shoes.  “Hey, I haven’t been, like, doing anything… weird in my sleep, have
I?”
Derek thought back to that first morning they’d woken up together, Stiles out
cold but the heat of his erection pressed lightly against Derek’s back. 
“Nope,” Derek said innocently.
Apparently he couldn’t pull off “innocent” so well, because Stiles groaned and
covered his face with his hands.  “I’m assuming it wasn’t too traumatic for
you, whatever it was.  So just… never, ever tell me.”
***** Chapter 4 *****
Derek slept so well with Stiles tangled against him that the morning light
filtering in through the blinds made his heart sink.  Stiles was still asleep,
breathing wetly against Derek’s shoulder, and Derek stayed still as long as he
could, trying to delay the moment when Stiles would wake.  But eventually
Stiles’ eyes blinked open and he rolled over to stretch, and Derek averted his
eyes for his own mental well-being.
They ate breakfast in silence, since Stiles seemed just as disheartened about
leaving as Derek felt and for once didn’t seem to have the words to fill the
emptiness.  Derek did manage to get a smile out of him, though, by deftly
peeling the last orange and handing half of it to Stiles.
He offered to leave the Wii, but Derek declined; he thought playing it alone
would be a bit sad, even for him.  Stiles did leave a few movies, though,
because “no, really, dude, you have to watch this” – enough, Derek suspected,
to get him through a few sleepless nights if he needed them.
Saying goodbye was strange, since Stiles lived less than fifteen minutes away
and Derek knew Stiles would be checking up on him.  Still, Stiles had
essentially been living with him for almost a week – was that all it was? – and
had spent the past three nights in Derek’s bed, but that was over, probably for
good.
“Call me,” Stiles said earnestly.  “Call me all the time, not just when you
can’t sleep or you’re having nightmares.  I mean, of course call me then, no
matter what time it is.  But please, for my own peace of mind, call me or text
me or send smoke signals, because otherwise I’ll be over here picking your lock
again.”
“I’ll get a deadbolt,” Derek said, trying hard not to smirk.
“Yeah, like that’ll stop me,” Stiles laughed.  “And just… please think about
what I said about Isaac and Boyd?  I’m not going to say a word to anyone, and
you don’t have to tell them everything, but don’t shut them out.”
“I’ll think about it,” Derek sighed, though in truth he knew it was the right
thing to do.  He just had to work up the courage to do it and, no matter what
Stiles said, to be prepared if they wanted nothing to do with him.
Stiles set down his bags and slipped his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him
in tight.  “It’s gonna be tough,” Stiles murmured.  “But don’t try to do it
alone again.  That’s all I ask from you.”
Derek couldn’t find his voice, just nodded with his face pushed into the crook
of Stiles’ neck and tried not to think what it would be like without that scent
to calm him, ground him.  Anchor him.  Fuck.
Once Stiles was gone, the sound of his Jeep receding as he drove away, Derek
did pushups until his arms started to shake.  He rolled over on his back on the
floor.  All he really had to do was wait a few minutes and he’d heal enough to
keep going, but he was too restless even for that.  He’d intended to wait a few
days before trying to contact Isaac and Boyd, but suddenly his loft seemed so
empty.  Why had he moved into such a ridiculously large space?  It startled him
to realize that, for the first time in recent memory, he didn’t want to be
alone.
He was surprised that both Isaac and Boyd answered their phones, knowing it was
Derek who was calling, and even more surprised that they agreed to come over
that evening in the absence of anything trying to kill them or the rest of the
town.  Derek was half-expecting to have to lure them over with the threat of
some mythological creature; it turned out all he needed was the promise of
pizza.
Isaac arrived first, and there was an awkward moment where Isaac made an
aborted move to hug Derek – he’d obviously been spending too much time with
Scott – but instead pulled back and said, “You’re looking good.  You had us all
worried there for a little while.”
Derek had never practiced the traditional scent-marking or encouraged casual
touch among his pack, so he could hardly start now without suspicion.  Or
having to offer up an explanation, which he didn’t think he’d be up for any
time soon.  But he rested a hand on Isaac’s shoulder and squeezed.  Isaac went
very still for a moment, but he didn’t flinch away.  His eyes went wide as he
looked at Derek’s hand, but when he looked back at Derek, he gave a serious
nod, like he understood.
Derek wasn’t sure what to do about Boyd, who had always seemed even less
comfortable with physical contact than Derek.  But Boyd was the one who
initiated it, putting his hand out and grasping Derek’s forearm, which forced
Derek to do the same.  It was more than a handshake but less than a hug, and
Derek even got an almost-smile out of him.  He’d been the one to tip Stiles off
in the first place, and it suddenly reminded Derek that the entire apartment
must reek of Stiles.
If Isaac and Boyd noticed, though, they didn’t say anything.  Nor did they ask
why Derek had been completely absent for weeks, and Derek felt the weight of
guilt descend on him.  No pack member, not even an alpha – especially not an
alpha – should separate himself from the pack with no warning or explanation. 
Still, if they weren’t going to ask, Derek wasn’t eager to tell them the
specifics.  All he could try to do was move forward.
Isaac and Boyd chatted with each other stiltedly while they ate, and Derek
waited until after the pizza was gone to address them.  When he cleared his
throat, they both looked at him expectantly, and Derek had to resist the urge
to simply flee the room.  Instead, he took a deep breath.  “I owe you both an
apology.  I didn’t forget that I grew up as a werewolf and you didn’t, but I
took advantage of it.  When a packmate dies, the pack should mourn together. 
But I wanted to be alone, so I essentially abandoned you, and no alpha should
do that.”
Both betas stared at Derek, Isaac more openly than Boyd.  “I didn’t…” Isaac
started hoarsely.  “I wasn’t even sure if we were still a pack.”
It hurt Derek to hear that, but it was no worse than he deserved.  “We are. 
And we still can be… if you want to.  Going off on your own is dangerous, but
I’m not sure what’s going on with Scott.  He’s not exactly an alpha, but the
three of you might be able to form a pack, plus…”  He didn’t want to say
Stiles’ name.  “…whatever humans want to join you.”
“What would happen to you?” Boyd asked.
“I wouldn’t create more betas, if that’s what you’re asking,” Derek replied. 
He’d sure as hell learned his lesson on that one.  But it was time to say what
he really needed to say, what he hadn’t been able to say when Boyd and Erica
were leaving and Isaac had already been drawing away from him.  “You’re free to
do as you want, but I’d prefer if you stayed.  I gave you the bite, so your
safety and well-being are my responsibility.  And I need pack just like you do,
I’ve just been trying to deny it.”
Isaac narrowed his eyes.  “You’ll become an omega if we leave.”
Derek’s insides clenched at the word.  To be completely on his own, with no
pack…  “It’s possible.  I don’t know for sure.  But my obligation is to you,
not the other way around.  I want to… to start over.”  He tried not to look at
Boyd.  “It won’t bring back the people we lost, but there are still things I
can teach you.  And not just about fighting, but about being a pack.  There’s
still something to be gained in staying together.”
When Derek did look at Boyd, he was surprised to see one side of Boyd’s mouth
quirked up.  “Just say it, man.  You want us back.”
Isaac picked up on Boyd’s mood shift.  “Better yet, sing it.  Wasn’t there a
Jackson 5 song?”
Recent personal growth aside, Derek couldn’t help rolling his eyes.  “I’m not
going to sing it.  But yes, I want you back.  Both of you.  Even Scott, if he’d
consider it, though I don’t expect him to.”
To Derek’s surprise, Isaac nodded.  “I can talk to him about it.  I don’t know
what he’ll say, but I can at least bring it up.”
“I want us to be prepared,” Derek said, “in case something or someone else
comes after us.  Defeating the alpha pack bought us some time, but there may be
other challenges, over territory or just over pride.”
“Or other mythological creatures,” Boyd interjected.
Derek groaned.  “That, too.”
“It’s a good thing Stiles has been working on the bestiary,” Isaac said with
just the tiniest of smirks, and it confirmed for Derek that they knew something
had gone on with Stiles.  They didn’t seem to want to ask about it, though, and
Derek wasn’t going to volunteer any information.  But he genuinely hadn’t known
Stiles had kept up with the bestiary.
“We’ll make a list of all the resources we have.”
The three of them talked a little longer about where to start, but their
renewed alliance was still too tense and fragile to discuss much more than
that.  The best Derek could do was say, “I wasn’t there for you, after the
alpha pack.  You deserved better from me, and that’s what I’m going to try to
be.  Better.”
Both Isaac and Boyd nodded tentatively, and Derek showed them out with the
promise of another meeting soon.  Not only did they need to plan for possible
threats, but they needed to solidify their bonds with each other again.  They
hardly felt like Derek’s betas anymore, but he sensed their willingness to
return, their need to be part of a pack, and he felt something he hadn’t felt
for a long time, something dangerous: hope.
The fear of it kept him wide awake long past midnight.  Was he doing the right
thing, bringing these kids back into his life?  Or should he have just let them
go?  Isaac had Scott, and Boyd was resourceful enough to find a new pack if he
didn’t want to join them.  Derek had promised to try to be better, but what if
he couldn’t?  What if he kept destroying everything he touched?
He made it to precisely 2:47 a.m. before calling Stiles, getting out of bed to
wander downstairs for a change of scenery.
Stiles’ voice was raspy with sleep, but he sounded completely unsurprised. 
“Nightmares?”
“Not yet.”
“Ah, can’t sleep.”
“No.”
“Isaac and Boyd still on your mind?”
Derek managed to stop himself before asking how Stiles knew, because of course
Stiles knew – hell, he was probably there when Isaac told Scott.  “I’m still
not sure I did the right thing.”
“Derek, they need you as much as you need them.  If they’re not throwing
themselves down at your feet and groveling, well… imagine what you’d do in
their position.”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t trust me.”
“That’ll change with time.  But they’re willing to give it a shot.  As long as
you, and I quote, ‘keep your fat alpha head out of your ass this time.’”
“Isaac?”
“Boyd.  I know, it surprised me, too.  It’s probably the longest single
sentence he’s ever said to me.”
Derek sighed.  “I still don’t even know if I’m back to normal, and normal was
obviously not cutting it the first time around.”
“Give yourself a break, man.  You gave them a choice, and they chose you.  They
might not be the only ones, either.”
At first, Derek thought Stiles was talking about himself, but then he thought
better of it.  “Scott?”
“He’s still being stubborn for the moment, but I think he was impressed with
what you said to Isaac and Boyd.  He tried to hide it, but the Scott-face
doesn’t do ‘hiding’ so well.”
Derek snorted, digging some baby carrots out of the fridge.  He wasn’t really
hungry, but they didn’t really taste like much, so it sort of evened out.
Stiles listened to him crunch for a little while before saying, “I think he’ll
come around.  He’s never wanted to cut you out of his life.  Not entirely.”
“Not even when you were encouraging him to?” Derek asked dryly, snapping
satisfactorily into a carrot.
“Hey, that was, like, half a year ago.  I’ve grown tremendously as a person
since then.  Also, you stopped wanting to brutally murder me at some point. 
That helped.”
“I never wanted to murder you.”  Derek paused.  “Well, not brutally.”
“Oh, good, so you’d have made it quick.  Past-me appreciates the consideration,
he really does.”
“You turned out to be useful.  I’m glad I kept you around.”
Stiles gasped.  “That… that may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Derek winced; Stiles’ tone was sarcastic, but there was some underlying truth
there.  If “useful” had been the nicest thing Derek had ever called Stiles,
then Stiles was some kind of saint for sticking around as long as he had,
refusing to let Derek push him away.  That or the world’s most stubborn,
meddling asshole.  Probably a bit of both, actually.
Derek must have been silent for a long time, because eventually Stiles said,
“What can I do to help you get to sleep?”
Come over here and put your arms around me.  “I don’t know.  Talk to me.  That
usually makes me zone out.”
“Ha fuckin’ ha.  I’m not fooled by your ‘I barely tolerate Stiles because he is
oh-so-pretty’ act anymore.  Put the carrots away and get back in bed,
dickweed.”
“You should start a therapy program,” Derek said, shoving the carrots back into
the fridge.  “It’s your compassion that really sells it.”
“What am I going to do with all these compliments, Derek?  I’m going to end up
with a serious ego disorder.”
Derek climbed under the sheets and pulled the blanket back up.  “Okay, I’m in
bed.”  The fact that it was the guest room bed, still saturated with Stiles’
scent, was something Stiles didn’t need to know.
“Good,” Stiles said, followed by a monstrous yawn.  “Just relax.  Isaac and
Boyd are fine.  They’re safe.  We all are.”
“Won’t always be,” Derek muttered, just to be obstinate, but he put the phone
on speaker and laid it on the pillow so he could get comfortable.
“Doesn’t matter.  All that matters is that right now, we’re safe.  You’re
safe.  You’re in a safe place.  No horrible beasties or bad thoughts.  Not
here.  It’s just you, and I know you’re tired.  You’ve had a long day.  Can you
feel it tugging at you, just behind your eyes?  Your mind wants to rest.  Let
it.”
Derek grunted, which drew a soft laugh out of the tinny speaker beside him. 
Stiles kept talking, his voice getting heavier and heavier with sleep, until at
some point it was gone entirely.  Derek didn’t know how long it took him to
finally drift off, but the phone was still next to his head when he woke up in
the morning.
                                      &&&
The nightmares came back.  Not as bad as they had been in the weeks after the
alpha pack, but Derek still awoke in a cold sweat once or twice a night. 
Sometimes he called Stiles; sometimes he didn’t.  Derek would have felt guilty
about all the late night calls except it was still summer and half the time
he’d get 3 a.m. texts from Stiles anyway, just to see if Derek was awake. 
Derek learned pretty quickly to turn the text alert sound off at night, just in
case he had managed to fall asleep by then.
Less than two weeks went by before Isaac and Boyd returned… with Scott.  And
Stiles.  Derek should have been prepared for it, as well as he knew Stiles and
as much as they texted, but Stiles must’ve figured it was probably too obvious
to mention.  It was even stranger than Derek would have imagined, having Stiles
back in the loft, but surrounded by other people.
At least Scott looked as uncomfortable as Derek felt.  Derek was still trying
to think of something to say to put him at ease when Stiles busted out the
Chinese delivery menu.  “Okay, orange chicken for me, mu shu pork and veggie lo
mein for Scott.  Does this place serve egg rolls by the gross?  Because I have
a feeling we’re gonna need ‘em…”
Something else Derek should have learned from Stiles by now – food was the
great problem solver, at least among teenage males.  Once Stiles had reached
enough of a consensus to call the order in, Scott started bragging about being
able to fit six egg rolls in his mouth at once and Boyd and Isaac were placing
their bets (Isaac: pro; Boyd: con).  Stiles kept clamping his hand over the
phone to yell at Scott about what a liar he was, and Scott told them all to
listen to his heartbeat, hear if he was lying.
“It doesn’t work if you’re lying to yourself,” Derek cut in, and even Boyd
burst out laughing at the wounded look on Scott’s face.
But that seemed to break the last of the tension, even with Scott, and when
Derek had them all sitting around the table – he wanted to get through this
before the food arrived, because there would be no concentrating afterwards –
he brought up the need for preparation to protect the territory.
“What exactly are the bounds of our territory?” Boyd asked, and Derek pulled
out a map.  Some of the border areas were fuzzy, with the neighboring packs
either very loosely established or absent entirely.  It was Scott who suggested
twice-weekly patrols.
There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.  “Scott,” Isaac said
nervously, “are you…?”
Scott bit his lip, and Derek couldn’t help but notice Stiles staring intently
at Scott, like this was something not even they had talked about.  “I don’t…
feel like your beta, Derek.  But I still feel like I’m in your pack.  Is that
even possible?”
Part of Derek wanted to roll his eyes and tell them that being born a werewolf
didn’t come with a manual, but he needed to be honest with them – all of them –
without sarcasm.  “I don’t know.  A lot of what I know about us comes from
growing up in a mostly-born pack, where things like status are more
straightforward.   Since I wasn’t the one that bit you, I don’t know for
certain if you were ever actually my beta.  But obviously humans can become
pack by birth or marriage or strong emotional ties, so it seems possible for a
werewolf.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Derek could see that Stiles looked surprised at
that, but he had to work this out with Scott first.  “So you’ll help me? 
You’ll help us?”
“As long as you don’t try to pull that I’m the alpha crap with me,” Scott
retorted, and something instinctual and angry rose up in Derek’s chest.  But
one look at Stiles, who was watching him carefully as if he knew the fine line
Derek was treading, and Derek pushed the feeling aside.
“I’m going to try to work things… differently,” Derek admitted.  “I’m – we’re
all – going to need to work together.  That includes letting each other in on
plans.  If you have a problem with that, let me know now.”
Derek was proud of himself for getting that last part out without a snarl, and
he hoped it would be enough.  Scott seemed to seriously consider his words, and
at last he nodded.
“Okay, awesome!” Stiles cut in brightly, though Derek could hear the relief in
his voice.  “Care Bear Hugs all around.  Isaac told me you said something about
listing our resources?”
“Yeah, that should probably be our first step.”  Before Derek had even finished
speaking, Stiles had whipped out a pad of paper and a pen.
They were all arguing about just how much they could trust Deaton (Scott and
Isaac wanted him to be their first contact in the event that shit went down;
Boyd and particularly Derek were less certain, to say the least; Stiles was
mostly trying to mediate), and things were about to take a turn for the ugly
when the doorbell rang and the food showed up.  Stiles looked so relieved he
slumped down in his chair.  It was obvious how much he had invested in this
alliance.
Despite the fact that they still had so much to hash out, Derek declared a
moratorium on pack business until after dinner.  It was hard to be tense when
they were all seated on the floor around the coffee table, Isaac shoveling beef
and broccoli into his mouth like someone was about to take it from him, while
Boyd and Scott were still arguing over the egg roll thing.  Eventually, Stiles
was nominated as the referee, tasked with choosing the egg rolls to use (Scott:
“If Boyd does it, he’ll just choose the biggest egg rolls.”  Boyd: “You
threatened by big egg rolls, Scott?”) and giving the final call on whether or
not Scott had succeeded.
It turned out that by grouping them together cigar-like, Scott could, in fact,
fit the circumference of six fairly large egg rolls in his mouth at once, and
when it was determined that he wasn’t unhinging his jaw (everyone had agreed on
no abuse of werewolf healing powers), Stiles – looking just as surprised as
everyone else – declared Scott to be a non-liar and his pants to officially not
be on fire.
When Boyd told Scott he now had to eat the egg rolls without removing them from
his mouth, Scott wordlessly flicked him off and everyone dissolved into
laughter yet again, including Derek.  He had the sudden thought that this was
what his teenage years should have been, doing stupid stuff with friends
instead of sneaking around with an older woman and, later, trying to keep his
grief under control as he and his sister ran from city to city.  The stab of
regret was almost physically painful, but it was hard to hold on to when Isaac
was mournfully fishing a $10 bill out of his wallet and Scott was trying to
trash talk Boyd through the mouthful of egg rolls and Stiles was laughing so
hard he was actually crying.
Derek had this now.  It would have to be enough – it was enough, considering
the depths to which he’d sunk.  And he had Stiles to thank for bringing him
back.
But he couldn’t afford to think about that now, especially as Scott was pulling
the soggy egg rolls from his mouth one by one.  “You should try this, Stiles,”
Scott said, then turned to Derek.  “He’s got a huge mouth, and not just
metaphorically.  He used to wipe the floor with everyone playing Chubby Bunny
at summer camp.”
Stiles’ eyes flicked to Derek for a split second, and then his cheeks heated
fast.  “Uh, thanks but no thanks.  You’ve already slobbered over enough of the
food.  Oh, and you do have to eat those.  Referee says no wasting food.”
“But they’re all gross now!” Scott protested.
“So’s your face.”
“You are all twelve years old,” Boyd grumbled, but he was smiling as he
collected his money from Isaac.
Once the bickering had died down and the rest of the food was eaten – leftovers
were a rarity among werewolves – Stiles was able to get them all back on track
surprisingly quickly.  They decided to discuss Deaton another time and went on
with the list.  Stiles got them up to date with his translations and revisions
to the bestiary – apparently Lydia was helping out much more than Derek had
known.  They split up the patrols and decided to meet again the next week.
Derek desperately wanted to talk to Stiles alone, but he had driven everyone
over, so he couldn’t hang back after they’d finished.  Even if he could have,
Derek didn’t think Scott trusted him enough yet not to eavesdrop on the
conversation, so he said goodbye to them all, making sure to touch Isaac and
Boyd on the arm as they left.  He would bring that up, bonding through touch,
sometime later.
When they were gone, he went to the fridge to get a bottle of water and saw the
edge of a folded piece of paper sticking out from beneath the bag of baby
carrots.  It looked like it had been torn from a pad, and on the inside was a
pathetic little doodle of a howling wolf and, in Stiles’ handwriting, You’re an
A+ alpha.
                                      &&&
The next day – in the middle of the day – Stiles called Derek for once.  Stiles
tried to start with some inane chitchat, but Derek just sighed.  “What do you
want, Stiles?”  He didn’t mean to sound so annoyed, especially after last
night’s success, but he could hear Stiles’ nervous heartbeat over the phone and
he wanted to get to the point.
But, of course, Stiles evaded.  “Who says I have to want something to give you
a call?  Maybe I just want to… chat?”
Derek snorted.  “Pretty sure you’re aware I’m not the chatty type.  You can’t
already be checking up on me, because you last saw me 16 hours ago, and if this
were about the pack, you’d have spit it out already.”
“Well, um,” Stiles said, and Derek could hear the click of a dry swallow.  “It
is kind of about the pack.  Last night, you said… humans could be part of a
pack?”
“You didn’t know that?” Derek asked, frowning even though he knew Stiles
couldn’t see him.
“You never said either way, and the internet is… let’s go with ‘unreliable’ on
these things.”
“There were humans in my family, both adults and children.”  It was Derek’s
turn to swallow uncomfortably.  “Peter’s wife was human.”
“Oh.  I didn’t know.  Is there… I mean, you said birth and marriage, but is
there a ritual for a human to become part of a pack?”
“There are some rituals, usually done at weddings, but they’re mostly
symbolic.  It’s really the emotional ties that matter.”
“Oh.”  Stiles paused for a long time, and if Derek hadn’t heard him breathing,
he would’ve thought the call had dropped.  “Am I part of your pack?”
“I assumed that’s why you came last night.”
“I was mostly there in case you needed a buffer from Scott.  And because I
wanted to see you and I didn’t think you’d turn me away.”
Derek’s heart clenched.  That Stiles would even think that…  “I would never
turn you away, Stiles.  Your loyalties have been divided because Scott’s your
best friend, I get that.  But once you stayed with me… I forget that you can’t
feel it the way I do.  At least not yet.”
“But if Scott joins your pack…”
“There won’t be any doubt,” Derek said, and then took a deep breath.  “And even
if you weren’t pack, you do know you’re… you’re important to me.”
Stiles chuckled.  “Yup.  According to some sources, I’m even useful.”
“No, not just that.” Derek didn’t have any idea how to say what he wanted to
say.  “Of course we’re all better for having you around, but I…”
“Feelings stuff?” Stiles asked softly after a few moments of pained silence.
Derek gripped the phone so hard he worried he’d crush it.  “Yeah.”
“If it helps, um.  Me too.”
“You were right, though.  I’m better, but I’m still not ready.  Especially if I
can’t even say it.”
“That’s okay.  I’m probably not ready either.  For all I know, I could go all
nuts on you and either run screaming or be that clingy guy.”
Derek was pretty sure that any way Stiles handled a relationship would be
better than the way Derek would, but he felt like a huge weight had been taken
off his chest, even if he couldn’t think of the right thing to say next.  So he
went for a change of subject.  “Thanks for being here last night.”
Stiles’ laugh sounded a little rueful.  “I kinda wish I could have stayed. 
Y’know, for old time’s sake.”
“’Old times’ meaning ‘two weeks ago’?” Derek said instead of I wish you
could’ve stayed, too.
“God, it feels like a lot longer than that,” Stiles sighed, and Derek tried –
and failed – not to read too much into it.  “You’re doing better, though.  With
the nightmares.”
“So far, yeah,” Derek admitted.  “But it feels like this dark cloud that’s
always hovering over me, and I never know when it’s going to descend again.”
“Talking about it helped, right?  I know you didn’t want to talk specifics when
it came to the actual dreams, but if you ever need somebody to listen…”
“Thanks,” Derek said, though he still wasn’t sure that talking about the
details wouldn’t make them worse.
“Hey, look, I gotta go.  My dad’s got the afternoon off and we’re going to see
some terrible action movie.  Hopefully there won’t be anyone else in the
theater and we can heckle the screen.”  Stiles paused.  “Keep in touch, okay? 
And I’ll see you at the next pack meeting.”
Derek wanted to tell him he was welcome any time, but that seemed like it might
come across wrong, and besides, he could practically hear Stiles’ grin as he
said the word pack.  “Just… not Chinese again.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able
to eat another egg roll.”
                                      &&&
That night, Derek woke up gasping from another fire dream.  It wasn’t much
different from the ones he’d been having for years… except for one thing. 
Behind the blackening basement window, pounding on the glass and screaming in
terror as the flames grew higher, was Stiles.
                                      &&&
Derek didn’t relapse, but only because he was able to stop himself from making
the drive to Oregon.  If Terrence had been local, Derek had no doubt he’d have
been shooting up again immediately.  The dreams didn’t come every night, and
Stiles wasn’t always in them, but when he was, Derek awoke feeling physically
sick.
It was like some kind of cruel reminder that everything he cared about, he
destroyed in the end.
He occasionally checked in briefly with Stiles – anything else would’ve invited
suspicion – and answered when Stiles called him.  He didn’t slip back into the
threats that had largely dominated their interactions before, but neither could
he fake the banter that had started to come so easily in the past weeks.  Derek
wasn’t stupid enough to think he was fooling Stiles, but Stiles seemed to
grudgingly respect the distance Derek was putting between them.
“You okay?” he asked at the next pack meeting when Isaac, Boyd, and Scott were
playing Super Smash Bros. and yelling at the TV.
Derek bit back on an I’m fine, because that would immediately arouse Stiles’
suspicion.  Instead, he said, “Not sleeping well.  And all the pack stuff… it’s
overwhelming for me after such a long time.”
He was lucky Stiles couldn’t hear the lie.  Stiles just nodded solemnly and
said, “I’m not trying to be overbearing, I just want you to know I’m here.” 
His face was neutral, but there was a sour tinge of sadness to his scent.
Stiles didn’t stop showing up in Derek’s nightmares.
                                      &&&
It was a damned good thing they’d made contingency plans, because it wasn’t
three weeks since the first official pack meeting that the shit hit the fan. 
Derek wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry at his utter relief that at least
the timing of this clusterfuck had been convenient.
It started with Boyd smelling something strange on the outer edge of the
territory.  Or rather, not smelling something strange.  Derek went out to have
a look and found an area about ten feet in diameter that simply had no odor. 
For someone who relied so heavily on scent, it was like spotting a black hole,
and it was extremely disconcerting.  He went farther behind the area, guessing
that whatever it was had come from outside the territory, and got a trace scent
of some unfamiliar humans and werewolves.  The scents seemed to be equally
fresh, and it could have been a pack with multiple humans, but why the sloppy
attempt to hide all their scents?
Derek only knew of one type of humans who both knew how and bothered to hide
their scent.
“Hunters?” Scott asked back at the loft.
“Has to be,” Derek said.  “I just don’t know why they were traveling with
werewolves.”
“Could they, uh,” Boyd started, and for the first time Derek could remember,
his voice faltered.  “Could the wolves have been taken captive?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but it didn’t happen there.  The scent trail was
relatively fresh, and there’s been no rain or high winds lately to cover over
any signs of a struggle.  And hunters don’t generally travel around with their
prisoners.”
“Could they be working together, the hunters and the wolves?” Stiles piped up
from the corner.  He had seemed hurt by Derek’s gradual pulling away, but he
dutifully attended the pack meetings.
“No,” Derek said simply.  He wasn’t trying to shut Stiles down, but he caught a
slight wince around the edges of Stiles’ eyes.
“Well, how else do you explain it?” Stiles asked.  “Just because you’ve never
heard of it happening doesn’t mean it can’t.  We know the hunters don’t all
follow the rules.”
Isaac shook his head.  “What kind of werewolf would be foolish enough—”
Derek would have reflexively shot a look at Scott if Stiles hadn’t cut in. 
“Omegas, maybe.  Werewolves that wouldn’t have had a chance on their own. 
Hell, maybe these hunters are the human equivalents of omegas.  They’d be safer
together, but where could they go?”
Derek sighed, realizing Stiles was probably right.  “A large territory with a
small, fractured pack and two inactive hunters.”
“I don’t know how fast word travels, but shouldn’t they have heard we defeated
an alpha pack?” Isaac asked.  “Why would they risk it?”
“Don’t underestimate omegas,” Derek warned.  “Some are all the more vicious for
having been rejected or were too antisocial to ever really belong in a pack. 
And we did defeat the alphas… at an incredibly high cost.”
“So what were they doing at the edge of the territory?” Stiles asked.  “And why
only partially cover their scent?”
“Surveillance, maybe,” Boyd said.
“And they could have just gotten sloppy,” Derek said.  “Didn’t think I’d even
try to find a scent trail.”
Scott swallowed loudly.  “Uh, wouldn’t that just make them idiots?”
“Stupid and vicious is a seriously bad combination, dude,” Stiles said with a
groan.
“So, uh,” said Isaac.  “What do we do?”
Derek shut his eyes for a moment, not convinced of his own decision-making
capabilities.  “We try to arrange a meeting.”
“Won’t that just turn into a bloodbath?” Boyd asked.  “Because I’ve had enough
of that for one lifetime.”
“It might,” Derek admitted.  “But they haven’t made a move yet.  They have to
know we’re patrolling the borders, so they could’ve tried to pick us off one at
a time, and they haven’t.  There’s going to be a confrontation eventually, and
I’d rather it be on our terms.”
“So what do we tell them?” Scott asked.  He’d been gaping at Derek, probably
because he’d expected Derek to suggest they just try and slaughter the whole
lot of them.  “’Get the hell off my property’?”
“Essentially.  This is our territory and we have no intention of giving it up.”
“And if that goes south?” Stiles asked, his voice surprisingly soft.
“We’ll defend ourselves,” Derek said flatly.
“We’ll need backup,” Stiles said, and Derek’s chest twinged with his use of the
word “we.”
Scott turned to him, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking.  “I told
you, dude, Allison and her dad are out of the game.”
“With any luck, we won’t need them to actually do anything but show up,” Stiles
replied.  “They have hunters; we need to have hunters.  Ones who follow the
code and have connections.”
“No,” Derek growled, slamming his fist down on the table so hard the wood
cracked.  “We are not bringing the Argents into this.”  He might have a
fragile, unspoken truce with Chris, but Derek still didn’t trust him not to
give into years of training and start taking out omegas on sight.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Derek,” Scott said. 
“There’s too much we don’t know.  Maybe after we find out how big the pack is,
who’s in it—”
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Derek said, feeling like he finally needed to
take charge.  “I don’t know of any other way to contact them, so I’m going to
leave a note at the scent blind we found.  We’ll meet at my… the old house at
night.  That way we’ll have some territorial advantage.  I’ll let you know when
I’ve got the meeting set.”
He looked around from face to face, as though daring anyone to speak out
against him.  Only Stiles looked like he wanted to say anything, but he kept
his mouth shut for once.  But Derek felt he owed it to them all to say “I want
to avoid bloodshed, too.  But I can guarantee you one thing – they’re not here
to ask to share.  Trying to meet them in the open, face to face, is the best
chance we have of ending this peacefully.”
The mood was somber as the four others left, Stiles driving them once again. 
He shot Derek a look as he walked out the door, but he didn’t attempt to hang
back.   Derek expected to hear from him, but he assumed he’d get a phone call,
not the pounding on his door half an hour later.
Stiles’ expression was so open and concerned that Derek had to muster all his
will to keep from slamming the door in his face; he didn’t think he could deal
with this right now.  Or ever.
“What’s going on?” Stiles asked.  “You haven’t been yourself lately.”
Actually, Derek had been himself lately – his old self, or at least an
approximation of it.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He felt more than saw Stiles bristle at that.  “Don’t try to bullshit me.  I’m
not going to make you talk if you don’t want to, but don’t try to act like
nothing’s changed in the past couple of weeks.”
“I’m clean,” Derek said, the edge of a snarl creeping unbidden into his voice. 
“The pack is working together again.  Isn’t that what you wanted?
Stiles looked a little thrown by that.  “Well… yeah.  But it’s not really about
what I want.”
“No, it’s not, is it?” Derek snapped.  It was too easy, falling back into this
role.  He didn’t even have to try.
Stiles narrowed his eyes.  “You ever heard of a ‘dry drunk,’ Derek?  It’s
someone who’s not using but still acts like they are.  It’s reverting back to
self-destruction.”
“If you thought my plan was so shitty, you should’ve said so,” Derek shot back,
hoping the misdirection would take.  He just needed Stiles out of the loft
before he said something he would really regret, either in rage or in need.
“Under the circumstances, I think it’s the best we can do.  Although I still
think we should at least let the Argents know what’s going on, because it will
inevitably affect them, too.”  He paused.  “But that’s not what I’m talking
about.”
“You helped me.  And I’m… I’m grateful.”  Derek spat the word out like it was
poison.  “But I don’t need your help anymore.”
“Derek, you need as much help as you can get.  We all do.  We don’t know
exactly what we’re up against, we’re still learning how to work together, and
you… you’ve been through so much, and come out the other side of it, and we—”
All this use of we.  Stiles was pack, probably had been for longer than either
of them knew it, but it could easily get him killed.  Derek had let himself get
too close, and protection of his packmate was more important than his own
feelings.  “And I’m okay,” Derek said, letting himself sound as exhausted as he
felt.  “I’m just having a rough week.  This is the first real problem I’ve
faced since…  And I’m handling it the best I know how.”
Stiles didn’t look like he was buying it.  “I know you’re still having the
nightmares, at least sometimes.  I know they didn’t just go away.  What I don’t
understand why you aren’t calling me about them anymore.”
Oh god, the nightmares.  Just the mention of them brought the image of Stiles
screaming in agony and Derek nearly retched.  Instead, he twisted his face into
a sneer.  “I don’t need you as a crutch anymore.”
The wave of hurt that came off of Stiles was acrid and overpowering.  “That’s
what you think that was?  Me being your crutch?”
“Need to learn to walk without it sometime,” Derek said, and then, quickly:
“Stiles, go home.  There’s nothing more to do tonight.”
Stiles’ face went blank then, and it was more disturbing than Derek could’ve
imagined.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen that before.  “Right, okay.  But when
we get through this mess—”
“Fine,” Derek snapped, fairly sure he wasn’t actually agreeing to anything.
Stiles stared him down, and for a terrifying moment, Derek thought he was
actually going to have to push Stiles out the front door, and Derek worried
that if he touched him, he’d be lost.  He thought of all the times he’d touched
Stiles so carelessly in anger, and it stiffened his resolve to keep from
hurting Stiles at all costs.  “You know where the door is,” Derek said.
Without another word, Stiles turned and left.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Maybe Derek should’ve felt nostalgic, climbing into Scott’s window in the dead
of night for the first time in at least six months, but instead he mostly felt
nauseated.  He’d already been to Boyd’s house and Isaac’s foster home, but
neither of those visits had sparked this queasy feeling.
Scott was sitting on his bed with his laptop, furiously jabbing one of the keys
and murmuring die die die die at something on the screen.  He had to know Derek
was there, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush to acknowledge him until the
thing on the computer met its demise.  Finally, he looked up and sighed.  “I
happen to know you have a cell phone.”
Derek just glowered.  At least he remembered how to do that, even if it no
longer had the same effect it once did.  “You need to come with me right now.”
“Um, no?”
“The meeting with the omega pack.  It’s at midnight.”
That got Scott moving, grabbing a pair of jeans off the floor to yank over his
boxers.  “Couldn’t have given me a little more warning?”
“It happened fast.”  Technically true, though Derek had been the one to request
that it happen as soon as possible.
Scott went for his shoes.  “Shit, okay, have you rallied the troops?  You smell
like Isaac and Boyd – do you need me to call Stiles to meet us there?”
“No,” Derek said, snatching Scott’s phone off the desk before he could grab
it.  “Stiles is sitting this one out.”
Scott froze.  “What did you do to him?”
“What?” Derek said, taken aback.  “What are you talking about?”
“Do not even try to tell me that Stiles is ‘sitting this one out’ by choice. 
So either he doesn’t know or you’ve got him chained up somewhere.”
Actually, chains might have been a good idea.  Too bad there wasn’t time before
the meeting now.  “He’s not chained up.”
“So you’re just, what, not going to tell him?  And hold my phone hostage so I
don’t tell him?”
Derek sighed.  “No, you need to have in on you just in case we… just in case. 
But you are not calling, texting, or otherwise alerting Stiles to this in any
way, do you understand?”
“Have you lost your mind?” Scott hissed.  “We need him there.  He’s part of the
pack.”
There was a twinge in Derek’s chest, but he held firm.  “He helped us prepare
for this.  That’s enough.  Scott, you know how dangerous this is tonight.  If
they attack and it’s clear we can’t win, we’ll have to scatter and regroup. 
Stiles isn’t fast enough to get away in time.  You know that.”
“He can take care of himself.  He’s always been fine,” Scott insisted, but
Derek could hear the smallest tremor in his voice.
“And how long before he’s not?  Even he’d tell you that half of it’s been sheer
luck.”
“He’d still want to go,” Scott said, sounding resigned.  “He’ll never forgive
me for leaving him out of this.”
“Of course he will,” Derek said softly.  “He’d forgive you anything.  That’s
who he is.  But if it helps, you can tell him I did hold your phone hostage.”
Scott shook his head, but he was already walking towards the window.  “This
whole thing is a bad idea.”
“I know.  But it’s the only one we’ve got.”  He held out Scott’s phone, not
handing it over just yet.  “Look me in the eye and promise me you won’t tell
Stiles until it’s over.”
Scott looked miserable, but when he promised, there was no lie in his
heartbeat. 
                                      &&&
They met up with Isaac and Boyd about half a mile from the house.  “Stay calm,
and no shifting unless you have to,” Derek said, as much to himself as to the
others.  “If it gets ugly, get out of there as fast as you can and we’ll meet
up at the western edge of the Preserve, near the main road.  I don’t think
they’ll risk coming that deep into Beacon Hills.”
Isaac, Boyd, and especially Scott all looked like they had their misgivings,
but they nodded.  Derek was half-amazed that they’d even listened to him, that
they were still willing to back him up.  He wouldn’t lose another one of them,
he decided, no matter what it cost him.  Even if he had to cede some of the
territory, something that went against every alpha instinct he had.  Even if he
had to give his life.
What was surprising was the realization that he really, really didn’t want to
have it come to that.  Before, when fighting his uncle, when confronting Gerard
and the kanima in the warehouse, he hadn’t felt much one way or the other about
whether he’d make it out alive.
They got to the house before midnight, but the other pack was already there. 
The full moon shed light on everyone in the clearing – it was a tricky move,
setting the meeting on the full moon, but Derek had hoped that the omegas would
fear the power of an alpha more intensely.  Of course, it could also make them
less able to control themselves.
There turned out to be seven in the pack – three hunters and four werewolves. 
Derek felt a small measure of relief that they weren’t hugely outnumbered, even
though he’d known a pack like this could never survive if it were large.  All
the hunters were armed, and the werewolves already looked to be on edge.  A
male hunter and a female werewolf stood in front of the others. 
Derek motioned for Scott, Boyd, and Isaac to stop, and he stepped forward. 
“I assume you’re the alpha?” the man said, his steady heartbeat matching his
casual tone.  They’d only communicated through notes, so this was the first
time Derek had seen him.  Sight and hearing were all Derek had to go by – they
had all apparently doused themselves in whatever scent neutralizer Boyd had
originally found near the border.  Derek wondered whether it was as disturbing
to the omegas as it was to him.
“I am,” Derek said.  “What are you doing in Hale territory?”
“You invited us in,” the woman said coyly.
Derek had to keep from grinding his teeth.  “What do you want?”
“Pretty simple, really,” the man said, putting his hands on his hips – right
next to a holster.  “You’ve got yourself more land than you can handle.  We
need a place to stay.  Surely you can find a way to share.”
“Even if that were possible,” Derek said, feeling himself stiffen, “why the
surveillance?  Why the scent blind?”
“We were clumsy, I know.  But you know what we are, and that we’re not safe on
our own.  We’re tired of moving.  We don’t want trouble, and we won’t cause you
any trouble.”
“We have no intention of accepting you into our pack.”
“And we have no desire to join,” the woman said with disgust.
“So what assurance do I have that you won’t try to take the whole territory by
force?”
The man laughed and gestured to the rest of the pack.  “Look at us.  Do we look
threatening to you?”
Truthfully, they didn’t.  It was easy to see they’d been on the run for months,
if not longer.  But there was undoubtedly wolfsbane in the hunters’ weapons,
and the werewolves looked unstable even to Derek – considering the company he’d
kept, that was saying something.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said icily, “but we can’t help you.  You need to move on.”
The man smiled, “I promise you, we mean you no harm.”
This time Derek laughed, his fangs lengthening a little.  “Been around
werewolves this long and you still haven’t learned how to disguise a lie?”  The
man’s casual composure broke for a split second, but it was enough for Derek. 
He took another step forward.  “You didn’t come here to ‘share’ anything.”
The man stared hard at Derek before saying, in that same irritatingly calm
tone, “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe we want a place of our own.”
“You’d better find it somewhere else, then,” Derek growled, his claws beginning
to emerge.  He had only wanted to try to intimidate the omegas, but he was
beginning to feel his control slip.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” the woman cooed.  “This is the most promising territory
we’ve found so far.  There aren’t many of us, but there are even fewer of you.”
Derek let his eyes flash red, let the claws slip all the way out.  It had the
intended effect – the werewolves shrank back.  But they all shifted and dropped
into a fighting stance, including the woman, who seemed less intimidated by
Derek than she should be.  Than he’d hoped.  “There may be fewer of us,” he
said, his voice dropping into a true alpha growl, “but we’re stronger.  And
this is our home.”
The man drew his gun, aiming it straight at Derek and dropping his casual act
entirely.  “Alphas, omegas, you animals are all the same when it comes to
wolfsbane.  Posture all you want, Hale, we’re still taking this land.  And
obviously, the betas are going to have to go, too.”
It was too much; Derek could feel his control cracking under the weight of the
full moon, the threat to his pack, and worse, his missing anchor.  The full
shift started to take effect, hair sprouting from his cheeks as he breathed in
to roar, to tear these interlopers limb from limb.  He was aware of nothing
else, not even his betas behind him, not even—
The hand on his shoulder.
The shift seemed to pull itself back, along with the lust for blood, and he
could think again.  He could place the voice next to him, the one that was
saying, in a commanding tone, “Wait.”
Stiles.
Derek turned to look, but even though Stiles’ hand was still firmly on his
shoulder, he wasn’t speaking to Derek.  “Stop this.  You need to leave.”
The man laughed, his eyes never leaving Derek.  “How sweet, you have a human in
your pack.  You think that’s going to stop us, kid?”
“No,” Stiles said calmly, though Derek could hear his racing heart.  “But she
might.”
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and Derek turned to see Allison
stepping out of the shadows, bow drawn.
The omegas, even the woman in front, froze, as though this was hardly an
uncommon sight for them – Derek suspected the hunters probably didn’t have a
very sympathetic attitude toward werewolves, and the “protection” they offered
the omegas came with a price.  But the two other hunters drew their weapons,
another gun and a crossbow, both pointed at Allison.  Derek didn’t turn around
again, but he knew without looking that Allison wouldn’t even flinch.
“She can get at least one shot off before any of you can,” Stiles said.  “And
then, if you choose to retaliate, you can go find Chris Argent and explain to
him why you killed his only daughter.”
 
The hunter with the crossbow hissed, “You didn’t tell us this was Argent
territory!”
“It doesn’t matter,” the man said, but his pulse was starting to rise.  “There
are only two of them left, and they’re out of the game.”
Stiles clutched Derek’s shoulder a little tighter, but he laughed.  “How ‘out
of the game’ does that look to you, asshole?  And you may not follow the Code,
but Argent does, and he has lots of friends who do.  Not to mention he’s got an
armory and my dad’s the sheriff.  So go ahead, kill us and make yourselves nice
and cozy.”  He pointed at the house.  “I’d recommend the basement.  You’ve got,
I dunno, maybe a week before every deputy in the county plus a couple dozen
hunters show up armed to the teeth to wipe you out.”
Behind them, Allison snorted.  “Stiles, don’t insult us.  Three days, tops.”
Stiles shrugged.  “You heard the lady with the armor-piercing arrow.”
All the while, Derek had been playing a fast mental game of catch-up, and now
that he had himself back under control, he figured he’d better start acting
like an alpha again.  “Leave,” he said, keeping the growl and the red eyes. 
“Put your weapons down and go right now, and we won’t harm you.”
Stiles turned to Derek.  “Can’t we harm them a little?”
“Not if they don’t come back.  Ever.”   Then Derek let loose with the roar he’d
been holding back.
The omegas, all of them, scampered away.  Without their guard dogs, the hunters
started slowly backing down, though the leader kept his gun trained on Derek. 
“Weapons down,” Derek snarled, and the man finally dropped the gun and ran, his
two companions unarmed and close behind.
As soon as they were gone, Stiles sagged against Derek’s side, and Derek could
hear Scott racing over to Allison.  “Well, all things considered,” Stiles said,
“that was practically a square dance.”
“And you weren’t invited,” Derek snapped, the leftover adrenaline and moonlight
keeping his nerves on edge.  Still, he supported Stiles’ weight without pushing
him away.
Stiles groaned.  “Why you gotta be like that?”
Derek shot a look over Stiles’ head.  “Scott.”
Scott glanced up from where he’d been nuzzling Allison’s cheek.  “What?  I
didn’t tell him!”
“I did.”
Everyone turned to look at Boyd.
He just shrugged.  “You were the one who said we needed to tell each other
about any plans.  And I wasn’t about to let you bench the guy who saved my ass
last time.”
He and Stiles exchanged brief nods and Stiles pulled himself up to stand on his
own feet.  Derek immediately missed the warmth pressed against his side.  Then
Stiles poked him in the ribs.  “I won’t hold my breath for a ‘thank you,’ but
you really need to be thanking Allison.  She’s the reason we’ve all still got
our limbs attached.”
Before Derek could even open his mouth, Allison said, without bitterness, “I
didn’t do it for you.”
“I know,” Derek replied.  “But thank you.  I didn’t mean to get you involved in
this.”
Allison narrowed her eyes like she was about to say something, but Stiles
stepped in between them and held up his hands.  “Baby steps!  We’re all
learning how to do this whole ‘pack’ thing together.  I’d suggest a group hug,
but I’m gonna go ahead and assume we’re not ready for that yet.  So, fist bumps
all around, let’s go out for milkshakes sometime, et cetera.”
Isaac glanced around.  “Stiles, how did the two of you get here?  And how did
we not hear you coming?”
“I parked about half a mile back and you guys seemed a bit… distracted.  Also,
Allison is a stealthy mofo and I literally followed in her footsteps.”
“All right,” Derek sighed, his energy draining out to be replaced by a vague
itch under his skin.  “Stiles can take Scott and Allison home.  I’ll make sure
Isaac and Boyd get back safely.  We’ll do group border runs for the next few
days just to make sure the other pack is actually gone.  I’ll call you
tomorrow.  All of you.”
He looked at Stiles, who smiled just a little and gave a slight nod before
turning to Scott and Allison, who were definitely not acting like a broken-up
couple.  “Okay, Allison gets shotgun and Scott’s in the back seat.  There will
be no profaning of my Jeep tonight.”
                                      &&&
Isaac’s foster home was closer, so they went there first.  When Derek got Boyd
home, Boyd gave him a look that dared Derek to yell at him for calling Stiles. 
Derek just sighed.  “You did the right thing, Boyd.  I just… didn’t want to put
anybody at unnecessary risk.”
Boyd raised his eyebrows.  “How about not putting me at unnecessary risk by
making sure we have as much brainpower as we can?  I don’t know exactly what
you were going through up until a few weeks ago, but it was obviously Stiles
who pulled you out of it.  You two have to get your shit together, because we
need him.”  Without waiting for a reply, Boyd carefully opened his bedroom
window – on the ground floor for once – and climbed inside.
Derek dropped into a mindless run, concentrating on nothing but the burn in his
muscles.  He would have liked to claim that he didn’t realize he was headed
toward Stiles’ house until he saw the Jeep parked in the driveway, but
honestly, he had known where he would end up.  He figured the Sheriff had to be
on night duty if Stiles had gotten away so easily, and sure enough, the cruiser
was gone.  Derek stared up at Stiles’ bedroom window, lit softly by lamplight,
and made a choice.
He walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
He heard a quietly muttered Who the fuck? as footsteps stomped down the stairs
and toward the door.  He knew Stiles had looked through the peephole when his
heartbeat sped up, but he opened the door anyway.
Derek knew he should start, should say something conciliatory, but it was hard
to speak when faced with Stiles in his pajamas again, the bottoms riding low
enough to expose a pale strip of skin, staring at Derek like he hadn’t just
seen him half an hour ago.  “This must be serious,” Stiles said, scratching the
back of his head and rucking his shirt up another inch.  “I wasn’t sure you’d
extended the concept of ‘doors’ to include my house.”
Derek bit back a groan.  “Can I come in?”
“What’s the magic word?”
“I’ve been an ass.”
Stiles blinked at him a few times and stepped back, gesturing for Derek to come
inside.  “Close enough.   Now get in here before the neighbors see you and tell
my dad about the midnight visitations from strange men.”
“Visitations, plural?” Derek asked, mostly teasing.  “You make a habit of
letting strange men in after dark?”
“Apparently I’m very popular with creatures of the night.”
“Including Scott?”
Stiles groaned, and Derek realized he was following Stiles back up the stairs. 
“Do not talk to me about Scott.  He is in so much shit for not telling me about
that little clusterfuck you arranged.”
“I told him not to.”
“Since when does he do what you tell him to?” Stiles asked, whirling on Derek
and jabbing him in the chest with a finger.  “Honestly, it’s like you don’t
know any of us.”
“He did this time.  And I knew you wouldn’t listen.”
“That’s because it was a dumbass—” Stiles cut himself off.  “Wait, why are we
even arguing about this?  You were wrong, I saved your ass – well, in the sense
that I called Allison and she saved your ass – and everybody learned a fun
lesson about trust with no injuries of any kind, which is really sort of
miraculous, if you think about it.  I am 100% in the right here.”
Stiles plopped down in his desk chair, and Derek could smell the burnt
adrenaline and residual fear in his system.  So Derek did the only thing he
could think of that would get Stiles’ attention and keep it – he dropped to his
knees next to the chair.  “How did you know that I needed you?” Derek asked
softly.
Obviously taken off guard, Stiles stammered a little before finding his voice
again.  “You g-guys always need me.  I thought we established that.”
“No,” Derek said, thinking of Stiles’ hand on his shoulder, grounding him. 
“How did you know that I needed you?”
“Oh.”  Stiles seemed to read Derek’s mind, because he rested his hand on
Derek’s shoulder again.  “I don’t know.  I just did.”
Derek wasn’t sure how much Stiles knew about anchors, if he even knew he was
Derek’s.  Maybe there was nothing supernatural about it.  Maybe he just came to
stand beside Derek because that was where he wanted to be.  It dredged up
questions that Derek had been suppressing for a long time.
“Why?” Derek asked.  “Why did you do all this for me?  Not just tonight, I
mean.  When you wouldn’t let me self-destruct with the drugs.  I could have
killed you.  I almost did.”
Stiles smirked humorlessly, but squeezed Derek’s shoulder.  “I’ve been
wondering when you were going to ask me that.”
“You didn’t have to do any of it.  You didn’t owe me a damn thing, and I wasn’t
your responsibility.”
“No, you weren’t,” Stiles said softly.  “You still aren’t.  And yet, I keep
showing up.”
“So…”
Stiles gnawed at his lower lip, eyes dropping as his cheeks flushed.  “Derek,
it’s not that complicated.  You already know.”
Could it really be that simple? “People don’t… Nobody stays with me.”
“Isaac and Boyd do.  Even Scott does.”
“Not like you do.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not in—”
Stiles cut himself off and turned his head away as his heartbeat spiked.  Derek
knew he needed to give Stiles something in return, to explain why he’d tried so
hard to break away from Stiles in the past few weeks, but he wasn’t sure how to
say it.  “The nightmares,” he started weakly.
That got Stiles’ attention.  “Have they gotten worse?”
“You’re in them.”
Stiles swallowed loudly, his eyes wide with shock.  “Oh.”
“You’re burning along with everybody else, trapped and terrified, and I can see
you, but I can’t…”  Derek shook his head, his throat closing with pain before
he could say anymore.  He tried to look down at the floor, but Stiles cradled
his face with both hands.
He looked at Derek for a long moment like he didn’t quite know what to do with
him.  Finally, he said, “I have nightmares sometimes.  They’re about people I
love wasting away.  You’ve started showing up there, too.  I see the needle
going in, but instead of injecting the drug, it drains something out of you
until you crumble into dust and just… blow away.  You said strong emotional
ties can make someone pack?  There you go.  Subconscious, fucked up proof that
we’re important to each other.”
“I don’t want—” Derek started, but stopped before he could say something truly
stupid like I don’t want you to be too important to me for your own good. 
“It’s not fair to you for me to have to lean on you so much.”
Stiles rubbed a thumb across his cheekbone.  “You know there’s a difference
between leaning on a crutch and asking for help, don’t you?”
Derek couldn’t really respond to that, so he just lowered his head to rest
against Stiles’ thigh and let Stiles’ stroke his hair.  “There are so many of
us who want to help you if you’ll let us.  I’m just the most stubborn.”
Derek snorted.  “That’s not all you are.”  He meant it to be teasing, but
instead it came out soft, something very close to a confession.
Stiles lifted Derek’s head from his lap and stood, offering Derek a hand up as
well.  “C’mon, you must be exhausted and my dad won’t be back for hours.”
Derek stripped off his jeans and shirt, expecting Stiles to get him some
sweatpants or something, but Stiles had already crawled into bed and was
holding the covers back for Derek to join him.  Derek would have to have been a
fool not to know where this was going, but still, the sheets and blankets,
soaked with nothing but Stiles’ scent, made Derek groan and bury his face in a
pillow, breathing deeply.  Stiles had jerked off here not long ago, had
probably mostly cleaned it up with tissues, but the smell still lingered,
strong enough to drive Derek crazy.
“I slept in your bed,” he confessed, unable to stop himself.  “I mean, not this
one, but the one in my guest bedroom where you stayed.  I never changed the
sheets, so they still smell like you.”  When Derek rolled his head enough to
open one eye, Stiles was right there next to him.
“Did it help with the nightmares?”
“Helped with a lot of things,” Derek said, past the point of caring how it
sounded.
Stiles grinned.  “So you’re saying I ought to come over and roll around in your
bed as often as possible.”  He was up on his elbow, practically hovering over
Derek now.
As much as Derek wanted to reply Oh god yes, he remembered how they’d left
things at the end of the week Stiles had stayed with him.  “Aren’t we supposed
to talk about… feelings first?”
Stiles laughed, long and hard, his head dropping to Derek’s bare shoulder. 
“You sound like you’d rather be disemboweled with a butter knife.”
Derek flipped over onto his back, letting Stiles fall to rest against his
chest.  “That would be far less traumatic.  And I’d heal from that.”
“But you wouldn’t heal from this?” Stiles asked softly, sitting up enough to
look Derek in the eye.
“Depends,” Derek said, watching Stiles’ face very carefully.  “What exactly are
we talking about?”
Stiles blushed, but he didn’t look away this time.  “As much or as little as
you want.  If I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I’m kind of fucking crazy
about you.  I just… I need to know where I stand with you.  I get that talking
isn’t your thing and I understand why you pushed me away, but you can’t keep
doing that.  It really hurt.  I know you’ve got me outmatched on abandonment
issues, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have them, too.”
Derek had no idea how Stiles could be so honest, could just put words to
everything and have them come out right.  He wanted to say you’re so young or
you don’t know what you’re asking for, but Stiles was by far the more mature
one here.  He hadn’t wanted to take advantage of Derek, when it should’ve been
the other way around.  Shouldn’t it?  “Is… Are we on a level playing field
now?”
Stiles seemed to take a moment to think.  “I don’t know how to measure that,
and I’m not sure I’d want to, anyway.  Comparing damage isn’t going to do any
good.  I think we just need to know where the quicksand is and work around it.”
“You said… Before you left, you said something about motives.”
Stiles nodded, and Derek could smell a sudden rush of embarrassment.  “Okay,
this is going to sound like the stupidest thing ever, but… I didn’t want to
feel like I was trying to heal you with my cock?  Fuck, it sounds even worse
out loud.  I mean, I guess my cock could have magical healing powers – I’ve
seen weirder shit, and it’s not like I’ve ever gotten to test it out.  But I
didn’t, like, want to delude myself into thinking sex would fix anything.”
 “You do realize everyone else your age assumes that sex fixes everything.”
“Yeah, they haven’t been paralyzed by a werelizard hitman.  Hitlizard?  That
kind of puts things into perspective.”
On a sudden impulse, Derek pushed up to kiss Stiles on the forehead.  “And I
didn’t want to just… take something from you that you couldn’t get back.”
Stiles’ brow furrowed.  “Why would you think you’re taking anything from me?” 
His eyes suddenly went wide when he figured it out.  “Oh.  That.”  Derek was
infinitely thankful Stiles didn’t say her name.  “Do you really think that’s
what you’re doing?  Because if this makes you uncomfortable—”
“It doesn’t,” Derek said, surprising himself with the force behind his words. 
“Maybe I’m worried because I think it should, but it doesn’t.”
“We can wait, Derek.  I can wait.”
Derek groaned, covering his face with his hands.  “I don’t want to.  The pack
tonight isn’t the only one that’s going to challenge us.  We still haven’t
found Gerard, and god knows what else is coming.”
Stiles patiently pried Derek’s hands away.  “Do you hear what you’re saying?”
“Yes.  We’re going to be in danger as long as we’re in Beacon Hills.  As long
as you’re around me.”
“No.  Well, yes.  But despite all that, you’re saying you want something good. 
Something that makes you happy.”  Stiles stopped, flushing bright red but still
gripping Derek’s wrists.  “I, um.  I’m not misreading, right?  Because happy’s
kind of a relative thing and with you it’s kind of hard to—”
Derek tugged him close and silenced him with a kiss.  Just a soft brush of
lips, but he could feel the tension flow out of Stiles’ body, and yes, it made
Derek happy.
It made Derek happy to settle Stiles back against the pillows and kiss down
into his mouth until Stiles opened up to him completely.  It made Derek happy
to press his body over Stiles’, to line them up and support just enough of his
own weight so that Stiles could breathe.  And when Derek shifted up to delve
further into Stiles’ mouth, it made him very, very happy to draw a deep,
yearning groan out of Stiles.  The sound seemed to break clean through all the
barriers Derek had so carefully put between himself and Stiles, and pure
affection rushed in to fill the space left behind.
“Oh my god,” Stiles moaned, hands wrapping around Derek’s shoulders and hips
rolling up off the mattress.  “You good?  We good?  Verbs gone.”
Derek chuckled and rocked into the rhythm that Stiles set, slowing it down when
it started to get too frantic.  Fulfilling a fantasy he hadn’t quite let
himself play out even in his head, Derek kissed the mole near the corner of
Stiles’ mouth, following the trail of smaller moles and freckles toward the
hinge of his jaw.  “Is this what you want?” he whispered, making sure to blow
hot over the delicate shell of Stiles’ ear.
“It’s – ah, fuck – one of the things,” Stiles gasped.  “Just to warn you, there
are many, many things.”
“I’d be disappointed if there weren’t,” Derek said, giving himself over to the
sparking pleasure that made his breath catch every time their cocks rubbed
together.  It wasn’t quite enough to get him off – not through two, possibly
three, layers of fabric – but from the way Stiles’ muscles were tightening, it
would be plenty for him.
Sure enough, Derek felt the dull edges of Stiles’ nails dig into his shoulders
and Stiles moaned, “Too close.  Not yet.”
Derek kissed the plush fullness of Stiles’ lower lip and smiled.  “Go ahead. 
Let go.  We’ve got time for a few other… things.”
Stiles thrust up hard, and Derek pulled back just in time to get a good look at
Stiles’ face as he came.  His mouth dropped open in shock and his eyes darted
behind closed lids and his lungs emptied with a quiet oh before dragging as
much air back in as his body could hold.  Derek’s heart twisted in his chest
when he realized he was the first person to see this, something as fleeting and
chaotic as the birth of a new star, but something he could see again.  And
again.  And again, for as long as Stiles let him.
Stiles held tight to him through the bone-deep shudders, and Derek stayed
still, gave Stiles something to grind against until he was spent and ready to
drop back to the mattress.  Then Derek dipped his head and kissed the sheen of
sweat from Stiles’ throat, from just beneath his chin all the way down to where
it had begun to collect in the hollow between his collarbones.  If Derek paused
there to suck and bite just a little, well, he could always blame animal
instinct.  Or something.
But he could feel the buzz of Stiles’ soft laughter against his mouth and the
damp patch growing in Stiles’ pajama pants.  “So that’s… what all the fuss… is
about,” Stiles said, seemingly not in any hurry to catch his breath.
Derek snorted, nosing his way back up Stiles’ neck until he was nuzzling just
below Stiles’ ear.  “That’s one very, very small part of it.”
Stiles groaned, but Derek could feel his grin against his cheek.  “I’m going to
die of this, aren’t I?  I’m going to be like those crazy gamers who play Call
of Duty until they drop dead of dehydration.”
“What if I promise to keep you hydrated?” Derek asked, kissing the corner of
Stiles’ mouth.
“Then I’ll—oh.”  He shifted his hips, feeling Derek still hard in his boxers. 
“You didn’t…”
“I will,” Derek said.
Stiles’ grin could’ve lit up the entire house.
He wriggled out from under Derek – the friction making Derek lose track of
everything for a moment – kicked off the covers and stripped off his shirt and
pajama pants, cleaning himself off with them.  And oh god, the scent of Stiles’
cum, fresh and still warm, ripped a jagged groan out of Derek, who flopped on
his back and shoved down his own underwear to get a hand around himself and
ease some of the pressure.
It didn’t really work, especially when Stiles climbed back over him, one hand
running down Derek’s chest and the other gripping his bicep to feel the motion
of his arm.  “Fuck,” Stiles hissed.  “That is so hot.  Too bad you need to stop
that.  Right now.”
“Gimme a reason,” Derek shot back, continuing to stroke himself but slowing the
pace and twisting his wrist on the upstroke, his hips jerking a little off the
bed each time.
It took a full four and a half seconds – Derek counted – for Stiles to pull his
thoughts together enough to respond.  “Because, dumbass, I want to get you
off.”
“Mm-hmm.  What’s your plan?”
Stiles faltered a little, sitting back on his heels, and there was a skip in
his heartbeat, a tinge of anxiety to his scent.  “What do you want?”
Derek let go of his cock and reached up to touch Stiles’ face.  “Whatever
you’re comfortable with.”  He slid his thumb across Stiles’ lower lip.  “But
I’d really, really like your mouth on me, somewhere.”
Stiles sighed with what sounded like relief.  “Good.  Awesome.  Because I don’t
know if I’m really ready for…  okay, I’m trying not to say ‘buttsex’ here, but…
well, I guess I just went ahead and said buttsex, so… that.  I mean, that’s a
thing that I think I’m going to want, possibly sooner rather than later, but
not right this second.”
Derek silenced him by pressing his thumb over both of Stiles’ lips.  “Me
neither.  Your mouth, though…”
“Right, right.  Less with the talking, more with the…” Stiles looked Derek up
and down with slightly intimidating focus.  “Do you, uh, mind if I explore a
little bit first?  Because, you know: kid, meet candy store.”
Derek tried to hide his grin with a sigh.  “All right, but no weird lollipop
metaphors or I’m locking myself in the bathroom to jerk off.”
It was the emptiest of threats, but Stiles nodded earnestly before bending down
to drop a kiss on Derek’s chin.  He started with Derek’s stubble, but proceeded
to brush his lips over nearly every inch of Derek’s face and neck.  He even
kissed both eyebrows – twice – without any explanation, and Derek wasn’t sure
whether to laugh or cry.  Instead, he tried to just relax into it, to enjoy it.
It had been a long, long time since Derek had been this still under someone’s
careful, methodical touch – probably because it had been a long time since he’d
been with anyone who bothered.  Hell, it had been a long time since he’d been
with anyone.  The random hook-ups in New York had never been fun, exactly –
more of a release than anything else – and his few attempts at relationships…
Fortunately, Stiles snapped him right out of that train of thought by biting
lightly at his nipple.  Derek’s whole body jerked, and Stiles looked up, eyes
wide.  “Okay?”
“Fine,” Derek answered, settling back down.  “But go a little bit easier next
time.”
Stiles nodded and moved on to Derek’s other nipple, this time worrying it
gently with his teeth before giving it a warm, wet suck that had Derek arching
up into the sensation until he could feel Stiles’ grin against his flesh.
Stiles worked his way down Derek’s torso with hands and mouth, mapping out the
spread of Derek’s ribs and the dip of his navel.  Derek was just ticklish
enough that it made him tense up a little, and soon long, nimble fingers were
tracing the cut of his abs.  It was perfect, right up until Stiles ducked his
head for a long lick up Derek’s stomach and a sense memory hit him from out of
nowhere.  Shackles, blinding lights, a nasty grin…
Stiles pulled away immediately, and Derek realized he’d frozen completely and
stopped breathing.  “I know that wasn’t good sign,” Stiles said, concern
creasing his expression.
Derek nodded and concentrated on breathing normally while Stiles climbed back
up beside him on the bed.  Stiles looked worried to touch him, so Derek reached
out and tugged him close, pressed their foreheads and noses together until they
were breathing the same air.
“Sorry, bad memory,” he said.  “Everything else was… good.  Really good.”
Stiles wrapped a hand around the back of Derek’s neck.  “Do you want to keep
going?  We can take a rain check.”
“No,” Derek said, more forcefully than he intended.  Despite the shock, he was
still mostly hard, and he didn’t want Stiles any less.  If anything, he was
more determined not to let old memories get in the way – they’d done too much
damage already.  “No,” he said again, softer.  “Please don’t stop.”
Stiles pulled back to look him in the eye, and whatever he saw, it made him nod
slowly.  “Anything else I need to watch out for?”
“Just… don’t call me ‘sweetie.’”
Suddenly, Stiles was trying very hard – and not entirely succeeding – at
suppressing a smirk.  “I can honestly say the thought never crossed my mind.”
“Good,” Derek said, able to grin threateningly at him.  “Now get back to work.”
“Ooh, permission to make a time-card-punching joke?”
“Permission denied,” Derek said, barely stifling a laugh.
“Slave driver,” Stiles grumbled as he slithered his way back down Derek’s body,
but he started in on the delicate skin in the crease of Derek’s hip just as
enthusiastically as before.
By the time Stiles finally got around to touching Derek’s cock, Derek was fully
hard again, holding back claws so he wouldn’t ruin Stiles’ bed sheets.  Stiles’
face betrayed a small attack of nerves as he took Derek in his hand for the
first time, stroking him hard and slow like he’d seen Derek do to himself. 
Stiles was looking at his face so intently that Derek had to close his eyes
just to keep from going off at that first touch.  Fuck, he used to have amazing
stamina, but now, in Stiles’ hands, Derek’s ability to ignore his own desires
was quickly evaporating.
Closing his eyes might not have been the best idea, though, because Derek was
completely unprepared for the heat of Stiles’ tongue running up his cock,
giving a little flick at the tip.  Derek made a completely incoherent, garbled
sound, and Stiles must have interpreted it the right way because he licked at
Derek again.  And then again.  He traced a vein with the very tip of his
tongue, then swirled it around the crown until Derek knew he had to be leaking
precum.  “You sure you haven’t done this before?” Derek gasped.
Stiles responded with a snort, a puff of cool air against Derek’s wet cock that
made him twitch.  “I think I would have remembered it.”
He was looking at Derek expectantly, even though Derek was sure Stiles had a
pretty damned good idea what to do next.  “I’m not gonna last long,” Derek
admitted, feeling his face flush.  “Just… your mouth.”
Stiles nodded and gripped Derek’s cock, his fingers firm and certain, angling
it just right.  It was torturously slow going at first, Stiles figuring out how
to cover his teeth with his lips while bobbing his head, but it was steadily
unraveling what was left of Derek’s control.  When Stiles took Derek too deep,
he pulled away, coughing, and Derek nearly sobbed at the loss of heat, still
reeling from the sensation of bumping the back of Stiles’ throat.
“Use your hand, too,” Derek gritted out.  “And your tongue.”
It turned out that Stiles took direction very, very well – he got a rhythm
going with his hand around the base first, then lowered his mouth down around
Derek’s cock and rubbed the tip with the flat of his tongue while sucking
shallowly.  Derek’s toes curled, the tension coiling fast in his lower belly
and he gasped out a choked warning mere seconds before he came.
But Stiles kept stroking and sucking, the wet heat of his mouth almost more
than Derek could bear.  He was vaguely aware of Stiles making a pleased sound
when the first spurt hit his tongue, and the vibration of it made Derek’s whole
body lock up.  When his hands fisted in the sheets, he felt something rip under
his fingers but he couldn’t even begin to care.
Stiles let go of him a little sooner than Derek would have liked, but even
without looking he could hear Stiles struggling to get his breath back.  Fuck,
Derek was shaking – or at least he felt like he was.  And when he looked down
the bed at Stiles, he could see a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment on
Stiles’ face.
There was cum at the corner of Stiles’ mouth, dripping down his chin, and
Stiles’ swiped the back of his hand across his face.  “Shit,” he rasped, his
voice hoarse.  “I… I tried to swallow, but there was so much.  God, I must look
so gross, I—”
Wordlessly, Derek reached down and hauled him up until he was splayed across
Derek’s chest.  Derek’s tongue swiped the corner of Stiles’ lips, chasing his
own taste into Stiles’ mouth and groaning.  “Not gross,” he murmured. 
“Perfect.”  And kissed Stiles’ swollen lips, sucked on his tongue until Stiles
was wriggling against him.
Derek had both of Stiles’ wrists clasped in one hand held back over both their
heads, stretching Stiles’ long, lean body over his own and holding him
captive.  Stiles’ cock, hard and insistent once again, was trapped between
their bellies, and Derek hooked his legs over Stiles’ so Stiles couldn’t get
any leverage to thrust.  As enjoyable as it had been to watch and feel Stiles
rub himself off on Derek, Derek needed to taste him this time.
After a few minutes of plundering Stiles’ mouth while Stiles gasped and
squirmed, Derek released him, wrists and legs both.  He helped Stiles sit up,
knees on either sides of Derek’s ribcage.  Stiles stared down at Derek in
confusion until Derek hooked his hands behind Stiles’ knees and tugged him
forward.
Stiles had to grab the headboard to keep his balance, and he stared down at
Derek, his mouth gaping.  “Is this what I think it is?”
Derek adjusted the pillow under his head until his neck was at a better angle. 
“Yep.  It’s a headboard.”
Stiles groaned and buried his face against his arm.  “You’d better not be
screwing with me.”
Derek just grinned up at him, hands sliding up Stiles’ sides until he could
tease his nipples with his thumbs.  “And if I am, what are you going to do
about it?  Fuck my mouth?”
Stiles honest-to-god whimpered, and Derek could hear the headboard creak under
his grip.  When Stiles looked down again, his eyes were wide, almost
frightened, but Derek smelled nothing but arousal.  “C-can I?  You’d let me?”
Let him?  God, the things Derek would let Stiles do to him.  But Stiles looked
overwhelmed enough already and despite being on his back with Stiles straddling
him, Derek felt strangely powerful, able to give Stiles something he obviously
wanted so badly.  “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t,” he said, trying to sound
casual and probably failing miserably.
Stiles reached down and carded a hand through Derek’s hair, a gesture of such
tenderness that it caught Derek square in the chest and tugged.  “I don’t want
to choke you,” Stiles said, his voice wavering but his cock hard and dripping
and so close that Derek’s mouth was practically watering.
“Don’t worry about that,” Derek said, settling his hands firmly on Stiles’
hips.  He regretted neglecting to tend so thoroughly to Stiles’ body the way
Stiles had done to him, but Stiles was too far gone for that to be anything but
torture right now.  Besides, there would be time for that later.  Derek would
make time. 
With a trembling hand, Stiles guided the tip of his dick into Derek’s open
mouth, letting it rest heavy on his tongue for a moment.  Just the small taste
it afforded Derek made him moan – he hadn’t done this in so long, hadn’t always
liked it, but he wanted it now.
Stiles let out a strangled sound as his hips stuttered into motion, thrusts
guided by Derek’s hands.  Derek had to strain his eyes up to be able to see
Stiles’ face, but it was worth it.  Enraptured was the only word that Derek
could think of, the way Stiles’ eyes kept fluttering closed and his mouth
moving around wordless sounds.  Taking Stiles’ cock was easy: sucking on the
outstroke, occasionally swirling his tongue, and exerting pressure on Stiles’
hips when he got close to pushing too deep.
Soon, Stiles’ ability to hold himself upright seemed to leave him and he curled
his body over Derek, resting one forearm across the headboard and his head on
his arm.  With his other hand, he cradled Derek’s head – not pushing, just
holding firm like he needed to touch Derek just as badly as he needed to thrust
into Derek’s mouth.
It couldn’t have been very long before Stiles’ rhythm started to break down and
he pushed forward to let Derek suck the orgasm right out of him.  It felt so
much like surrender that Derek felt a sharp, sweet pang in his chest again. 
This time, Stiles said Derek’s name, hushed and reverent, when he climaxed, and
Derek drank him down eagerly, mouthing at him until Stiles started to shudder
with too much stimulation.
For a moment, Derek was sure Stiles was just going to collapse on top of him,
but he apparently had just enough energy left to pull himself away and swing a
leg back over so he could slide bonelessly down next to Derek.  After that,
though, Derek was left to do the arranging: pulling the covers back up,
manhandling Stiles a little until his head rested on Derek’s chest.
Stiles threw a limp arm across his waist and scooted closer.  “Derek,” he said,
stifling a yawn, “you need—?”
His hand started inching down Derek’s torso, but Derek took hold of it and
brought it back up so Stiles’ arm was wrapped around his chest.  “No.  Not
tonight.”
Stiles gave a weak little chuckle.  “Good.  ‘Cause I am legitimately about to
pass out.  I’ll owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ sweat-slick hair,
kissing his scalp.
“Mmm, I owe you all kindsa things.  Thank you cards and balloon animals and
fireworks.”
Derek was about to say something unbearably cheesy about them making their own
fireworks, and that’s when he knew he was completely gone.  In way over his
head.  Probably had been since kissing Stiles that day on the beach, maybe even
before.  But the thought, as overwhelming as it was, didn’t scare him.  It just
felt like admitting the truth.
                                      &&&
Laura would have made better choices as an alpha; Derek has come to terms with
that.  She might not have been able to prevent every death, but she would have
been better at training her betas, fostering their loyalty, growing their pack
instead of cobbling it together with little more than shared pain and feeble
hope.
She would never have self-medicated to dull her own pain, and she certainly
would never have done anything like this, getting involved with a high school
boy, no matter how smart and selfless and devoted he was.  She’d have warned
Derek against it, especially if she’d known about Kate.
But Derek isn’t Laura, and he can’t try to do what he imagines she would have
done because it’s not how he works.  For whatever reason, he had to learn it
the hard way before it stuck, had to make mistakes that hurt him and the people
he loved.  He knows he’ll make mistakes again, though hopefully not the same
ones.
He also knows that if it weren’t for Stiles, for this obstinate, wiseass,
beautiful boy who refused to let him self-destruct, everything would have
fallen apart, starting with him.  He has Stiles to thank not just for being
alive, but fighting to stay that way.
The nightmares still come, he still wakes in fear, but now he has something –
and someone – to wake up to
End Notes
     After the Alpha pack kills Erica and turns Boyd feral to make him
     kill Peter (the deaths are not described in detail), Derek begins
     using an unnamed intravenous drug to help him sleep without
     nightmares and becomes addicted to it. Stiles finds out and helps him
     recover.
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