Chapter Text
Derek still had his ever-present smirk in place, “Let's talk Stiles.”
Stiles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, but can you blame him. He was firm against the door, essentially backed into a corner. This was not good. Not good at all.
“You know now really isn’t the greatest time, I’ve got homework to do, research to follow up on. So, why don’t you leave and come back? How does noon on never, work for you?”
Derek raised an eyebrow, “Did you expect that to work?”
Stiles shrugged, not really no.
However, he was in an extreme position, and sarcasm was easy to fall back on. Letting out sharp biting words was his specialty. It had been his defense for many years, and it was a damn good defense, thank you very much. Well maybe it had been more of a distraction, but that’s just semantics.
Derek’s smirk fell, and his face became serious, “You haven’t talked to Scott yet have you?”
Stiles blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “No, I haven’t. not like that is any of your business.”
He should have known this is what it would come to. Of course, he would want to talk to about Scott. Everyone wanted to talk about Scott. Well, you know what? Stiles didn’t.
He didn’t want to talk about the young werewolf. He didn’t want to talk about the night at the restaurant or about their fight. He didn’t want to talk about the ever-growing distance forming between the two of them or about how as that distance grows his connection to the other wolves does as well. Leaving Stiles alone. In fact, he didn’t want to talk period.
Derek frowned, “He told me he was going to talk to you at lunch?”
Stiles looked away, “I was busy at lunch.”
Derek’s gaze seemed to soften a little which made irritated the boy more.
“You need to talk to him, Stiles?”
And that is when he snapped. Like full on snapped. In that instant, Stiles had had enough. Without warning, he pushed the Alpha with all his strength getting more infuriated when he didn’t even rock slightly back.
“What am I supposed to talk about with him? Why don’t you tell me, oh great Alpha? Tell me what I am supposed to say to my best friend because it seems that you know him better than me. Am I supposed to say I’m sorry? Sorry that I didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of freakin’ werewolves after the last one we met. Sorry, that I pulled away and gave him space as he adjusted to a new family. Sorry, that every freakin’ problem seems to be my fault. Is that what I am ‘supposed’ to say? Because if it is, you can forget it.”
He finished his rant by pushing harder against the wolfs incredibly hard chest with everything he had.
Holy shit, it ’s like pushing against a brick wall.
Stiles wasn’t looking directly at the wolf during this so when he suddenly backed off, Stiles fell forward. The man caught him, solid arms grabbing him around the waist and steadying him easily. Stiles quickly brushed him off, not meeting his gaze.
Derek was silent for a few minutes; then he backed further away from the suddenly fragile boy.
Then, “Do you know what happens when a wolf doesn’t have a pack?”
Stiles frowned.
What?
He looked at Derek, only then noticing how tired the Alpha seemed. He watched as the man ran a hand through his permanently messy hair. Derek met his case, “Just answer the question, Stiles.”
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re weaker, they don’t have a leader, so they feel more out of control, but we worked on that. It took a few tries, but he was able to make it through a full moon with thought so much as a twitch.”
Derek nodded leaning against Stiles’ desk and fixing his jacket, “Exactly, when I first met Scott I was amazed at his control. I have been working with the betas for close to a year, and they still have trouble. However, because of the circumstances behind Scott’s transformation he never experienced a pack bond before.”
Stiles stayed silent, waiting for the alpha to continue.
Derek picked up a pencil and twirled it in his fingers, “So, when he joined the pack things changed drastically. He suddenly wasn’t alone anymore. He went from not having anyone to having seven packmates overnight. Suddenly he could feel seven different people everywhere he went. Their happiness, sadness, frustration, and anger.”
The wolf stopped twirling the pencil, dropping his hand to his leg, “Imagine being alone and then abruptly having close to ten people all broadcasting their feelings on to you.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, “ I have ADHD, trust me I know about having trouble focusing.”
The wolf considered him for a minute before nodded, “But Scott doesn’t. What do you think that did to his control?”
Stiles stayed silent. It was a rhetorical question. He had often wondered what it was like for other people, being able to focus for longer than five minutes on something. To be in control. He was never in control, and while he had trained himself to focus on stuff, he knew it wasn’t the same. However, he never thought about it in reverse. What it would be like going from nothing to everything in just one decision.
Derek pushed off from the desk, drawing Stiles attention back to him, “It started small, if he was angry at one of the pups his eyes would flash, then during the planning for Melissa and Peter’s wedding he got overwhelmed, and his claws came out. I thought he would get a handle on it, so I left him alone.”
He smirked to himself, “We didn’t get along very well back then, and he didn’t trust me to help him. I figured I would let him take care of it his one way.”
The wolf met Stiles’ gaze, “it went down-hill from there. Slipping little by little until last night it just,” he held up the pencil and with a snap of his thumb and index finger it snapped in half.
Stiles watched as half of the pencil fell to the floor in what seemed like slow motion. It bounced once then rolled under the desk.
He crossed his arms, “Why are you telling me this?”
Derek stepped closer crossing his own arms, one hand still holding the tortured half of the pencil, “I need your help.”
Stiles jerked, his eyebrows flying up, “What?”
Derek smirked, then repeated his words only this time slowly, “I. Need. Your. Help.”
Stiles glared, “I heard you Asshole, I meant why would you need my help?”
Derek raised a brow at the name but otherwise didn’t bite.
Ha! Bite! Werewolf humor!
“You taught him control before; I have confidence you can do it again.”
Stiles stepped back sputtering. He uncrossed his arms and flailed a little, “Yes! I did, but was before he almost attacked me in front of my father!”
He waited for a second, “In a very public place mind you. Even when he was first bitten his control wasn’t that bad.”
Derek followed his step, “I know he’s tried to attack you before Stiles.”
Although he didn’t outright roll his eyes, it was heavily implied in his voice. The wolf’s arms hung loosely by his size and his legs slightly placed apart. His body language screamed, calm and soothing. Stiles took another step back. Distantly he noted that he did this a lot around the wolf.
He flailed again, “Yeah, and I stopped him with a fire extinguisher. Am I just supposed to carry one around with me everywhere? Need I remind you that I am human. Weak, powerless, and what’s that word I’m looking for?”
Derek matched his step, then took another one all while looking at him with an unimpressed look, “Over-dramatic.”
Stiles bumped against the door, giving him a weak glare, “Vulnerable if he attacks me I am mince-meat.”
Derek grinned, and Stiles swore his eyes sparkled. They fucking sparkled.
How was this guy even real?
“I will be there Stiles; he won’t be able to get close enough even to touch you.”
“Gee, thanks, that’s so comforting.” He snarked, rolling his eyes.
Then he reached up and tugged at the ends of his hair, “Look, you need to take care of this. It’s werewolf business, or whatever.”
Derek shook his head, sliding his hands into the pocket of his jacket, “I’ve tried. I taught him every trick I know, but it’s not helping.”
“How could it not be working? You have a whole pack of teenage werewolves, all of which were turned violently. You taught them somehow.”
Derek shrugged, “I don’t know why it’s not working, I just know it isn’t. That’s why I need you.”
Derek stepped forward again until they were, more or less in the same position that this all started in, Stiles against a door and the Alpha blocking him in.
The wolf reached out and tapped Stiles' chest, “You trained him before, maybe you can do it again.”
What Stiles did wasn’t what you would call training. The boy reflected on his ‘training’ process. Of stealing the coach’s phone and heart monitor, of chucking lacrosse balls at him, and of keying the local jocks truck. He had essentially abused his friend, repeatedly until something seemed to click in the young wolfs head. After that day he never had trouble with control again. Stiles had asked him what happened, but Scott would go quiet his face lighting with a hint of mischief, then change the subject.
Before Stiles had the chance to respond the wolf spoke up again, “There’s a pack meeting tomorrow, be there.”
Stiles jerked, excuse you?
“I’m busy tomorrow.”
Derek took a hand out of his pocket placing in next to Stiles’ head leaning against it, his eyebrows raising, “Doing what?”
Stiles glared, trying to cover for himself, “Doing things, stuff. Look I’ll talk to Scott tomorrow, there is no need for me to be at the pack meeting.”
Derek pushed off the door and headed towards the window, “There is another reason you need to be there.”
Stiles ignored how suddenly cold he felt and scoffed, “What’s that?”
Derek had a hand on the window seal as he turned half around, looking serious, “The flowers Stiles.”
Stiles deflated a little, “I already told you what happened.”
Derek nodded still looking slightly scary, “Yes, and you will repeat it the whole pack.”
Stiles gritted his teeth.
God, he was bipolar.
“I’m not part of your Pack Derek.”
He watched as the Alpha’s head tilted a little, then he smirked at the boy, “See you tomorrow.” Stiles jerked when he heard a car pull in to their drive, his father was home. Stiles turned and yanked open his bedroom door. “Not likely.”
“And Stiles,” He turned around to see Derek with one leg out the window, straddling the window frame. His green eyes glinted in the moonlight from outside the window, “You are apart of the pack, whether you like it or not.”
And with that, he was gone.
Stiles stood there staring at where he once was until the front door opened and slammed shut. He jumped, then made a face at the open window.
“Well, jokes on you wolfy! I don’t know where this stupid pack meeting is or what time. So, hah!”
Satisfied that he got the last word on the subject he turned and trotted downstairs to greet his father.
“Hi Ho! What’s up Daddy’o?”
He walked into the kitchen and smiled when he saw his dad carrying take-out bags.
“You brought food! You do love me!” Stiles made gabby hands toward the food.
His father smiled, “Hey, kid.”
Stiles grinned and caught the bag his father tossed at him.
“I stopped on the way home, figured that you spent the whole day at Deaton’s anyway.”
Stiles nodded, throwing himself onto one of the kitchen chairs, and dumping the take-out bag. Inhaling the greasy goodness. This was what he needed.
The sheriff sat down in a more refined manner, digging into his own bag but at a slower pace than his son. Lifting a fry out of the bag he chowed down before glancing at his son, “So how was school?”
Stiles paused mid-bite of his burger, shit.
Finishing his mouthful, he looked at his father, “I was okay.”
John cocked his head, appraising his son, “Did something happen?”
Stiles looked down at his food, shrugging.
He didn’t want to tell his father, but he wasn’t going to lie either. After dealing with the rouge alpha and almost dying in the process, Stiles decided to tell his father everything. It was hard at first. His father thought he had gone off the deep end. Even taking him back to the hospital to have him checked up again. Making sure he didn’t have farther head trauma which he didn’t. It took some convincing and watching Scott shift into his puppy shape, but now his father not only knew everything but believed it too.
After telling him all that, letting it fly about some crazy flowers should be a cakewalk, but Stiles’ found himself hesitating. He didn’t want his father to freak out.
“Stiles.”
He winced at his father’s tone. This was going to be fun.
He put his sandwich back down and met the tired, soft blue eyes of his father. They were so different from his own. In fact, everything was different on them; it was hard to tell they were father and son. His dad always said he looked like his mother.
“I found flowers in my locker today.” He fiddled with his fingers.
His father sighed, “Was it, Greenburg?”
Stiles let out a surprised laugh; maybe he had more of his father in him than he initially thought.
“No, but that was my first guess too. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I didn’t go and talk to Scott today.”
His father put down his own sandwich, resting his arms on the table and scrutinizing his son, “Why is that?”
Stiles sighed, “The flowers were a rare form of wolfsbane.”
The sheriff frowned, “It still could have been Greenburg. He just picked the wrong kind of flowers.”
“Again, that’s what I thought, but Deaton told me that this form of the flower is no longer growing in the wild.”
He rocked his chair, so it was balancing on the back legs, “Deaton said acquiring this stuff is nearly impossible, and if you do find a supplier. Well, you better be a millionaire or close to it.”
John pushed his food away and crossed his arms, “Werewolves are allergic to that stuff right, but they won't die unless you shoot them with it. That’s what you told me.”
He pointed at his father, “Yep, but because this stuff is so rare, it causes them to lose control. Just being around these plants causes them to turn into killing machines. Or at least that’s what Deaton told me.”
His father reached up and rubbed his eyes, “Shit.”
Stiles tapped the table, “Yup!”
Picking up a fry and eating it, the older man grunted, “Well that explains the phone call I just received from Melissa.”
Stiles cocked his head and raised his brow.
The sheriff nodded, “Yeah, I know. Anyway, she insisted we come over tomorrow night. Said something about a barbeque and pack meeting.”
Just…. God Dammit!
His chair slammed to the floor, “Are you kidding me?”
Now it was his father’s turn to cock his head, “No, that’s why it took me so long to walk into the house. I was talking to her.”
“Well? What did you say?”
Now he rolled his eyes, “I told her I don’t know, Stiles.”
“I told her I would talk to you.”
Stiles glared, no wonder Derek seemed so cocky when he left. He had been listening in on his father’s conversation, which is rude by the way. He knew the Sheriff was going to ask Stiles.
“Well, how do you want to play it, kid?”
Stiles continued to glare at the table, but muttered, “We should go.”
John raised his brows, “We don’t have to.”
Stiles huffed and shook his head, “As much as it pains me t admit it, Derek and Deaton are right, I need to tell the others about what happened because it affects them too.”
“Wait, Derek?”
Stiles glanced up and nodded, pulling a sour face, “Yeah, he stopped by today to hear from me about what happened. He also told me some things.”
His father, frowned, “What things?”
He shrugged, “Nothing important, besides you were right,”
“About?”
“I need to talk with Scott.”
Looking over his shoulder, Stiles smiled at the bucket of Lacrosse balls still sitting by the garage door. Before turning back to his father and smiling.
John frowned at him but joined in when the boy started eating again. They finished up dinner talking about ordinary things and just enjoying being in each other’s presence. All
the while, Stiles was grinning evilly on the inside thinking one thing.
I have a werewolf to train.