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i.
The first time Scott notices, he thinks that it has to be a fluke.
It's a particularly cool day in the latter half of October and when Stiles clambers out of his jeep, he's wearing one of his hoodies with the zipper only half done up. Scott opens his mouth to say something about how Stiles is kind of defeating the point of wearing the thing if he can't be bothered to zip it up but then he gets a glimpse at what his best friend is wearing underneath. It's a dark green henley, with white buttons (three of which are undone) and although it looks vaguely familiar, Scott can't place it. Maybe he saw it in a catalog somewhere or at the mall but he is almost positive he's never seen it on Stiles before.
He doesn't bother bringing it up, at least not to Stiles. But when that familiarity continues to nag at him through the morning, he waits until Stiles is in the lunch line before he sits down beside Isaac, twisting himself so that he can still see Stiles.
“Have you ever seen Stiles wear that shirt before?” he asks, nodding his head at where Stiles is busy trying to sweet talk the grouchy, slightly terrifying cafeteria lady into giving him another scoop of chocolate pudding.
“The hoodie? He wears it all the time,” Isaac replies, looking over his shoulder at Stiles, who has somehow managed to score his desired scoop of pudding. “I think he wore it yesterday, actually. Or are you talking about the thing underneath?”
“The thing underneath.” Isaac shrugs and takes a bite of his pizza and even if he looks the very picture of nonchalance, Scott can see him mulling something over in his brain. He takes another bite and Scott thinks Isaac is the only person he's ever met who could pull off looking quizzical while his mouth is stuffed with food.
“I think Derek has one just like it,” he says after he swallows. While Scott still can't remember a specific time that Derek wore a shirt like the one Stiles has on, it would make sense, seeing as the color palette of the former alpha's wardrobe goes something like black, more black, gray and olive-green. It doesn't make sense that Stiles is looking to Derek for clothing inspiration, since some of Stiles' shirts are brighter than Lydia's but before Scott can think about it any further, Stiles is sitting down and shoving a container of pudding at him and eating pudding beats thinking about Stiles' fashion sense any day.
ii.
It's just before Halloween when a slightly more than unhinged hunter comes into town and starts firing off arrows at any werewolf he can find. Scott manages to get a fairly clear picture of the guy on his phone (and nearly gets shot in the process) but when he shows it to Allison's dad, Chris swears that the hunter isn't a member of the Argent family tree. He does mention that Gerard may have been the one to provide him with the identities of every wolf in town so while Chris and Allison try to distract the guy, Scott and Derek go to have a discussion with Gerard about where the hell the guy came from.
Gerard says nothing. All he does is spit black liquid thick as oil all over Derek's green shirt and cackle like an old crone when Derek's eyes flash blue. When they get back out to the Camaro, Derek starts rummaging through the back seat, muttering should have killed him, Scott and when he slams the door closed again, he's wearing a white t-shirt with a black band around the collar. It looks almost painfully tight around his biceps and Scott is pretty sure he could count Derek's abs through it, if he really tried. It definitely looks familiar and this time he can place it with certainty, because Stiles was wearing the exact same shirt two days prior, when they'd been up till midnight studying for their history test (which they'd nearly missed, due to a certain unstable hunter with wolfsbane bullets at the ready).
“What are you looking at?” Derek asks, raising his remarkably expressive eyebrows. Somehow, the sleeves of the t-shirt don't burst when he pulls his jacket back on, arms flexing from the movement.
“Nothing. Just didn't peg you as a white shirt guy,” Scott replies, trying his best to sound casual. Derek makes a noise that might have been intended as an intimidating growl but comes out as something more akin to a whine and before Derek slides into the driver's seat, Scott can't help but notice that the tips of his ears are pink.
They're halfway back to the rendezvous point when Scott gets a phone call from Allison saying that they discarded the guy's weapons and convinced him to leave town. Scott has a feeling that their 'convincing' was more like “threaten him with a large gun and sharp knives” but so long as the guy is alive and in one piece, he's just happy that he's gone.
Derek drops him off at home and peels out of the driveway almost as soon as Scott says bye and the next day, when Scott pulls into the parking lot at school, Stiles is leaning against the side of his Jeep, bickering with Isaac about something or another, wearing a white t-shirt with a black band around the collar.
Although he can't be completely positive, Scott is pretty damn sure that the sleeves seem to hang a little looser around Stiles' arms, like they've been stretched out by somebody with massive biceps.
iii.
About two weeks after Halloween, Stiles' Jeep decides to go on the fritz again. While it's in the shop, Scott offers to bring Stiles to school and when he shows up the next day, extra helmet dangling from his fingertips, Stiles flings the front door open, his mouth ringed by foam from his toothpaste.
The first thing Scott notices (aside from the nearly overwhelming artificial scent of cinnamon) is that Stiles is wearing an electric blue v-neck that is quite a bit looser than his usual clothes. Derek is the only other person Scott has ever seen wearing such a bright blue shirt and that had been on Halloween, when they'd all congregated at his loft and helped hand out candy to kids and watched really cheesy horror films from the eighties.
“Almost ready,” Stiles says around his rapidly moving toothbrush, foam smearing on his cheek and it's such an unattractive sight that Scott can't help but laugh. When he comes back from the washroom, all traces of toothpaste washed off his face, Scott tries his best to inconspicuously inhale the scents that are attached to Stiles; more particularly, he tries to discern the ones attached to the v-neck which is now partially hidden underneath a red and blue plaid shirt. The aroma of fabric softener is almost overpowering but when he flares his nostrils just a little bit more, he catches a different, more familiar scent. It's a little like leather and dust and grass and it's a scent that is very distinctly Derek Hale.
“New shirt?” he asks once Stiles has locked the front door behind them and Stiles jumps like he's been freaking electrocuted. Scott has to disguise his amused snort as a cough.
“Oh, this one?” he asks, plucking the v-neck between his fingers like he's pulling a hair out of someone's head. “Yeah, I got it from the mall, like... three days ago. Or something.” Stiles takes the extra helmet from Scott's hand and pulls it over his head, but not quickly enough to hide the pink tinge that has taken up residence on his cheeks. Even if Scott hadn't performed the sniff test, he would have known that Stiles was lying, because three days ago, his best friend was nowhere near the mall; Scott had taken a little detour on the way home from Deaton's and when he'd passed by Derek's loft, the Jeep had been parked outside.
Scott knows that if he brought that up, Stiles would probably turn a number of interesting shades of red but considering the tangy scent of embarrassment that is practically leaking out of his best friend's pores, he thinks Stiles is doing a good enough job on his own without any additional teasing.
Nonetheless, he can't help but notice that Stiles doesn't take off back to the house and tear the shirt off and if that isn't a sign that he's stuck on Derek, Scott doesn't know what is.
iv.
The next day, Beacon Hills' 'days without an attack from a supernatural creature' counter resets.
It's 4AM when Scott is ripped out of a rather pleasant dream with no warning whatsoever. He's disorientated for only a few seconds before he realizes what he's hearing, loud and clear and the noise makes his stomach feel like it's risen up into his throat.
Somewhere nearby, there's another alpha roaring and the longer it goes on, the more Scott's wolf growls just beneath the surface of his skin, practically begging him to shift. The roar isn't a greeting; it's a defiance, a challenge and before Scott can stop himself, his claws dig into his sheets and in the reflection of his computer screen, he can see that his eyes are glowing like coals in the darkness of his room.
The roar winds off only seconds later but Scott knows he isn't getting back to sleep anytime soon. Before his claws and fangs even begin to recede, Isaac bursts into the room, heart thudthudthudding in his chest like he's about to have a panic attack, his eyes in the process of bleeding from blue to gold.
“Scott?” he asks and Scott tries very hard to ignore the insufferable itch under his skin, coming from what feels like his very soul. The wolf desperately wants to run, wants to defend his territory and if it had been any closer to the full moon, Scott thinks that he would have let it take over. As it is, he manages to focus on his human side and his fangs slowly recede back into his gums.
“It's okay,” he says, flexing his fingers until his claws retract. “I don't think we're gonna be going to school today though.”
When he calls Deaton, the man sounds like he was already awake, despite it still being fully dark outside. Half an hour later, as the horizon starts to shift from black to navy-blue, the operating room at the vet's is crammed with pack, wolves and non-wolves alike. Allison and Lydia somehow look perfect despite the early hour, which is in direct contrast to Stiles, who had shown up with Derek. He's leaning against the counter, clad in a ratty pair of sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt. Even with the massive travel mug he's holding in his hands, which is exhaling coffee-scented wisps of steam, he keeps yawning and when he shifts over slightly and presses himself against Derek's side, Derek moves his arm and tucks it around behind Stiles. Scott can't quite tell from his position across the room but he thinks that Derek's hand is resting on Stiles' lower back.
Part of Scott wants to roll his eyes and mutter finally but seeing as there's an alpha prowling around the forest who has issued a direct challenge, he has to focus on that for the time being.
He doesn't know if it's because of the sleep that's still clinging to their brains or they've been watching too many movies lately but by the time they're supposed to be starting first period, they've come up with a plan that is so crazy, it just might work. It involves a lot of mountain ash so while Stiles, Allison and Lydia work with Deaton, Scott and the wolves head out to the preserve to see if they can determine where the rogue alpha is holed up.
They're just cresting a hill when Derek stops in his tracks and raises his head, nostrils flaring. Scott recognizes the area of the woods; they're very close to where it had all began, to where he'd lost his inhaler, to where Peter had bitten him.
“What is it?” he asks, copying Derek's action. He can still faintly smell the alpha, an unpleasant aroma like rusting metal and wet dog but they don't seem any closer or further than they had been five minutes ago.
“He's in the house,” Derek says with finality after a moment of sniffing. “He's in my house.”
That's all Scott needs to hear.
When they return to the preserve that night, the sky is bleeding from dark orange to steel blue and Deaton and Stiles are in the process of rigging up the most ridiculous trap Scott has ever seen outside of a cartoon. Stiles has scrambled up a tall pine tree and is following Deaton's instructions as he winds a thin rope through the branches. On the ground, there's an absolutely massive box made from rough-hewn planks of dark wood. The closer Scott gets to it, the more his skin itches so he stands at a respectable distance and tries not to wonder how Deaton was able to get his hands on so much mountain ash in such a short period of time.
Derek, on the other hand, surreptitiously moves so that he's standing right underneath where Stiles is straddling a branch and even though Scott can see him trying and failing to suppress the twitches that pass across his face, he doesn't move away from the box (which is actually more of a cage) until Stiles has safely clambered back down the trunk.
“This is easily the craziest thing we've ever done,” Isaac remarks, grabbing the rope attached to the box and pulling at Deaton's command. The box rises skywards until it's nearly hidden among the foliage; by the time full dark comes around, Scott knows that it'll be nearly undetectable, even with their eyesight.
“I don't know about that,” Scott sighs because although setting up a tripwire that will trigger a mountain ash cage is definitely a little crazy, the next part of the plan is downright dangerous.
It's time to play chicken with an alpha.
Stiles and Deaton leave once the moon comes up, although Stiles steadfastly refuses to go back home. It's not meant for Scott's ears but he still hears Stiles murmur I'll be waiting at the Camaro in Derek's ear as he walks by and despite trying to pay very close attention to the sound of Isaac's heartbeat, Scott still hears Derek say be careful in response.
And then the game begins.
Luring the alpha out isn't that hard; once they're near the old Hale house, Scott shifts and unleashes the most powerful roar he can muster. Based on how he hears both Derek and Isaac's heartbeats spike behind him, it's a good one. The other alpha responds almost immediately and it's mere seconds before he's bounding over the hill. He's a massive brown wolf and his eyes are glowing in the darkness like pinpricks of fire. For a moment, he simply stands there, broad chest heaving and Scott wants to fight. The wolf is just underneath his skin, telling him to defend his territory with his claws and his fangs. Instead, he turns on his heel and bolts back into the trees, running as fast as he can. Isaac and Derek are right behind him, on the lookout for any other betas that might show up and the alpha ignores them. He's ridiculously fast, paws slamming into the ground and before too long, Scott can feel his hot, warm breath rolling against his back.
But just as Scott thinks he has no choice but to attack, the alpha breezes past him like he's not even there, panting loudly. Scott's mind is rattled with confusion for all of three seconds before he catches the scent of warm, fresh, human blood on the wind. Behind him, he hears a mournful howl and even if he hasn't memorized what Stiles' blood smells like, that howl is all he needs to pick up the pace, ignoring his screaming lungs.
Before he reaches the clearing, he hears a loud crash as the cage drops to the ground; that crash is followed by one of the most agonized, desperate howls he's ever heard. When he finally stumbles through the bushes, nearly flipping as he skids to a stop, he can't help but breathe a sigh of thankful relief before he's bowled over by even more confusion.
In good news, the trap has actually worked. The box is sitting on the ground, rattling slightly side to side but otherwise staying fast. In bad news, Stiles is definitely the one bleeding but based on the penknife sitting on the ground beside him, the wound is self-inflicted. Scott can see thick, fresh droplets of blood rolling from his sliced-open palm and while Scott shifts back into his human form, Stiles crouches down and breaks the mountain ash circle that he'd warded himself with. While he seems fine other than the gash on his hand, the hem of his jeans has been torn to shreds, like it was snagged with a set of claws before Stiles jumped back into his circle.
However, before Scott can say a single word, can even really begin to process what the hell he's looking at, Derek comes sailing through the brush, Isaac lagging behind him. He looks and sounds absolutely fucking terrified but when he sees that Stiles is alive and okay, his heartbeat starts to slow down, even if the terror is still firm on his face.
“Stiles, what the hell was that?” he asks, striding over, eyes still glowing blue in the darkness. “You were supposed to leave!”
“I lured him in. Got him here quicker,” he says, pulling his over-shirt off and tying the sleeve tightly around his bleeding hand. He seems so nonchalant, so unconcerned about his own safety, that Scott kind of wants to shake him. “It worked, didn't it?”
“That's not the point! He could have killed you!” Even though his eyebrows are drawn tightly together, like he's barely avoiding the urge to lash out at the nearest tree, the glow in Derek's eyes slowly fades away and he pulls off his leather jacket and attempts to drape it around Stiles' shoulders.
“Derek, I don't need your damn jacket,” he mutters, trying to shrug it off, gaze firmly directed at where his blood is starting to stain his shirt sleeve.
“Stiles, quit it,” Derek growls and even though he sounds angry, the look on his face is nothing less than wounded. For once, Stiles doesn't push; he simply falls silent and nods, sliding his uninjured arm through one of the jacket's sleeves.
Scott feels like he's intruding on an intensely private moment and based on the look Isaac is sending in his general direction, his beta feels the same. So he steps off into the trees, Isaac behind him, leaving Derek and Stiles alone with the box containing an alpha werewolf who, despite the slightly pathetic whimpering sounds he's making, is probably very pissed off.
Speaking of said werewolf, Scott has no idea how they're supposed to move him. He calls Deaton, who says to leave the box where it is and that he'll collect it in the morning.
Scott makes a mental note to never piss Deaton off and when he heads back to the clearing, the werewolf is silent and Stiles and Derek are both gone.
v.
After the rogue alpha is dispatched, Beacon Hills gets quiet for awhile, which Scott is more than thankful for; even if he has gotten better at juggling fighting malevolent supernatural creatures and keeping his grades up, it's way easier to get a B+ in history when you don't have to worry about other wolves or kanimas or what have you.
It's actually his history class that leads him to Derek's on a Thursday afternoon near the end of November. Even if Derek doesn't talk about it a lot, Scott knows that he likes to read; although the loft is still lacking a lot of amenities (like chairs or a television), there are piles of books all over the place. From Scott's previous glances, most of them seem to be about history and mythology so when he's assigned to do an assignment on the historical origins of a supernatural creature (for which he chooses vampires, to avoid being too obvious), he bypasses the school's library in favor on Derek's.
At first, as he walks up the seemingly endless flights of stairs, he thinks that no one is home; he can't hear anyone talking in the apartment, can't hear anyone pacing or even flipping pages. But then, he finally catches a slow, steady heartbeat and when he yanks the door of the loft open, he sees why everything is almost silent.
While he still has no chairs, Derek had acquiesced to getting a sofa, which is pressed against the window that dominates one entire wall of the loft. There are rays of weak November sunlight coming through the cloudy glass and Derek is lying on his stomach on the couch, one arm tucked underneath his head, the other dangling towards the floor. If if weren't for the black hair and the distinctive stubble that Scott can see from across the room, Scott wouldn't believe that it was Derek because to the best of his knowledge, he has never seen any Hale in a hoodie, let alone a burgundy one. There's white writing on the back of it and when Derek shifts slightly, heartbeat quickening as he wakes up, Scott can't help but grin as the writing comes into focus.
Stilinski is plastered across the back of the hoodie in capital letters. The word is stretched across Derek's broad shoulders and by the time he fully wakes up, bolting upright, Scott is full-on laughing, trying in vain to disguise the noise as coughing. Even the glare Derek gives him, which plainly says I will rip out your spleen isn't enough to make him stop.
“Scott, if you tell anyone about this-”
“Derek, chill, I'm not gonna say a word,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender even as a wayward chuckle slips from his mouth. “I'm just saying, you two really don't have to hide it from us anymore. It's pretty damn obvious.”
“Really?” Derek asks and Scott has to give him credit, Derek actually looks kind of shocked.
“Yep. That tends to happen when you start raiding each other's closets.” Derek growls quietly and even though his wolf wants to growl back, Scott simply grins and crosses the room to sit on the couch, rummaging through his backpack to find the assignment handout.
“So, I need your help with something,” he says and even though Derek keeps fiddling with the slightly too tight sleeves of Stiles' lacrosse sweater, neither of them say another word about it.
i.
After that point, Stiles and Derek do stop hiding things. That's not to say that they jump all over each other in public and they don't actually make an official announcement, but it's the little things that count. When the pack is together, either at Deaton's for a meeting or to watch a movie in Scott's living room, they do actually act like a couple, albeit an old, married one. Although they spend half of the time bickering, they do so while Derek has his arm around Stiles', whisking his fingers back and forth against Stiles' shoulder. Even though the Jeep is back on the road (but seems to wheeze more than it used to), Derek picks Stiles up from school more often than not and there's at least one day a week where Scott notices one (or both of them) wearing the opposite person's clothes.
A few days before Christmas, he goes to Derek's with the intention of telling him that he's invited over for Christmas dinner, since he's not answering his phone (again). Admittedly, Scott is a little distracted while he takes the stairs up, pondering just how much food they'll need to feed three werewolves and a handful of humans and by the time he hears the intertwined sound of two distinct heartbeats racing, he's already pulled the door of the loft open.
The lights are all off but the sun coming through the window is more than enough to illuminate the fact that Stiles and Derek are tangled together on the sofa and as far as Scott can tell, there isn't a stitch of clothing on either of them. He immediately whirls around so that his back is to them and tries very hard to get the image of his best friend's dick out of his head.
“I'll come back later,” he yells over his shoulder and even though it's probably a funny sight, he's quite glad that he hears rather than sees Stiles fall off the couch with a ungraceful thud. He catches a snippet of Derek saying something and then he's moving back down the stairs, intently focusing on the sound of his own echoing footsteps rather than any noises coming from the apartment.
He's happy for the two of them, he really is, but still; Scott thinks he misses when they were actually trying to be sneaky.