Chapter Text
The light of the day is fading into cold blue hues, the moon half risen over the tops of the trees. And Stiles is wondering why in the hell he agreed to this secret woodland training session with Scott.
In the woods. At night.
It is as if he hadn’t been through this before, as if they’d both forgotten how last time they were out in the woods in the middle of the night both of their lives were changed irrevocably. Only, Stiles hadn’t forgotten. He trudges along the same woods now, mumbling to himself about how stupid this all is. Especially now that Derek is the new alpha in town and these were ‘his woods’.
Stupid territorial alphas and their ridiculous gorgeous multicolored eyes.
Wait, what?
Stiles stops dead in his tracks and shakes his head at himself. He pushes the thoughts of Derek’s taut biceps and perfect soft lips, down. His stomach flip flops as he continues down the path. The clearing isn’t far now, he’s pretty sure. He’s also pretty sure he has a serious Derek problem. It wasn’t at all a sudden issue, he’d been feeling weird around the alpha since day one.
He’d always thought he was good-looking, and he was jealous of that. Then his jealousy somehow turned into desire. Maybe it was because Derek loved getting in his space in an effort to scare him. Maybe it was the fact that Derek had snuck through his window and then pinned him against his own bedroom door. Maybe it was the way the wolf stared at Stiles lips and breathed his air.
He doesn’t like him. Doesn’t trust him. It’s mutual too from what Derek said two weeks ago, while Stiles was saving his fucking life. He treaded water for that asshole for two hours, holding up his paralyzed body, for two hours.
Did he get a hint of gratitude? A thank you? A good job, you saved my ass? No.
Instead, that bastard says they don’t trust each other, and that Stiles was only helping him because he was a pathetic little shit who couldn’t protect himself. OK, that wasn’t exactly what he said. But it was what he had implied.
A rustling of leaves and Stiles stops dead. His body clenches; his shoulders tight, neck ducked and rigid. His fingers are paralyzed. He clenches his fists, just to remind himself that he isn’t in fact paralyzed. Because he definitely has some PTSD from that incident in the garage. And of course, by incident, he means being a useless bystander while he was made to watch that mechanic die a slow, bloody agonizing death.
Now, he might die a similar death.
More rustling and Stiles suddenly realizes his bladder is full and really hopes he doesn’t piss himself. Though that might deter the predator hiding in the bushes. Maybe he should just let loose? A growl, low and menacing; made to be more menacing because he can’t see where it’s coming from, and it sounds hungry. Maybe he’s imagining that last part.
He edges around slowly, his head barely moving with the action. His heart pounding furiously in his ribs. Please don’t be hungry. Pleasepleaseplease.
Another low growl, and harsh breathing. He realizes quickly that whatever it is, it’s coming closer. Stiles’ eyes widen and he remembers his dad’s gift. After the whole, Kanima fiasco he couldn’t keep all the piling secrets from his genius father anymore. His dad actually confronted him and Scott and they gave up the goods and told him everything.
Well, they might have downplayed some of the pants-shitting terror, but now his dad knows most of what’s been happening in the last year. He insisted that Stiles carry protection, saying that Scott couldn’t be everywhere all the time and neither could he. So, he took him to the shooting range again, for the first time in at least two years. His dad even lets him use his old favorite gun.
That gorgeous Beretta happens to be tucked under his jacket, loaded full of wolfs bane.
He feels the chill of the night air cut through his jacket and undershirt. Why didn’t he wear a long sleeve? He shivers and hopes the beast doesn’t take it as a call to arms. He waits for several seconds and starts reaching for his gun, slow and steady.
Another growl and movement.
Fuck I’m dead.
He hits the ground face-first, mouth eating dirt, scrambling under the weight of the monster on his back. Based on the fur brushing into his spine he thinks wolf, and immediately hopes it’s not Peter. He can’t still turn into a monster-wolf right? He pushes as hard as he can after he realizes the creature isn’t biting into him yet.
He throws the bastard off and rolls away, somehow managing to pull the gun out as he goes. He gets halfway to his feet, gun wobbling in his hands before the beast leaps for him again. He shoots, and misses terribly. Later, he’ll blame that on his shaking hands and the fact he hasn’t had his Adderall today.
That is, if he’s alive later.
The beast throws him into a tree and he yells in pain. His back meets a hard branch and he whines. His eyes are closed tight, mouth clamped shut. His gun was lost in the darkness when the beast threw him. So now he waits, sure of his impending doom. The leaves rustle again and he inches one eye open. The beast is stalking along the forest floor toward him. Then he’s standing, then he’s not furry anymore. He steps past the last tree blocking the rays of cold moonlight and Stiles wants to scream.
“Derek?” He opens both eyes and glares at the alpha. “What the fuck!?”
“What. Are. You doing?”
Full stops really?
“What am I- I could ask you the same thing, you asshole.” Stiles coughs, his ribs aching. He stands up slowly, brushing leaves off his jeans as he goes. “I mean, I was just out here minding my own damn business and then your furry territorial ass comes out of nowhere and sidelines me? What the hell were you-”
The wind is knocked out of him and he realizes Derek is pinning him to the tree he was leaning against for support. Again with the pinning. What is wrong with this guy? What isn’t wrong with him, is clearly the better question. He breathes a heavy sigh and mumbles several curse words at the alpha’s glaring eyes.
“Seriously? Why do you keep doing that-”
“SHUT. UP.” He growls the words and Stiles stills, his eyes searching Derek’s glowing red irises.
His dick twitches unhelpfully and he wishes he were dead. He’s sure Derek can smell the horniness coming off him. He wants Derek to just put him out his misery now, and he’s about to suggest it when Derek inches closer. Stiles’ breath hitches. Derek’s mouth is inches from his and Stiles can’t breathe, his heart rabbiting under his shirt. Then Derek’s thigh brushes past his leg and he realizes how utterly naked the alpha is.
“You’re naked.” Stiles’ mouth moves without his brains permission.
Not a new sensation, but still. He’d at least hoped that his brain would try to stop him. At least once, in the interest of self-preservation.
“I said, shut up.”
“Well, OK, but what are you doing?”
Derek’s face unclenches. It’s a miracle, because he’s no longer glaring at Stiles like he’s about to rip into his throat. In fact, he’s not even looking at his eyes anymore. He’s staring, at his mouth?
What the hell is happening right now?
“Derek?”
The alpha waivers, his body inching forward kind of like he’s about to pass out. If Stiles didn’t know better, he would think Derek is about to kiss him. No way. Clearly he’s planning to whisper the way he plans on horrifically murdering Stiles. Then proceed to kick his ass out of the woods or something. Obviously, that’s what he’s doing. Has to be.
“What, are you?” Stiles can’t finish the sentence; he can’t process this right now. It’s too much for his horny little brain.
I mean, his dick is already hard, and literally all Derek has done has invaded his space, and breathed on him for like ten minutes. It’s totally, pathetically virgin for that to be enough to get him hard. He’s more embarrassed and utterly confused by the second. And he really (not at all close to the first time) wishes Derek would use his words.
“Seriously, what’s happening?”
“I…” Derek mutters, his eyes still firmly locked on Stiles’ lips.
Stiles’ tongue peeks out to lick a stripe of saliva across his lower lip. This elicits a strange sound from the back of Derek’s throat and he wonders again, for what must be the millionth time what the fuck is happening. Suddenly he’s being pushed away from the tree. He stumbles away and spins around to ask again, “what the fuck???”, but as per-freaking usual, the creepy stalker has dispersed into the shadows.
“Fucking werewolves.”
--
Five days later and school’s officially out for the Summer.
Stiles could not be happier to watch the hordes of students pouring out of the school behind him. Yelling in glee for swim time, no more homework and underage drinking. He’s happy about the second thing, but happiest about the fact that he doesn’t have to balance grades with supernatural killing machines and bullies with fucking claws and fangs stalking him all the live long day.
That, plus his jeep is no longer impounded as evidence. Thank God. Or more accurately, his dad. He was sick of riding with his dad in the mornings and Scott and Allison at night. His dad wasn’t so bad, but he did keep bugging him about his connection to Derek Hale and how his friends were pulling him into danger all the time. He was tired of explaining how Scott would literally be lost without him, that he probably wouldn’t survive a day actually.
Not to mention that he didn’t really have a connection to Derek. It was a random, annoying, incredibly violent connection by association. It was all Scott’s fault really, and he always exaggerated that part. He also, always left out the violent aspects of his and Derek’s, connection.
He didn’t tell him how Derek had actually snuck into his bedroom, multiple times just to harass him. Obviously because he valued his life and knew that his father was the one person that could always make the rest of his existence a living hell.
He pushes through the crowds of fleeing students and smiles as his eyes land on the tail end of his pale blue jeep. Practically vibrating with excitement, he throws his backpack into the seat and shuts the door behind him. He cannot express how majorly it sucked riding in the backseat of Scott’s mom’s car while Allison and Scott made small talk. Understandably, there was a lot of bad blood there and they still had a lot to talk about. Sure, Allison did actually break up with him and then express how much of a mistake that was and wanted him back. But couldn’t tell Scott that because her dad would be pissed, so, she told Stiles all of this instead and made him swear on his life not to tell his best friend.
Yeah, that didn’t make those car rides awkward at all.
But no more! Now he had his trusty jeep back, Allison and Scott were talking again, like they used too. Plus, no more secrets from his dad. Allison’s dad seemed kind of OK with his daughter and Scott hanging out too now. It was still incredibly tense of course. Whenever Scott went over to their house Mr. Argent watched them, like you would expect an overprotective father with a wall of guns and an ingrained dislike of werewolves would.
The icing on this particularly tasty cake of a day? Derek had been out of town since that thing in the woods.
Whatever that was.
He’d gone over the whole incident with Scott several times. He wasn’t obsessing - OK he was obsessing. But only because it made literally no sense to him, and Scott didn’t understand it either. He seemed to have some ideas, but he said he’d half to talk to someone who knew more about werewolf stuff. The only people they knew who knew more than them was: Derek, Mr. Argent and Deaton.
Two of them were out of town, and no way Scott was asking Argent. Stiles was curious, so curious it kept him up at night and made him bite all of his nails off to the point of bleeding. But still, he would never suggest Scott ask Argent about it. He’s a dick, but he’s not evil.
So he’s perfectly fine with waiting. Driving home with the window down, singing a stupid song really loudly and enjoying the heat of Summer tickling his bare arms. His favorite red plaid over shirt blowing in the cool breeze, he takes back roads, the long way home. Enjoying every second of his newfound freedom.
He does wonder how Lydia and Jackson are coping. He knows Lydia has been keeping in close touch with Allison, and she’s sent Stiles a few texts and even called once. Mostly, she had questions. She still wasn’t sure what was wrong with her; she was immune, but what else? Stiles has gone through books with her over the phone, suggested good sites for her to research and she was grateful.
He wondered exactly when he stopped loving her.
That’s not totally accurate, because he still loves her, but he isn’t in love with her anymore. Maybe it happened when he watched her fall apart as Jackson died. How he came back and they hugged like they couldn’t breathe without being in each other’s arms.
He wanted that, desperately, to belong with someone, to be in love. Maybe he never really was in love with her? However, he knows his life would never be right without her in it and it surprises nobody more than him, that he is actually content with just being her friend.
Jackson is a werewolf now, and Derek had somehow suckered him into his pack. Stiles knew that had a lot to do with Lydia nagging her boyfriend into it. He needed the help, the stability of a pack, especially now that Scott and Derek were reaching a neutral kind of alliance. It came down to, Scott couldn’t be an omega forever, and Derek was a shitty alpha without Scott’s help.
Isaac had bonded easily with Scott, more than he did with Derek. Erica and Boyd were warming up to him Scott too. Derek didn’t like that at first, but his betas whined him into submission eventually. The fact that Allison apologized to him, and that Scott did too; helped with washing away some of the issues between the packs, and the Argents.
Allison and her dad were still messed up after her mom’s death, and finding out that Gerard was the one that arranged her death and Derek was just unlucky enough to be the tool used, well. That shocked most everyone; except Stiles. Allison and her dad seemed to be the only decent ones in left in their family. As he takes the last turn toward his house he breathes out a sigh of relief. His house is totally fine, his dad is home and no one has died in over two weeks now.
Things are finally looking up.
--
Why is the fact that, nothing good lasts, actually true? Why did this, have to be Stiles’ life?
Everything was good, awesome actually. Lydia was now his actual friend and he wasn’t awkward around her anymore. Scott and him had spent a sickeningly amount of time together in the past week, and his dad wasn’t as suffocating-protective anymore. For almost two weeks of Summer, no deaths, no supernatural baddies and no researching Wikipedia’s darkest corners for information about some freakish monster trying to kill his friends.
And now he comes home to find this? A bloody dying alpha werewolf passed out in his bed?
At least he had the decency to pull this shit while his dad was out of the house, supervising a teenage bonfire party. Stiles was actually on his way there to meet everyone when he realized he had forgotten to turn off the stove and had to head back home. He’d heard some moaning sounds upstairs and pulled his gun to go look and now he’s staring at the bloodiest Derek he’s ever seen. Considering how much the guy fights, and how often Stiles has been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s saying something.
“Derek, are you dead?”
He kind of hopes he is, but at the same time wants to rush over and help him. What is wrong with me? All Derek has ever done is yell at him, throw him around and generally humiliate and or harass him both verbally and physically. Stiles couldn’t even count the number of times he’s threatened to end his existence, usually by saying he'd rip his throat out. With his teeth.
And now? Stiles, the human has to help Derek, the asshole werewolf. Again.
“Sti-les?”
“Oh, you are alive.” He puts his gun on his desk and pulls out his cell phone. “I’ll get Scott over here, hold on.”
“No!” His voice is weak, but still stern enough to stop Stiles’ fingers from dialing.
“Why the hell not?”
“Just don’t call him.”
“I need a reason, Derek. He has werewolf mojo, not me. He can actually fucking help.”
“I said no.” He raises his body until his back is pushed into Stiles’ headboard. He looks sick and uncomfortable. The whole room smells like blood and Derek’s lips are so chapped and bloody that Stiles kind of gags.
“OK, just- what do you expect me to do then? Call Boyd? I can get the betas over here.” He searches Derek’s face, deciding to stare until the alpha says something. He breathes several times first, his breathing is shallow and painful sounding.
“Not, yet.”
“Then what? What happened, and why for craps’ sake did you come here?”
“You can help me.” Stiles, gapes and it is probably incredibly unattractive, but he can’t do anything else right now. “You’re the only one that can.”
A few minutes of silence passes and Stiles thinks, and paces, and thinks. He wants to yell, but that would be useless.
“Just, get over here.” Derek whispers.
He clears his throat and urges Stiles with his eyebrows. He can’t move, feet planted in the center of his floor; bloody outcomes swirling through his head. Why did he come here, what is he planning? Is he going to rip my heart out and eat it for strength? Derek growls lowly. Effectively startling Stiles into moving toward the bed, and before he knows it he’s at the edge. Close enough to smell Derek’s blood, thick and harsh, in the back of his throat.
“For God’s sake.” Derek rolls his eyes and leans over enough to grab a handful of Stiles’ shirt.
“What the hell!?” He falls into the bed, flailing limbs and curses erupting from his mouth. His head finds Derek’s chest and he tries to move away, but the alpha has a death-grip around the back of his neck.
“Please stop.” Derek’s pleading voice makes him still.
His brain cannot process what’s happening right now. He’s sure if he survives the night that he’ll have days, possibly weeks of obsessing over this moment. The heat of Derek’s bloody body slows his racing thoughts.
The calm sound of his heart, the rhythm of his chest moving up and down. Stiles’ head moving with his chest. He can barely hear the alpha's heart beating and wonders if he’s going to die. And really, really wonders why he’s being aggressively cuddled by an alpha werewolf who has threatened to rip out his throat at least twelve times in the past two months.
Seriously, what is my life right now?
“So, is this a pack thing or what?” Stiles can’t help it, he has to fill the silence. “Because Scott has done this to me before. I mean, before he was a wolf, once and then a lot after. He said he wanted to be close like he sits super close to me when we play games or watch a movie too. It’s cute but also kind of weird. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but I did want to know if it was a werewolf thing or not.” Stiles blinks several times and waits. Derek doesn’t say anything, which isn’t surprising. It’s usually pretty normal, but in this context, he is confused by the lack of yelling.
He hazards a glance up, which is hard since his head is being cupped by Derek’s giant hands. His face squashed into Derek’s peck. He feels the wolf's’ heart beating softly under the skin; the rise and fall of his chest still moves him every few seconds.
He’s clearly alive, maybe he’s just ignoring me.
Again, not a surprising action. The grip of his hand loosens marginally and Stiles takes the opportunity to wiggle his legs onto the bed the rest of the way. He shifts his torso as much as he can without straining his neck until his body is tucked in next to Derek’s. His feet are still covered with his sneakers and he notices Derek is wearing his jacket and shoes too.
He contemplates trying to wriggle out of the wolf’s grip to get more comfortable. He also contemplates escape, but surprisingly decides against that. Derek would find him and or die in his bed while he was gone. Both outcomes would be bad.
He listens to the sound of gently breathing and relaxes under the alpha’s hand. Derek’s other hand is resting awkwardly at his side. His fingers look pretty screwed up; swollen and his thumb looks broken. He can’t see anything above Derek’s neck if he really tries he can see his jaw, but it strains his eyes. He looks back down and stares at Derek’s shirt, at one point of the day it was probably a nice bleached white. Parts of it still are, but at least 70% of it is covered in dirt and blood.
His jacket is torn in some places, but mostly intact. From what he saw of the wolf’s face when he first entered the room, he may have a broken nose too. Maybe some teeth missing, either that or he covered his jaw in blood by ripping out somebody’s throat. Stiles has seen him do that, so it isn’t an impossibility. He shifts a little more until his hands are out from under him. He tucks his arms up, putting his hands under his head and letting his elbows rest in the crook of Derek’s waist. The alpha doesn’t make any effort to move away, so he assumes this is fine.
Because this makes sense right?
Totally, it’s completely normal. It’s not like Stiles has ever had a real conversation with Derek, or that he’s never almost died at his hands or anything. No, never. It is not like Derek’s only friends are three epically disturbed teenagers that have bullied Stiles and his friends over the last few months.
Albeit they did kind of apologize. Well, Boyd did, but Erica said something about her being a badass bitch who didn’t need to apologize for anything. Especially since Stiles liked the abuse. Which, is totally ridiculous. In no version of the universe would Stiles enjoy being hit in the head with car parts, especially ones off his own jeep. Isaac said, ‘sorry about Lydia’, and that was it. Scott seemed to think that was enough, but Stiles wasn’t sure he could trust that curly haired little shit. He was full of snark and violence. Too much like Stiles for Stiles to like.
Cuddling with Derek Hale. It’s amazing and warm, it smells bad but other than that totally fine. Also mind-blowingly weird, but Stiles thinks he can get past that, as long as no one sees what’s happening to his dick. Derek must be unconscious, otherwise, this would not be happening. Why did he say I was the only one that could help him?
He hates my guts, doesn’t he?
Stiles breathes carefully, letting logic take over. Remembering that article, he read about pack healing. Wolves take care of their pack when they are sick are injured, they bring them food and cuddle. TLC all around until the wolf is healed. From what he’d seen, werewolves do all of that too. The betas totally puppy-piled when Erica and Boyd were returned by that creepy British guy, Deucalion.
His pack was just passing through and he found Erica and Boyd running from hunters and helped them out. Scott thought it was really cool and sweet of them to help. Stiles thought it was suspicious because he is cynical and doesn’t trust strange smiling dudes with red eyes and the potential to become big furry monster-wolves.
He blames Peter for that.
It could also be Lon Chaney’s fault.
Either way, he doesn’t think they’ve seen the last of that guy, but Derek insisted that he was friends with his parents and that his pack aren’t in fact evil like Stiles thought. He’d maintain his suspicions regardless. After that whole Derek trusting Peter while he was super evil and crazy thing, and Scott working with Gerard, he really doesn’t trust either of their judgment at this point. At least Allison agreed that Deucalion was creepy. Lydia thought he was hot, and Jackson fucking agreed with her, which disturbs Stiles to his very core.
Derek must be using Stiles for healing. How, or why, he has no idea but it’s the only thing that makes a sliver of sense. Of course, he could have done this with his pack, and it would probably be a lot easier and faster that way since there are three of them.
Why me?
Stiles relaxes his body and let’s sleep take him. It’s the only thing he can do given that Derek somehow maintains his death-grip on Stiles’ neck, while unconscious.
--
“Stiles?” A door shuts loudly downstairs. Stiles’ eyes are crusted shut; his head fuzzy and moving slowly to break free from sleeps grip.
Shouldn’t it be Derek’s grip?
Stiles’ head shoots up and looks around. Derek’s gone, his sheets are bloody and everything smells. His neck is stiff like he hasn’t moved in hours.
“Dad?” He moans. Moving to turn over, he sucks in the drool from the corner of his lips. “Shit.” He hears his dad coming down the hall and flails out of bed. He lands on his ass and groans loudly.
“Stiles are you OK!?”
His door is shut for some reason, but he’s glad because then his dad would walk in to see his blood-soaked bed. He suddenly wants no one to know what happened last night. Ever. Probably because he has no idea what happened last night.
“I’m fine, I’m fine dad!” He rushes to his feet and nearly brains himself on his nightstand. “Seriously, don’t come in here!”
“Why not?” His father’s voice is stern, warning.
“Ugh, just indecent right now, hang on.”
“You weren’t at the bonfire. Everyone was worried for a while, and then you sent Scott that message that you didn’t feel well- what happened?”
He didn’t send a text. Must have been Derek.
“Uh yeah, I just wanted to go to bed.” Stiles gets to his dresser, after tugging on a non-bloody shirt he grabs a quilted blanket to throw over his blood-soaked sheets.
“Stiles, will you open up?” His dad asks impatiently.
“Yeah.” He heads for the door and lets out a big exhale before opening the door.
“It smells terrible in there." His dad gestures to Stiles room and he leans forward, keeping the door mostly closed. "It's really stale, open a window or something.” His dad taps his shoulder with his fist and Stiles smiles back. “You want something to eat, or are you still feeling sick?”
“I’m OK, really. I think I just needed the rest.”
His dad nods. “Alright, well come down when you’re ready, I’d like to talk a little before I head to work.”
“OK, sure.” As soon as his dad is on the stairs he frantically searches the room for his phone. He finds it on the bedside table, not where he left it.
He sent a text to his dad, and Scott, well, Derek did actually. Covering their tracks, probably to hide the cuddle session from his pack. Stiles doesn’t want them to know either, but he does want to know why that even happened in the first place.
Why would he turn to Stiles for help, when he has literally said multiple times that he doesn’t trust him? He clearly does. Why else would he allow Stiles to be around him when he was in such bad shape. Not to mention the fact that he fucking cuddled with him. In his bed.
What the hell?
Stiles sends a text, a few actually. Telling Scott, he needs to see him in the preserve, during the day this time. He agrees and then Stiles angrily types a text to Derek.
To : Derek
From : Stiles
WE NEED TO TALK DEREK.
He waits for two minutes and gets nothing in return. Scott asks him in a text if he’s on his way to the preserve and he rushes downstairs. He eats with his dad and leaves before him, heading straight for the woods.
--
It is a fast drive to the preserve, he takes the main road and its Sunday so there’s not a lot of traffic. The best lake for swimming is clear across town, so everyone is either there, or barbecuing in their backyards.
The sun is high in the sky, and the cool air of May is fading fast. Summer is coming back with a vengeance if the weather forecasts coming over the radio are anything to go by. Stiles ignores the droning of the engine and focuses on what to tell Scott.
They made a pact after the whole, Kanima-Gerard thing. No more secrets.
Stiles was so pissed about Scott forming his epic master plan behind his back, Scott bought him tacos and apologized for a week. Then Stiles forgave him and they made that oath to each other. Two nights ago, Allison and Scott had kissed again for the first time in weeks, and Stiles was the first one he told. It was huge. Not just because he loved Allison, but because Scott was finally getting along with Mr. Argent and he actually said it was OK that they date again.
Everyone was getting better at communicating, except for Derek. He talked to Scott, and Stiles knew they had pack meetings and that Derek was warming up to his friend. But he still never let Stiles in on any of the pack stuff. It was infuriating considering just how much Stiles had done for the bastard, not to mention his little betas too. He’d saved them so many times now, you’d think he’d earned some semblance of respect, or gratitude maybe.
But no.
Now he had to go into the preserve to let off some steam, and of course, confess. Scott had to know, and hopefully, he knew something about what it all meant. He just wanted his friend to tell him it meant nothing. That Derek was just being creepy and weird like usual and it had nothing to worry about. The alternative was that he’d be obsessing over this until Derek explained it all to him. Which knowing Derek, he never would.
Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about it, how he said, you’re the only one that can help.
His eyes were so vulnerable, his voice weak like Stiles had never heard it before. It didn’t make any sense. Sure Stiles had some skills now, fighting particularly and guns, but he was no match for Derek’s skills. And he’d admit to being the research king, but other than that he had no advantage over the alpha. How could he help him, where his betas couldn’t? Where Scott couldn’t?
He’s the most confusing, infuriatingly attractive bastard on the planet and Stiles can’t stop thinking about how he looked that night in the woods. So desperate, hungry. How he stares at Stiles’ lips, leaned into his body, stole all the warmth from him. Not to mention the fact that he was stark naked and Stiles did not look down once because despite popular belief he did value his life. He had to find out what the hell the alpha was planning. Was he toying with him? Was he crazy? Was it just a weird alpha thing or something else? Something dangerous?
He pulls into the preserve’s parking lot and stares at his phone. Scott says to meet him in the ‘same place as always’. Which is the center of the wilderness near the small brook. He can’t wait to talk to his friend. Not just about the weirdness with Derek, but to actually train some of this stress away. He knew he wasn’t the most coordinated person in the world and that’s an understatement. But he was getting damn good. What he lacked in grace and strength, he made up for in speed and quick thinking.
He turns over the jeep’s sputtering engine and hops out of the car. The golden leaves rustle underfoot; the color of the woods fading from a cold but colorful orange to varying shades of green. The bases of the thin trees rich and brown and the sky is a luminous blue full of fluffy white clouds. He smiles at the sun shining down at him and heads for the depths of the preserve to meet Scott. Hoping he either has answers or is willing to help him find some. He has to know if Derek’s sick or crazy.
He has to know what’s going on before whatever it is comes around to bite him in the ass.