Chapter Text
Stiles took the steps to the rickety porch one at a time and very cautiously. They looked like they might collapse at the slightest touch, and the idea that they would do so under his weight made him nervous.
He raised his closed fist to the back of the door. The paint was peeled and the door shredded even more than it had been the last time he was here with Scott. Stiles remembered his friend going completely apeshit to find out what was beneath it as Derek refused to stray from his usual cryptic responses.
Knuckles just inches from the door, Stiles suddenly dropped his hand and decided instead to kick the door open with the tip of his sneaker. He stepped inside carefully as if he expected something to fall on him as he crossed the threshold, or the door to come right off it’s hinges.
The house was dark, and gloomy, as it always was. There was no sign of movement, apart from a few leaves by his feet blowing about after a particularly strong gust of wind followed Stiles in the abandoned building.
“Derek?” he called out, still moving dangerously slow. There was no answer.
He was terrified, and to be completely honest, not at all certain why he even agreed to come here. Of course he called Scott up immediately after Derek had left a rather vague message on his phone, but only got the machine. He cursed Allison for taking away his best friend, as they hardly spent more than twenty minutes time together in weeks. Free time that is. He didn’t particularly constitute chasing down a pack of murderous alphas as ‘bonding’.
“Derek!”
Stiles ventured further into the house, heading towards the area that looked familiar. There was a table there, which he remembered from his last visit, but this time it was cloaked in wine red fabric. It certainly didn’t look like it matched the house, contrasting brilliantly against the splintered wood of the furniture legs that it only reached mid-way of, and it most definitely wasn’t there before.
Derek didn’t live here anymore, and so the grand house was legitimately abandoned now. He’d hadn’t spent much time inside it, but the little he had didn’t seem to help at all to calm him as everything about it still made Stiles want to run back to the safety of his trusty jeep and drive away.
Stepping towards the table, the teenager leaned hesitantly against it. Resting his backside gently atop it’s edge, afraid it might break in half if he put his whole weight on it, he delved into his pocket for his cellphone. Stiles checked the time quickly and then his texts, bringing up that same message the werewolf had sent him not that long ago.
I can help you, it said.
Stiles brow furrowed again as he re-read the words. Help me with what?
Meet me in the woods. You know where. 9-o ’ clock. Tonight.
It was 8:56 now.
He thought about blowing it off, and pretending he never got it. He’d get Scott to vouch for him… somehow, but despite the fact that Stiles was becoming more comfortable around the older man, Derek still scared the shit out of him sometimes …most of the time. The idea of what he might do had Stiles chosen to ignore him, well …frankly it freaked him out more than walking through the woods alone after sun-down.
So here he was.
Running a hand through the crop of hair on his head, Stiles fluffed it up, slightly aggravated, before lifting his phone closer to his face. He scanned his address book for a name and then tapped once when he found it. He immediately heard a slight buzzing and pushed off the table somewhat startled before pressing forward to where he swore he could hear it’s source. In another chair across from him sat a blinking mobile.
“Stiles.”
A voice came from the shadows behind him and Stiles almost dropped his phone.
“Jeeesus …Chryy-stuh! Derek! You’ve been standing there the whole time haven’t you?”
Derek said nothing, simply grinned as he walked under a few streams of moonlight beating down into the house. His pearly whites looked as though they shined, and somehow his smile made him and his stupidly handsome face look even more so like he just came from the pages of the latest issue of Gentleman’s Quarterly.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice alone sending chills down Stiles spine even without the threatening tone .
“Mmhm. What do you want? I was just about to hit the sack before you so rudely interrupted me,” answered Stiles, pocketing his cellular and turning all the way around to face the other male.
“It’s nine o’clock, Stiles.”
“Yeah? I have a chem test in the morning,” came the younger males reply, swallowing down something in his throat which tasted a lot like nerves. “Believe it or not, I need my beauty sleep. I don’t just wake up looking this good.”
Derek scoffed, and Stiles frowned a little.
“Is that so?”
“Uh.. Yeah!”
His boots clunked against the wooden floor as Derek took a few steps closer. His arms were crossed over his chest, which reminded Stiles of his father when he was about to scold him for something, but his face was surprisingly content. It wasn’t a look Derek had too often, at least not when the awkward teenager was around. He had a habit of making a lot of people uncomfortable, or so he has been told.
“I want to ask you something,” said Derek, stopped about a foot away. Stiles was surprised himself that he hadn’t instinctively moved just as many steps backwards. There was a wall behind him anyway, so he wouldn’t have made it far without clunking his head against it, but still he internally applauded himself for standing ground.
“You know, Derek. There’s this new thing… it’s called a ‘phone’… Uh.. You couldn’t have, maybe…Oh, I don’t know. Used it?”
Stiles watched almost hypnotically as Derek’s tongue came up to lick at the polished surface of one of his retracted fangs. They weren’t nearly as intimidating that way, sheathed within his gums, but should the wolf want to use them it would be far too easy to pop them out again. The anxiety caused by this thought made Stiles bite down hard on his lip.
“You know, I would have,” started Derek, his hazel eyes fixing on Stiles so intensely that the younger male thought he might be prepping to pounce, “But what I do to you next would depend entirely on your answer.”
Stiles gulped loudly, and his voice cracked when he tried to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“What?”
“The attacks around Beacon Hills. How much do you know about them?”
“The brutal murders, you mean? Not much, other than what’s in the papers,” answers Stiles. He wish he could tear his eyes from Derek’s, but whenever he tried his found their way back to the man’s gaze as if drawn to it.
“Stiles.” The way Derek said his name sounded like a warning.
“You’re father is the police chief, and your best friend's mother has access to the bodies. I know you Stiles. You didn’t stop at the newspapers.”
Derek wasn’t wrong. Not totally. Actually, Stiles hadn’t even picked up a newspaper. Everything he knew now was either from sneaking a peak at case files the Sheriff made the mistake leaving alone on the kitchen table for a few minutes, or from Mrs. McCall. He had sworn not to say anything to anyone about it, both because she could easily lose her job and she had threatened him with a very violent and painful death if he did. Stiles believed her.
“It’s just a theory really. I don’t even know if it’s true.”
Derek raised his eyebrows in a way he often did which either silently told Stiles to cut it out or continue. This time he was sure he meant the latter.
“I think it’s more than just murder… they’re …”
“Sacrifices.”
“Exactly!”
The werewolf nodded his head as he unfolded his arms from his chest, muscles rippling. His biceps looked even bigger than they did when they had first met, which made sense since obviously Derek looked like the type to take great pride in his appearance. He’d certainly be keeping a steady regime at the gym, but with all that’s been going down lately, Stiles wondered where he found the time.
Walking a few steps closer, Derek began to circle the thinner male. Stiles tried not to follow him all the way around and resisted the urge to roll his eyes back in his head.
“Anything else?” asked the brunette. He was so close now that Stiles could feel his breath on his neck. What was really unsettling was the fact that he didn’t entirely mind the way the hairs their stood on end.
“Well … uh …they all seem to be …virgins.”
Derek stopped moving again, but this time he was standing right in front of him. The close proximity brought back memories of that time Stiles had found the unexpected alpha hiding out in his room. After narrowly missing an altercation with Papa Stilinski he found himself pushed hard up against his door shortly after when Derek had suspected Stiles might have silently outed him.
“That bothers you?” wondered Derek, studying the young man’s features.
“Uh… Ch’yeah! What if I’m next?”
Derek’s immediate assurance Stiles supposed was meant to be a guarantee for his protection.
“You won’t be,” the dark one said, but the teen was none too convinced of this.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, hot shot. But unlike you, they don’t line up around the block to hop on this ride.” Stiles eyes spanned the length of Derek’s body in one quick swipe to avoid detection, though he probably wasn’t as subtle as he thought considering the smile that curved the other man’s lips upwards after he did so.
Derek was gorgeous, that much was clear. What with his luscious jet-black hair, just the right length to run your fingers through; thick, dark brows that highlighted his beautiful green-brown eyes wonderfully; just the right amount of stubble along a well-defined jaw, and lips not too plump nor thinned, perfect for kissing — the man was a vision. The ladies flocked to him, as did a good portion of the men, and Stiles couldn’t blame them.
He let out a chuckle, showcasing his great teeth again, and lifted his hand to the suspicious male’s face.
Stiles thought for a moment he might get slapped, as it wasn’t too uncommon a response to a lot of the idiotic things that came out of his mouth on a regular basis. Instead Derek gripped the back of his neck, spreading his fingers out at the nape, his thumb running briefly over the bone in his cheek.
“I can help you,” he said softly, matching the words in the text.
“All you’ve got to do is ask.”