Archive of Our Own

Actually he was pretty sure that was just the sun shining through his closed lids. But God, did it ever feel like the white light of the end of days. His head was pounding something fierce, and he was positive he’d never felt this awful before in his life. Which made sense, because he was dying.

Stiles Stilinski tried to catalogue whatever was going on with his body, his agonized brain going through every possibility as to why he felt like this, starting with, of course, that he was dying. But clearly he wasn’t dying, because the pain would surely be lessening and not intensifying the more conscious he became, right? Right. 

So he was drugged—and dying. Except he absolutely wasn’t drugged, because he knew what that felt like courtesy of Gerard Argent—fuck Hunters—and this was absolutely not the same feeling. So, not drugged. 

Not dying, and not drugged. What else was there for this wretched feeling?!

Then he remembered where he’d been last night and a pathetic moan escaped him. 

Hungover. Of course. The absolute worst possible outcome. Dying would probably hurt less, this was atrocious and horrible and uncalled for! How dare alcohol make him this fucking miserable? Alcohol was meant to be friend, not enemy. This was the worst. 

Lying there wasn’t going to make him feel any better though. He needed painkillers something fierce right now. But they were so far! They were literally on the desk across the room, a whole five real human steps away from his bed! 

Why wasn’t he telekinetic? Werewolves were real, Kanimas were real, other Supernatural things were real. Why couldn’t he be telekinetic? Why couldn’t he just hold out a hand and boom! Instant painkillers! He deserved powers after the bullshit high school life he’d endured, and it wasn’t fair he was still human enough to suffer hangovers. 

Knowing he wasn’t going to feel any better the more conscious he got, Stiles spent a whole five minutes convincing himself opening his eyes was not a terrible idea—even though it was, the sun was the devil—before he finally managed to actually do it. 

His vision was so blurry at first that he thought he might still be drunk, except he knew he wasn’t because he wouldn’t be hungover if he was still drunk, he’d just be drunk. A preferable outcome, honestly, but not what was currently happening. It seemed to take an eternity for his eyes to adjust to the bright room, and he couldn’t help but wonder why it was so bright. He’d gotten help bolting blackout curtains in front of the flimsy blinds of his dorm room specifically to avoid the sunlight, but maybe he’d forgotten to close them last night? He was clearly drunk when he got back, so of course his first thought wouldn’t have been to close his curtains. 

But the more his eyes focussed on the bright room around him, the more wrong everything looked. There was no desk in front of him. He was lying on his stomach facing the right, which meant he was facing towards his desk. Even if he was backwards on the bed, with his head at the foot of it instead, he should’ve been staring at a wall since his bed was right up against it. 

He was currently struggling to focus on a deep brown dresser across much more open space than he should be seeing. The wall also looked to be painted a rich green, and not at all the stark white of his dorm room. 

His heart started beating faster, which normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but with the fact that every beat was making his head pulse in response, he wished it would stop beating altogether at this point. His brain was still too muddled to figure out what his body was already reacting to. Something wasn’t right here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

It wasn’t until he heard a loud thump above his head that his brain managed to catch up to the rest of him and he tensed instantly. He was on the top floor at the dorm, so there was absolutely no way any noise should be coming from above him. But he could clearly hear footsteps crossing the room right above his head, and there was light streaming into the place, and the walls were the wrong colour and there was a dresser and oh God, oh shit, oh fuck! 

He knew he couldn’t jerk upright, because doing so would have him throw up everywhere, but his body was tensed so tightly it was actually making some of his muscles cramp. 

Stiles was not in his dorm room. Jesus fuck, he was not where he was supposed to be right now! He’d gone out drinking with his friends, and they’d... what? Lost track of him? Let him leave with a stranger?! Where the fuck was he?!

This was so bad, he had no idea what to do. Was he even alone right now? Fuck, he had to sit up, he had to look around. He needed to know what the fuck was happening, what had happened! God fuck, where even was he?! 

The panic was making his head hurt even more but he slowly managed to roll himself over onto his back and he turned his head to look beside him on the large bed. The comforter was navy blue and comfortable, the sheets a slightly lighter blue, and thank God, the bed was empty. 

For now. When he reached over to run his hand along the other side of it, he felt his stomach drop—and not because of the sick feeling from the hangover—when he felt warmth. It was possible it was him having been sleeping there and then rolling over, but considering the space beneath him felt warm as well, he was pretty sure another body had recently been occupying the bed with him. 

That was when he noticed his arm was bare and not sporting the long-sleeved plaid overshirt he’d been wearing last night. His heart kicked up another notch as he took stock of himself, hand reaching up to touch his bare chest. He didn’t have a shirt on. 

Okay. That was fine. No big deal. People slept without shirts all the time. Nothing to panic about. 

Wiggling his toes, he found his shoes and socks gone, which also made sense. Perfectly normal, nothing to worry about! 

It was when he shifted a bit more that he froze and panic really hit. 

While he wouldn’t necessarily have been happy if he’d been in his shorts, that would’ve been far more acceptable than what he was feeling right now. Which was nothing. His bare ass was rubbing against the sheets beneath him, and he felt a distinct breeze in his nether regions. 

Just to be absolutely sure, he reached down with one hand, fingers brushing his pubic hair immediately, and felt ready to vomit for a whole other reason. 

He was lying naked in a random person’s bed with absolutely no memory of the night before. Holy fuck, what had happened?! Had he...? 

Stiles wiggled ever so slightly, mindful of his pounding head and roiling stomach. He didn’t feel anything, but he’d also never had sex before so how the fuck was he meant to know what he’d feel like?! But people always said that things hurt, right? To be fair, so much of him hurt, he might not even notice if anything else did. Besides, if he’d fucked someone else, why would he hurt?! Or would he still hurt anyway?

God, he was really going to be sick, and not because of the hangover. 

Struggling to get himself into a seated position, the sheet slid down to pool at his waist and he hastily tugged it back up slightly to make sure his privates weren’t showing. 

Not that it fucking matters, he realized, feeling his breathing coming a bit faster. His eyes scanned the room for his clothes, hoping to find them on the ground in a trail from the door or something, but there was nothing. The place was spotless. It looked almost sterile, if he was honest. No posters, no pictures, nothing. Just a few scant pieces of furniture and a book over by the window where there was a small nook for someone to sit and read. 

Turning to look at the night stand beside him, he saw his phone and grabbed for it instantly. His stomach protested the movement and he had to freeze to stop himself from throwing up all over the place. Once he felt confident his stomach had settled even slightly, he moved a bit more slowly to grab his phone. 

Closing his hand around it, he slowly sat up straight so he could control his stomach—and head, good Lord did his head hurt—before flipping it around. He tapped the power button for the screen to wake up and... nothing happened. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” he muttered, his voice coming out wrong. He forced himself to believe it was because it was dry and not because he’d had a fucking dick down his throat, Christ alive! Brain, stop it! 

Trying again, it became unquestioningly clear that his phone was fucking dead. Because of course it was! Of course his phone was dead while he was lying naked in someone’s bed God knew where hungover and about to have a panic attack. Not like he needed to call for help or like, hope to God his knight in shining armour would find him using his shared location! 

Maybe there was a landline? 

Yeah, maybe there’s a landline, and maybe this guy is a millionaire philanthropist who fell in love with you at first sight and is whisking you away to live a life of luxury, stop being stupid Stiles, nobody has fucking landlines anymore! God his brain was a dick when it was in pain. 

But it wasn’t wrong. 

He needed to get out of here. He had to find his clothes and get the fuck out of here! 

Shifting on the bed so he could start to turn to throw his legs over the side, he froze when he heard the distinct sound of a coffee machine beeping, indicating the brewing process was complete. Oh fuck, if he could hear the coffee machine from here with the bedroom door closed, it meant the kitchen was right there! 

How the fuck was he going to get out of here without alerting whoever was on the other side of the door?! 

Was it crazy to contemplate jumping out the window and hoping for the best? Yeah, probably. 

But this was so fucking bad! It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, he legitimately could not remember what had happened last night, and that terrified him! A part of him would rather not know. He’d rather pretend none of this had happened and that he was back in the dorm, or he was somewhere else entirely, like an Air BnB with his dad, or Derek, or literally anyone! 

He heard a cabinet door open and shut, and then a scraping sound like porcelain on marble. Then footsteps. 

Was his nighttime tussle going elsewhere to eat? Maybe he could steal some clothes and sneak out. Fuck his own clothes, he didn’t need them back, he just needed to get out! 

Except... those footsteps were coming his way. Oh God no, they were coming back to the room! Had they heard him stirring?! Had his dying giraffe noises been noticed and whoever this was wanted to come bring him breakfast? God, considerate sure, but Stiles seriously wasn’t positive he hadn’t been roofied or something and he vowed to never drink again, please God let whoever this was just leave!

The door handle was pulled down, Stiles watching in horror, hands gripping the sheet halfway up his chest like that would somehow protect him from whatever was about to come through the door. It swung open, Stiles’ heart in his throat, and— 

“Why are you just sitting there like that?” 

Stiles blinked. Blinked again. He brought both hands up to rub furiously at his eyes before looking across the room again at the person standing in the doorway. 

“Why is your heart going a mile a minute?” 

Derek motherfucking Hale walked into the room holding the biggest cup of coffee Stiles had ever seen. He was wearing nothing but grey sweats that rode low on his hips, leaving barely anything to the imagination—and Stiles had absolutely imagined because damn—as he walked towards the side of the bed Stiles was on and arched an eyebrow, clearly waiting for a response. 

“Where the fuck are we?” Stiles demanded, which wasn’t at all what he’d been planning on saying, but at least he hadn’t broken down into uncontrollable sobs into Derek’s perfect chest at the realization that this was clearly nothing and he’d been panicking for absolutely no reason. 

God, of course it was just Derek! Who else could it possibly be?! The guy had literally moved halfway across the country when Stiles got accepted to university on a scholarship because he didn’t trust him to stay out of trouble! His Alpha was the biggest worrier on the planet, and Stiles being the only human in his pack, of course he’d moved to follow him to keep him safe. Everyone else could handle themselves, and while Stiles could also handle himself, Derek wouldn’t hear it. He was moving to the same city to keep him safe and that was final. 

Stiles had no idea how he knew he’d been out drinking the night before, or what had happened, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he was lying here naked because he was with Derek, he was the safest a person could ever possibly be. 

“My apartment,” Derek informed him, holding the coffee out in offering. “You’re not that drunk still, are you?” 

“Hungover, actually.” Stiles managed to take the mug, feeling all the panic he’d worked himself up to slowly beginning to seep away, making his headache and upset stomach clamour for attention once more. “And since when are your walls green?” 

“Since I painted them last weekend.” 

“What about the dresser?” 

“Stiles, you were with me when I bought it.”

“Your blankets are different.” 

“You complained about the old ones last time you crashed here.” 

Christ, had he really been so hungover and panicked that he hadn’t noticed he recognized the fucking sterile room?! Derek wasn’t big on having any personal effects, probably due to the trauma of the fire that killed his whole family in his youth, but Stiles couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized the room. 

It was the panic. He fully blamed it on the panic. 

“Why am I naked?” 

“Because you threw up on yourself,” Derek said, sounding unimpressed. When Stiles looked up at him, Derek kept eye contact before slowly raising two fingers. “Twice.”

Stiles winced at that, and finally took a sip of the coffee he’d been gifted with. It tasted amazing, because of course it did. Derek made the best coffee. 

“Do you even remember anything about last night?” 

“No,” Stiles admitted, wincing at the annoyed look that earned him. “What? I’m fine, clearly.” 

“You didn’t seem fine when I walked in. Until you saw me, anyway.” 

Stiles hated that Derek was smart. He wasn’t allowed to be both hot and smart. There was a limit to how much people were allowed in life, and it was either brains or beauty. Stiles had brains, and Derek was supposed to have beauty. It wasn’t fair for him to have both, Stiles called bullshit. 

But, regardless of how he felt, bullshit or not, Derek was both smart and gorgeous. So of course he’d clued in as they spoke why Stiles had reacted how he had. And confirming he remembered nothing from the night before had been the final nail in Stiles’ coffin. 

He resigned himself to the lecture a split second before Derek crossed his arms and started in on it. 

“You had no idea where you were. You woke up naked in a room you didn’t immediately recognize, and you panicked. You know why?” 

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Stiles muttered into the rim of his coffee mug before taking a sip. 

“You were careless Stiles! What were you thinking?! You were so drunk last night you didn’t even know where you were, who you were with, who I was! I could’ve been anyone! I could have been someone who just saw an easy lay and I could’ve taken you home and fucking—” Derek cut himself off, but his eyes had started bleeding red and he rubbed an agitated hand against his mouth before turning away from him. 

Stiles said nothing and took another sip of his coffee. He couldn’t argue his case with Derek right now because—he was absolutely right. Stiles had been stupid. Getting drunk was fine, it wasn’t like he’d never gotten drunk before, but it was usually somewhere safer, more controlled. His place or Derek’s or even Scott’s. Sometimes they had parties at the dorm, or the frat houses on campus, but Stiles usually always knew his limits and stopped before he got too drunk if he wasn’t in a safe environment. 

Last night had been different. He’d just finished his last final for the year, and he and his friends had wanted to go out and celebrate, so they’d ended up bar hopping downtown. Stiles knew his limits, and he should’ve known when to stop, but he’d been having a good time and his friends were all being loud and rowdy and everyone was still drinking so... 

If your friend jumps off a bridge, will you do it too?! he heard an angry voice demand in his head. He couldn’t help the aggrieved sigh that escaped him when the voice sounded more like Derek than his dad.  

Sighing had been the wrong call because Derek turned back to him, his face a thundercloud, and Stiles held one hand up in surrender. 

“I was stupid,” he said, trying to make peace. “You’re right. I should’ve stopped when I hit my limit, not gotten blindingly drunk.”

“You didn’t even know who you were, Stiles!” Derek snapped. His anger was doing nothing for Stiles’ headache. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles insisted, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt. He knew Derek was just pissed because he was hiding his worry, but he still didn’t appreciate it. “I fucked up. Everyone’s surprised, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t turn this around and make me the bad guy.” 

“You’re not the bad guy, I’m the fuck-up, as usual.” 

It was clear Derek was stopping himself from saying a million things he wanted to say. His nostrils flared, his eyes flashed red, and he started to raise one hand, finger pointing at Stiles, before he clenched it into a fist, shook it once as if to stop himself from saying anything else, and turned away from him. 

“Breakfast is in the microwave. Your clothes from last night are still in the washing machine, so change into your spare set. I have somewhere to be.” 

With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard he cracked the frame. Stiles listened to Derek putter around for only ten seconds before the front door slammed just as hard as his bedroom door had. 

Derek had somewhere to be in his pyjamas. Right. 

When he was sure Derek was too far away to hear him with his wolfy ears, Stiles let out another loud sigh and hit his free fist against his forehead. 

It hurt, but he did it anyway. “Stupid,” he whispered to himself. 

He knew better, he did. He knew better. He shouldn’t have let himself get so drunk last night, and he certainly shouldn’t have antagonized Derek, but he didn’t need a lecture when he knew what he’d done wrong! He’d admitted to it, he knew he’d fucked up, why did Derek have to rub it in all the time? 

It was a miracle Stiles had managed to stop himself from saying, “Sorry I’m not perfect!” 

God, he already had one dad, he didn’t need a second one. 

But that wasn’t fair either, because he knew why Derek was so pissed. He was scared. He was scared something could’ve happened to Stiles and he wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have been there. 

Stiles hadn’t told him he was going out, not for any particular reason. He just hadn’t mentioned it when they’d been texting. They were meant to meet up for dinner tonight, but Stiles figured that was off the table now. 

In retrospect, he probably should’ve told Derek he was going out drinking, because even though the overprotective Werewolf would’ve hunted him down to follow from a distance all night, at least he would’ve known Stiles was safe. Stiles didn’t remember anything about last night, not even how he’d ended up here. Had he called Derek? Had Derek absolutely lost his fucking mind when he’d realized how drunk Stiles was? It wasn’t fair to be mad at Derek for being mad at him, but he also wished Derek had acknowledged that Stiles knew he’d fucked up. 

He knew! He’d admitted to it. He’d apologized. And, fuck, after how he’d woken up, the panic he’d felt, he was never letting this happen again. He’d legitimately almost had a panic attack, he’d thought he’d lost his virginity to some rando who’d picked him up, drunk and easy. His chest tightened just thinking about how he’d felt waking up and he never wanted to feel like that ever again. 

And if Derek had waited two fucking seconds before going all I-am-your-Alpha on him, Stiles might’ve told him that. But no, Mr. Big Bad Werewolf had to lecture him and leave in a huff. God, he was infuriating! 

Stiles kind of wanted to roll over and just go back to sleep now that he knew he was safe, mostly so he’d still be there when Derek got back so they could yell at each other some more, because Stiles was petty that way. But his phone was dead and he honestly didn’t know what had happened last night. He didn’t want his friends to worry about him, because that’d be a shitty thing to do. 

Sighing, he forced himself to finish the coffee he’d been given before putting it down on the night stand, his dead phone beside it. It took considerable effort to convince himself to stand up, but he managed it after some internal cheerleading and made his way to the bathroom to take a leak. Being naked around Derek, while embarrassing, wasn’t new, and he was glad it was just Derek. He could only assume Derek had been forced to give him some kind of shower if he’d thrown up all over himself, and it had probably been more trouble than it was worth trying to get shorts back onto him so he hadn’t bothered. 

Not the first time Stiles had ended up in Derek’s bed naked. Sadly none of the previous times were because they’d had sex. Obviously. Hard to be a virgin if he’d had sex with the love of his life. 

Something Derek didn’t know, otherwise he absolutely wouldn’t have been washing Stiles up and letting him sleep in his bed naked. Honestly, Stiles was lucky he hadn’t professed his undying love for Derek last night while totally hammered, but if he was too drunk to even remember Derek, then chances were pretty good he didn’t remember he was madly in love with the guy. 

He moved slowly as he got himself organized for his departure, relieving himself and brushing his teeth with the spare toothbrush he had in Derek’s bathroom. Once he was sufficiently awake and had tended to his general hygiene, he moved slowly back towards the stupid dresser he hadn’t recognized—dumb thing, trying to give him a heart attack—and dug through it for some clothes. He had two drawers all to himself because of how often he stayed over, but finals this past week had made him spend more time in the library than at Derek’s. 

It explained why he’d gotten bored enough to paint his room. 

As soon as he was dressed, he went back to the night stand to grab his phone, shoving it into his pocket, and tilted his head back and he tried to get the last few drops of coffee from the bottom of the mug. A useless feat since he just poured himself another cup once he reached the kitchen. 

His wallet and keys were on the counter, Derek obviously having saved them from the vomit-covered pants he’d been wearing last night. He grabbed both items and put them in their respective pockets, eying Derek’s leather jacket. It was draped across the back of one of his bar stools, and Stiles wasn’t sure why it was there instead of on the hook by the door. 

He didn’t dwell on it, shuffling to where the food was waiting for him. 

Opening the microwave, he found a full breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon, roasted potatoes and biscuits with gravy. His stomach positively rioted the smell of it, but he knew if he didn’t eat, he’d just feel worse. He was weird that way in that food actually calmed his stomach down. According to all his friends—the ones who could get drunk, at any rate—that was weird because everyone else apparently felt more sick with food. 

He was a weird dude, he’d accepted it. 

Sitting down at the kitchen counter in the same chair Derek’s jacket was hanging from, he ate through his meal in silence. His phone was dead, and he didn’t want to move around to find the remote for the TV, so silence it was. It was probably for the best anyway, his head was still pounding something fierce. 

After his meal, he put both his dishes and Derek’s in the dishwasher and then stood in the front entrance for a good ten minutes. A part of him was kind of hoping Derek would come back before he headed out, but he doubted it. Derek had probably gone for a run to clear his head, and when that guy went for runs, he was gone for hours. Besides, Stiles wasn’t going to overstay his welcome, so he just sighed in defeat and headed for the door. 

Exiting the apartment, he locked up behind himself with the spare key he had and then made his way to the elevator. Normally he’d take the stairs, because the lift in this place was slow as all hell, but he didn’t trust himself not to throw his breakfast back up. 

Or brain himself if he missed a step. 

Elevator was safer. 

Once it arrived, he rode it all the way to the ground floor, then walked out of the building, the sun infinitely more offensive now that he was outside. He debated for a few seconds on his next move. Normally Derek drove him back to the dorm whenever he came over, since he’d bought himself a car whereas Stiles’ Jeep was still sitting in the driveway back home in Beacon Hills, but considering he’d run off on him—probably literally—Stiles obviously wasn’t getting a ride back. 

The thought of taking the bus when he felt this bad was repulsive, but he also didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily. He’d have loved to check how much an Uber would cost, but alas, he remembered only when he pulled his phone out that it was dead. Testament to Derek’s anger, he hadn’t charged it last night. 

Or he’d been too panicked to remember to charge it. 

Stiles felt more inclined to think it was pettiness. 

Sighing in defeat, he resigned himself to taking the bus back to campus and walked the two blocks towards the left until he reached the stop. There was no one else there, suggesting it was early enough most people weren’t up yet. That, or no one needed to take this particular route right now. 

Stiles decided it was the time when the bus arrived, because even the bus was bare compared to usual. He didn’t often take the bus back to campus, but usually it was reasonably full, people making their way to class or to the library, or even to meet up with friends. But now, there were only four other people on it, so it was probably early for a Saturday. 

Finding a seat near the back, Stiles leaned his aching head against the cool window and closed his eyes, needing to protect them from the sun with how much the light was worsening his headache. He didn’t worry about passing out, he doubted he’d be able to, but even if he did, it wasn’t a big deal. The university’s main bus terminal was the last stop for this route, so he wasn’t at risk of missing his stop. 

Stiles tried not to think about Derek, or his panicked awakening, and focussed instead on how much he was never going to drink alcohol ever again for the entire ride back to campus. 

Growing up in a small town shouldn’t have been the stereotype it was, but whenever Stiles watched horror movies growing up, it was always about serial killers or cannibals or murderers in small towns. The places where the weird and unexplainable happened. He’d always figured, back when he was young enough to not be allowed to watch those movies, despite doing so, that it was just easier to make things scary in a small town. 

As he grew up, he was starting to wonder if every horror movie script writer had grown up in a place like Beacon Hills. A small town. Where weird fucking shit happened. 

It had been years before he finally understood all the weird shit he’d seen as a kid, because it wasn’t until he was sixteen and gallivanting through the woods looking for a dead body with Scott McCall that he’d discovered the truth behind everything. The disappearances, the weird phenomenon, the bodies with no clear understanding of how the people had died, all of it. 

Monsters were real, and they liked small towns as much as the horror movies suggested they did. 

To be fair, not all monsters were, well, monsters. Some of them were just trying to live normal lives, and being unfairly hunted for it. Stiles didn’t know if he’d have believed that right away if not for Scott. 

Because that was how his world got flipped completely upside down. Scott. Getting bitten by an Alpha Werewolf. And turning into a Werewolf. And then the two of them being stalked by some weirdo who’d left town when his family had been mysteriously murdered. 

Said weirdo was Derek Hale, who’d recognized that Scott had been bitten, and had just been trying to help. The problem with Derek was that he was absolutely horrible at peopleing. Seriously, the worst. Stiles was positive the guy was a serial killer intent on murdering them both for like, five months, at least. Hell, he’d even sicced his dad on the poor guy and gotten him arrested and everything! 

Fast forward five years and Stiles knew better. Well, he’d known better earlier than that, but it was still strange whenever he thought about how his life had turned out and how important Derek was to him now, all this time later. 

Turned out the Alpha who’d bitten Scott was Derek’s crazy uncle—who’d died multiple times, but somehow never seemed to stay that way, Stiles was still investigating whether or not he was part cockroach. Derek had killed him to become the Alpha—though, again, he hadn’t stayed dead so, that was tragic. 

And then all of a sudden, Supernaturals started popping up everywhere like a fucking bad smell. Stiles blinked, and his entire friend group turned into something. Jackson Whittemore became a Kanima, Lydia Martin became a Banshee, Liam Dunbar became a Werewolf, Mason Hewitt became a Chimera, Kira Yukimura already was a Kitsune but developed her powers, his dad’s favourite deputy Jordan Parrish became a Hellhound... 

Really, it was depressing when he thought about it. He didn’t have a single human friend growing up. Not one! His dad didn’t count, it was his dad. Neither did Melissa McCall, she was basically his second mom. 

And then, Stiles. Human, boring, sarcastic, always wielding a bat Stiles. 

After the first three friends, Scott had started looking at him askance, obviously wondering when Stiles was going to spontaneously combust and come out the other end as like, he didn’t even know, a peacock or something. But alas, Stiles remained perfectly human. 

Sadly for him, because he was human, it meant everyone was overprotective of him all the time. His dad didn’t mind, since it meant he knew Stiles would always be safe, but it got really annoying after a while. His friends were always all over him, making sure he was safe, that he was okay, that his papercut didn’t impact his ability to exist, and it was annoying. 

Honestly, when he’d discovered none of them had gotten into the same universities, he’d been silently glad. Three years of high school being suffocated by his friends, and people who eventually became his friends after Scott’s unorthodox pack finally consented to joint Derek’s own—which comprised of him, the aforementioned dead uncle who didn’t stay dead Peter Hale, and three other high school acquaintances, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd and Isaac Lahey. 

Stiles had been coddled and overprotected and suffocated by these people his entire high school life for being human, so when he learned he would be heading out to the University of Chicago, and nobody else would be even remotely close to him, he’d been relieved. Finally he could escape the pack, and spend four years being Stiles Stilinski. Not the designated research guy, not the frail and fragile human that needed protecting, and not the therapist whenever weird shit happened between the members of the pack. He could just be Stiles. 

And then of course, Derek had to ruin everything by informing him two days before his departure that he’d bought an apartment a ten minute drive from campus. 

The sheriff had been thrilled. Stiles had been horrified. 

For more reasons than one. 

The first and main reason was as he’d been thinking leading up to graduation: that he could finally escape the pack and have some Stiles time without having the Supernatural bullshit and overprotective friends all over him all the time. The second reason was that he’d been hoping leaving everyone behind would help with the Derek problem. 

He could not, in fact, resolve the Derek problem if Derek fucking followed him! Because that would just worsen the Derek problem! 

The Derek problem, dubbed as such because it was a problem involving Derek, was that Stiles was fucking in love with him! Since the first day he’d seen the eighteen year old, Stiles had immediately developed a crush. Yes, it had stalled for a while when the whole stalking and creeping around thing had started, but once they sorted out Derek’s weirdness and became allies, eventual friends, and finally packmates, Stiles’ crush turned into a full blown problem. 

Because this was Derek fucking Hale. The guy had the emotional range of a teacup. Actually, that wasn’t true, he had the emotional range of anger or disappointment. Nothing in between. He was one, or the other. Usually directed towards Stiles. 

But fuck if he didn’t love the guy anyway. He was just... always there. When Stiles needed him. Sure he was hot as fuck, and Stiles would admit he’d started liking him originally for his looks, but Derek was so much more than his attractive outer shell. 

For one thing, he was a bit of an asshole, but Stiles actually loved it. Derek’s assholeness was so effortless, it was like a talent. He could keep up with Stiles’ banter, and he gave as good as he got. He was one of the first people Stiles had ever met who actually made him have to work at winning an argument. The guy was smart, and sarcastic, and surprisingly funny in a dark humour sort of way. 

More than that though, he was just... such a fucking marshmallow. He’d gone out to grab groceries and made meals for a whole week surrounding the anniversary of Claudia’s death for both Stiles and the Sheriff. He’d helped Isaac fight against the school board for an administrative error that had almost held him back a year unnecessarily. He’d sat wordlessly listening to Erica as she ranted and raved over how clueless boys were when she made it clear to Boyd she wanted a relationship, and had in turn sat listening to Boyd have a complete meltdown over how in love with Erica he was but that he didn’t feel like he was good enough for her. And this was all before the guy had even turned twenty. 

It didn’t seem like much to most outsiders, but to them, it meant everything. And while Stiles would’ve loved to blame it on him being the Alpha and he was doing it for pack, it wasn’t just for pack. He used to volunteer twice a week at one of the care homes in town and read letters to the elderly who were losing their eyesight. He was always one of the first people to donate to a good cause when someone came knocking at his door. He always brought extra food out to any of the town fundraisers simply because he knew that by the time the people who worked late showed up a lot of the food would be gone. 

And when they’d moved to Chicago, Derek had found the closest soup kitchen to his place and he spent the evenings Stiles had night classes volunteering there. 

The guy was just—a fucking angel. He looked scary, and he could be scary, and he was an Alpha Werewolf, but he had such a kind heart beneath all the gruff that who wouldn’t fall in love with him?! 

Stiles wished he never had, because his escape and attempt to get over one Derek Hale had very clearly not worked. Hard to run away from a problem if the problem fucking followed you! 

But, as the resident human, Derek had been adamant that he needed protection. The others could take care of themselves, and he knew they’d sniff others like them out on campus, or be sniffed out in Lydia’s case, so they’d find their people and they’d be safe. 

Not Stiles though, oh no! He was apparently a ‘danger magnet’ and needed ‘constant supervision.’ As if Derek wasn’t the one who got kidnapped once a month by crazy psycho bitches who wanted to mate with him. 

Stiles had counted, it rounded out to just about once a month in the grand scheme of things. 

Alas, it wasn’t his say. His Alpha, his rules. Also Derek had money so, not like Stiles could talk him out of it. 

So that was how he found himself on the other side of the country with his Alpha living a ten minute drive from his university campus. The official story when his friends asked was that Derek was one of his dad’s deputies who’d moved out there to be closer to his family, but the few Werewolves on campus knew better.

Nobody fucked with the Hale Alpha’s pack, especially not his human. 

Stiles fucking hated his life. 

When Stiles headed through the dorm towards his room, he was still a little startled at how quiet and empty it was. He knew most people were probably sleeping off hangovers, but it wasn’t until he got into his room and woke up his laptop to check the time that he realized just how early it was. 

It wasn’t even nine, for fuck’s sake! No wonder the bus had been empty, not only was it a Saturday, but it was also ass o’clock in the morning. 

Stiles let out an aggrieved sound and turned to flop onto his bed. 

Kind of. He kind of flopped onto his bed. Because his bed was lofted. So he really just bent at the waist and rested his face against his blankets, lamenting his entire life. 

At least he had a week of nothing before the official end of the school year, since he was done his exams. He’d have to start packing up to move out, but that wasn’t usually a big hassle for him. He’d done it twice before, and Derek usually helped out since Stiles moved into his place. 

Sharing a bed that first summer had been weird for Stiles, because the love of his life was right beside him, but he knew Derek was just looking at it as pack being in his space. It was different for wolves, so while it had taken a while for Stiles to get used to sharing a bed with Derek and living together like they were dating, he eventually managed to calm his libido and forced himself to be respectful of Derek’s boundaries. 

Not that Derek knew Stiles was in love with him, but Stiles knew, and that man had been through enough without Stiles taking advantage of them being in the same bed together. 

The hilarity of the whole thing was that somehow, sleeping in the same bed as Derek felt infinitely more intimate than showering together. He didn’t know why, but probably because his brain attributed showers with Derek as ‘Oh, Stiles got injured and can’t stand on his own.’ That was usually when Derek helped him wash up in the shower: when he was injured.

And drunk, apparently. 

Testament to how miserable his morning had been, Stiles actually fell asleep half-standing, his face buried in his blankets. He knew this, because he awoke with a start when someone knocked on his door. It sounded more like a cursory ‘are you in there?’ knock as opposed to a ‘get the fuck up’ kind of knock, so he ascertained on his own that it was Jeremy. 

If it had been Kevin, the damn door would’ve come off the hinges.

Scrubbing a tired hand over his face as he straightened, Stiles turned to his door and wandered over to it, pulling it open to face his friend. 

“You’re back,” he said, sounding as surprised as he looked. “I didn’t think you would be.”

“Why not?” Stiles asked, confused and still half-asleep. He yawned as he rubbed both hands across his face again, and then froze at the next words out of Jeremy’s mouth. 

“I figured you’d spend the weekend with your boyfriend.” 

His what? 

“My what?” he asked aloud. 

“Your boyfriend,” Jeremy said, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “The angry, overprotective dude who came to get you? You could’ve just told us it was your boyfriend you know, you didn’t have to give us the song and dance ‘he’s my dad’s deputy’ routine. I kind of figured out you were lying about that in first year when you moved in with him for the summer.” 

Stiles stared at him, completely flabbergasted about this entire situation. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Jeremy’s face fell. “Wait, please don’t tell me you went home with some rando because we misunderstood who he was.”

“No way dude, that was absolutely Derek,” another voice said from a few feet away. Stiles leaned out the door and saw Kevin locking his own before flipping his keys and walking towards the two of them. “I’ve seen enough pictures of the guy to know him on sight. Wish I’d never seen him that pissed though, I was scared he was going to kill me when he showed up.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked, horrifically confused. His friends had never formally met Derek at the Alpha’s own request, but he knew who they were, and they knew who he was. 

Derek wasn’t interested in making friendly with Stiles’ friends was the excuse he’d originally given, but Stiles’ dad felt more inclined to believe it was because he wanted Stiles to have some semblance of a normal university life. 

Would’ve been more normal if an Alpha Werewolf hadn’t followed him across the fucking country. 

“Uh, because you were getting pretty handsy in your drunken stupor,” Kevin said, offering Stiles a sly grin. “I might’ve let you drag your hands up under my shirt and suck on my neck a little bit. You’re pretty horny when you’re drunk, Stilinski.” 

Stiles chose to ignore that comment, mostly because he didn’t know what kind of drunk he was. He was more interested in why Derek would kill Kevin for Stiles getting handsy. 

“Were you doing anything back?” Stiles asked.

“No way,” Kevin insisted, both hands raised in surrender. 

“He wanted to,” Jeremy said dryly. “But Laila threatened to castrate him if he touched you in the state you were in. She had to slap his hands off you a few times. She’s the one who called your boyfriend.” He motioned over his shoulder. “We’re going to meet her and Meg for breakfast now if you’re hungry. You can ask her about the conversation, she’s the one who spoke to him.” 

“If I’d known how scary he was, Laila wouldn’t have had to stop me from being inappropriate, I’d have kept my hands to myself on my own. Like I said, he was ready to throw me across the continent, the look he gave me.” Kevin gave an exaggerated shudder at the mere memory of it. 

“Wait, I don’t...” Stiles trailed off, rubbing at his face again and trying to get his brain to catch up to what the fuck was going on. “Why was he mad at you? You said you weren’t doing anything.”

“He wasn’t stopping you, either,” Jeremy said dryly. “Gotta admit, I’m also surprised Kevin didn’t get drop-kicked off the planet. Your boy was so pissed I swear I thought his eyes were glowing red at one point.” 

Stiles let out an overly loud, almost hysterical laugh that had both his friends give him weird looks. He waved it off and motioned for them to wait before ducking back into his room. He realized he’d forgotten to charge his phone before his nap, but Kevin had a charger in his car so he shoved it into his pocket again, grabbed his keys, and locked up behind himself as he left the room.

He motioned for his friends to lead the way, and they complied, heading for the stairs so they could exit the dorm since apparently they were meeting the girls at the diner off campus. Stiles was glad Kevin had a car, because he was not braving public transportation again so soon after having suffered it with his hangover. 

Thankfully he felt much better now than he had earlier. His stomach was still unhappy, but his headache had mostly gone away. He asked the other two why they seemed totally fine, and Jeremy cheerfully informed him that they both kept each other awake until they sobered up. 

“No hangover if you go to bed sober!” 

Stiles mock-laughed before blowing a raspberry at him and climbing into the back of Kevin’s car. Jeremy plugged Stiles’ phone in when he handed it over, and Stiles realized he wasn’t doing himself any favours on the ‘he’s not my boyfriend’ front by having a picture of him and Derek as his background. 

Jeremy didn’t comment on it, because he was a nice guy that way. Kevin was too busy driving to rib him, which Stiles was glad for. 

He listened during the short drive off campus as they recounted their favourite things about the night before, up to and including Stiles grinding suggestively against a pole in one of the clubs they’d apparently stopped in at. 

Stiles didn’t remember them going to clubs, he only remembered the bars they’d been going to back to back. When he said as much to them, and told them which one he remembered them being at last, they were both surprised and informed him they’d gone to four other bars and three clubs afterwards before Derek had come to pick him up. 

They were still calling him his boyfriend. No matter how much he argued it with them, both of them waved his words off and talked over him. It was actually kind of irritating. 

There was absolutely nothing worse in the world than wanting something you couldn’t have while other people thought you already had it. Listening to Kevin and Jeremy tease him about his secret boyfriend he’d been hiding away was getting more obnoxious by the second. 

By the time they parked at the diner, Stiles was done with the conversation and exited the car before the other two had even unbuckled their seatbelts. He wanted to get inside where the girls were, because he knew if nothing else, Laila would make his friends shut the fuck up. She was a lot like Lydia, very no-nonsense, and everyone always listened to her because of it. 

Wrenching open the diner door, he had half a second for his heart to drop when he thought they might not be there yet, but then he saw Meg waving enthusiastically from the very back of the diner. Sighing in relief, he made his way over to them and slid into the booth beside Laila. 

“Please save me from them,” Stiles begged her. 

“You could stop being friends with them,” she offered, but her words lacked heat so he knew she was just joking. She was playing with the straw in her milkshake. Stiles made a face when he noticed it was strawberry but didn’t comment. He didn’t need to when his expression said enough. 

Laila maintained eye contact with him before taking a huge sip and Stiles pretended to gag. Jeremy and Kevin caught up to him by then, Kevin grabbing the seat beside Meg and forcing Jeremy into the chair that had been tacked onto the end of their table.

“Showing the girls a re-enactment of your night with your boyfriend?” Kevin asked with a smirk at the look on Stiles’ face. 

“I’m about to eat, don’t spoil my appetite,” Laila said sharply. Kevin raised both hands in surrender, but he smirked at Stiles, clearly enjoying the teasing. 

Stiles, not so much. 

“I’m going to say it one more time, while everyone is present, so that maybe it will stick. Derek is not my boyfriend,” Stiles insisted hotly. 

“Then why is he saved as your boyfriend in your phone?” Laila asked. Her tone was more curious than accusatory, and he turned to look at her, horrifically confused. 

“What?!” 

“That’s the only reason I called him. Well, that and he was the only one with this area code, so I knew it was Derek even with your stupid name for him.” 

What the fuck was she talking about? 

“I didn’t call him my boyfriend in my phone,” Stiles insisted, because what the actual fuck? 

“Yes you did,” Laila said slowly, still sounding confused. “It cut off, but it was something like ‘Absolutely Perfect Boyfriend Man’ or whatever.” She waved the words away as unimportant.

Stiles’ stomach hit his shoes because—she’d said it herself. The name had cut off. Derek’s name in his phone wasn’t ‘Absolutely Perfect Boyfriend Man,’ it was ‘Absolutely Perfect Boyfriend Material!’ Boyfriend material! Because Derek was perfect boyfriend material! 

He started to reach for his phone to check the way the name looked, but remembered when his hand found a flat pocket that it was charging in the car. He could only assume it cut off at the ‘m’ since Laila knew there was a word starting with that letter after the word ‘boyfriend.’ She’d just guessed on what the word was. 

He was almost scared to ask, but he had to know. He had to know how bad last night had been, since he didn’t fucking remember any of it! 

“What happened?” he asked, hating how desperate he felt, but fuck, did Derek know? “Last night, when you called him, what happened?” 

“Well first of all, he yelled at me,” Laila said, tilting her chin up indignantly. It was such a Lydia look he was waiting for her to toss curls over her shoulder, but Laila’s blond hair was cut mercilessly short and thus she had no hair to toss over her shoulder. 

“He yelled at you? Why?” 

“Because I wasn’t you. He didn’t let me get a word in as soon as I spoke and he realized you weren’t the one on the other end. He demanded to know who I was, where you were, what I’d done to you, and then threatened me with bodily harm if I even touched you.” 

Stiles winced, but Laila waved him off, clearly more annoyed than concerned with the words. 

“After I got him to shut up so I could speak, I told him you were drunk off your ass and making a fool of yourself. I offered to take you back to the dorm, but since these two yahoos were still ready to party,” she motioned Kevin and Jeremy, “and Meg was just as drunk as you were, I couldn’t bring both of you home by myself. He only stayed connected long enough to know exactly where you were before hanging up.” 

“And then he showed up and tried to murder Kevin with his eyes,” Jeremy offered helpfully. 

“Yeah, what’s he bench?” Kevin asked, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table. 

Stiles stared at him. “What?” 

“What’s he bench?” he repeated, waiting expectantly for an answer. When Stiles just continued to stare at him, Kevin rolled his eyes. “The guy showed up, parted the crowd like Moses and the red sea, made his way over to us and then picked you up with one arm. Literally just yanked you away from me by the back of your shirt, twisted you around, and picked you up like a sack of potatoes before throwing you over his shoulder and walking out of the club.” 

Stiles made another face at that, because if he’d thrown up twice, he had to wonder if Derek’s irritation about it this morning was because he’d gotten thrown up on twice. Even just once would’ve been shitty, but... yeah. 

Probably explained the jacket...

“It was so hot,” Meg said dreamily, a smile forming on her face. “I would’ve loved to have a hot guy manhandle me like that. And he was so protective, too. Literally had an aura to him that made everyone keep back. Certified bad boy.” She sighed then, but it sounded more disappointed than dreamy. “How’d you get so lucky?” 

“For the last time,” Stiles insisted, “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend from back home who used to work with my dad.” 

“Then why is he called your boyfriend in your phone?” Laila asked again before sipping at her disgusting milkshake once more.  

“He’s not,” Stiles insisted, then buried his face in his hands and let out an aggrieved sigh. “He’s called boyfriend material. As in he’d make a perfect one if the universe actually believed I was worthy of him.” 

He wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or not when the whole table went silent at that admission. 

“Wait,” Laila said, the word coming slowly. “Wait, he’s really not your boyfriend?” 

“Are you sure?” Meg asked sceptically.

“He’s just overprotective,” Stiles muttered, letting his hands slide down his face before straightening. “We’ve got—there’s history. From back home. He’s like an obnoxious older brother who thinks I’ll hurt myself by getting breathed on.” 

Stiles saw Laila and Meg share a look, and Kevin arched an eyebrow, still leaning forward on the table with his arms crossed. It was Jeremy who spoke, and his words gave Stiles pause. 

“Does he know that?” 

“What?” 

“Does he know he’s not your boyfriend?” Jeremy asked again. 

“Seeing as he’s not, he should.” Stiles frowned. “Why?” 

“Because apparently that’s what he snapped at the bouncer when the guy wouldn’t let him into the club,” Laila informed him. 

Wait. 

What?!

He knew before he even opened the apartment door that it would be empty, not because he didn’t hear anything, but because there was an old scent leading to the elevator that suggested Stiles had left at least an hour ago. 

Not that he was surprised, it wasn’t like Stiles would’ve hung around to get another lecture, so of course he’d have left at the first available opportunity. 

Derek Hale pushed open the apartment door, standing in the front entrance for a long while as the door shut on its own behind him. A part of him had hoped maybe he was wrong and it was just Stiles leaving and coming back after grabbing something from the store so they could talk, but he also knew that was just wishful thinking. 

Stiles had actually left. It meant he’d probably taken a cab or an Uber home, Derek doubted he’d have taken the bus. Stiles hated the bus, and with how hungover he was, he wouldn’t have braved it. Derek had half-hoped Stiles would’ve been stubborn enough to wait for him to get back so he could bum a ride, but Derek had been gone for almost three hours so again, he wasn’t surprised. 

If he said it to himself enough times, perhaps he’d actually believe it. Hope had to be the absolute worst feeling in the world, because he kept hoping for things that didn’t happen. His own fault for hoping for the impossible. 

“Had to start with a lecture,” Derek muttered to himself, then sighed through his nose and turned to lock the door behind himself. He unzipped the hoodie he’d grabbed on the way out hours ago and peeled it off his sweaty shoulders. It wasn’t cold enough to be running with a hoodie on, but he hadn’t wanted to go back into the room to grab a shirt so he’d just gone for whatever he had near him. 

It was the same reason he was wearing his sneakers without socks on, which was also very sweaty and uncomfortable. 

Toeing out of the shoes by the table in the front hallway, he pulled open the sliding door that hid the stacked washer/dryer set in the entranceway, and paused as soon as he got the washer open. Right, Stiles’ clothes were still in there. 

He hesitated for only a moment before tossing his hoodie into the washing machine. He’d read somewhere that mold started growing on clothes that were left even thirty minutes after a finished cycle, so it wouldn’t hurt to wash Stiles’ clothes again. 

Debating for only another second, he stripped off his sweats and threw them in as well, then started up the machine once he’d gotten soap into it. 

Probably a waste for him to be doing laundry with so few items, but he was trying to keep busy to stop thinking about the horrible morning he’d had. 

Not horrible because Stiles was there and hungover, but horrible because instead of calmly explaining why Stiles shouldn’t have done what he did, or at least fucking told him, he’d defaulted to his usual state of being whenever Stiles did something that terrified him. 

He’d started yelling at him. 

He couldn’t help it! Stiles had been a fucking mess the night before, and all Derek could think the entire time he’d been bringing him home was, ‘What if something had happened to him? What if someone had drugged him? What if he’d gotten hurt? What if he’d gotten raped?!’ 

Stiles was smarter than this! Derek knew he was, because Stiles didn’t take stupid risks like this. Sure he ran into a Werewolf brawl with a baseball bat, but he’d never done anything this recklessly stupid before. It was such an easy thing! All he’d had to do was let Derek know he was going out, and Derek would’ve at least kept an eye on him to make sure nothing happened to him. 

Derek punched at his wall without thinking a second later, leaving behind a hole in the plaster that he’d have to patch up before Stiles came over again. Not that he was expecting him over again any time soon, but he didn’t want him to see the damage and feel like it was his fault. 

Even though it was. 

Sighing, he turned so he was leaning back against the same wall he’d just punched and slid to the floor, bare ass on the hardwood as he rested his forearms on his knees and stared at the ceiling. He tried really hard not to think about last night, or this morning, but his brain was just a vicious cycle of his absolute panic last night and his terror-fuelled anger this morning. 

Knowing Stiles had woken up panicking about where he was only made things even worse, because it proved to Derek that the idiot had gotten trashed enough that not remembering his own name last night hadn’t just been a fluke. Stiles didn’t remember anything that had happened last night, and that thought was terrifying. 

If someone had done something to him, Stiles wouldn’t even have known! The idiot was stupid enough to think being a guy would keep him safe, but Stiles had no idea how attractive he was. Derek could still remember the overwhelming scent of arousal when he’d shown up to find the moron practically grinding into one of his friends. 

Clarence or Kenneth or whatever. The black-haired dude with the green eyes and sharp cheekbones. The memory of it just made him scowl and he had to resist the urge to punch at the wall again. He was meant to be his friend, and instead of pushing Stiles off him, he’d just let it happen. Smelling how turned on he was made it clear to Derek that he didn’t mind the attention at all, and it made him furious to think maybe his own friend would’ve taken advantage of him in his intoxicated state.

Stiles was an idiot. A fucking idiot! Derek hated how fucking stupid he could be. 

This next hit was against the floor, which was a terrible idea given he broke through the hardwood and damaged it horribly. Fuck. Great. Now he’d have to find someone to come and fix up his floor before Stiles came back around. 

He missed the loft, he had a ton of concrete in the warehouse below him to destroy whenever he got angry about Stiles being stupid. Which, unfortunately, was more often than he liked. 

For someone so fucking smart, Stiles was the dumbest person he’d ever met. 

Derek turned his head slightly when he heard his phone go off. It was a text message, but he knew it wasn’t from Stiles, because he’d set his number to let off specific notifications. This one was generic, which meant it was someone else from the pack. 

He could guess at who it was, because he’d been messaging with her this morning to explain the previous evening and the call he’d gotten from Stiles’ friend. Laila? He was pretty sure her name was Laila. The girl who reminded him a lot of the one probably texting him right now. 

Banging his head once against the wall behind him, Derek stared at the ceiling for another ten seconds before forcing himself to his feet in one fluid movement. He started for his bedroom before remembering he’d left his phone in the living room and detoured back that way. It vibrated with another message as he reached for it on the coffee table. 

Sure enough, it was exactly who he thought it was. 

[Lydia]
If you haven’t responded yet, it’s because you’re still out
[Lydia]
Don’t make me send the search party out for you

[Derek]
just got back 

He started to shove the phone into his pocket before remembering he was naked, so he just held it in his hand while walking towards the bedroom and into the en suite. He should shower, since he was sweaty after the three hour run. Werewolves didn’t often sweat when working out, but three hours was a lot, even for an Alpha Werewolf. 

[Derek]
showering

He sent it more as a warning so she’d know he wasn’t ignoring her, but he’d only just cut the shower on when his phone started vibrating, the ringtone coming through a split second later. 

Sighing and asking whatever higher entity existed to grant him patience, he turned the water off and snatched the phone up, swiping to answer the call. 

“Needed to be absolutely sure he was gone?” Lydia accused before he even had the chance to say anything himself. 

“I knew he would be, didn’t need to be gone that long to guarantee it.” 

Lydia’s sigh on the other end was so exasperated that it made his hackles rise unintentionally. He bared his teeth, despite knowing she couldn’t see him, and rolled his neck in an attempt to push the feeling aside. 

“Did you yell at him?” 

“What do you think?” 

“I think there are better ways for you to express your fear of losing him than yelling at him,” she said dryly. 

Sometimes, Derek loved Lydia Martin as much as it was possible for a man to platonically love a woman. Other times, he loathed her so horrifically that he could think of many ways to get away with her murder. 

Right now, he was teetering towards the latter. 

“Do you know how he woke up?” Derek asked instead of answering that accusation. “He didn’t know where he was.”

A beat of silence. Then, “He’s been to your place before.”

“He’s lived in my place before,” Derek shot back. “But he was still so out of it when he woke up that he panicked and didn’t recognize where he was. He thought he’d woken up in a stranger’s bed, and his heart was beating so fast he was seconds away from a heart attack.” 

At least the sigh that followed this statement was more annoyance at Stiles and less exasperation at Derek. He had to appreciate the difference, even if he didn’t. 

“The good news is he’ll never do it again. He’ll probably forgive you for yelling at him by tomorrow. Stiles always does when it comes to you.”

Derek scowled at that, because it almost sounded like an accusation. Like Derek enjoyed yelling at Stiles, and did it all the time because he knew Stiles would forgive him within twenty-four hours. 

“You haven’t even asked if he’s all right,” Derek said instead, somewhat angrily. 

“I would have known immediately if he wasn’t,” was her response to that accusation. 

“He isn’t being careful!” 

“Derek, he got drunk one time. He’s not out every night testing his horrendous luck, he went out once to celebrate the end of his finals, and he got drunk. He trusted his friends to take care of him, and they did.”

“They didn’t take care of him!” Derek shouted into the phone, incensed. “I did! I took care of him! Do you know what was happening when I showed up?! He was grinding and feeling up one of his male friends, sucking hickeys into his neck, and his friend was letting him! Who knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up! They weren’t taking care of him at all!” 

“They called you, didn’t they? Pretty sure that’s the most ‘taking care of Stiles’ thing anyone could ever possibly do.”

Derek just breathed hard down the line at that easy response, because he hated hearing it. He didn’t want to acknowledge that his one friend had called Derek because she knew Stiles needed to get home, he wanted to focus on how reckless and stupid Stiles had been and how inappropriate his other friends were! 

“It doesn’t change the fact that his friend didn’t push him away,” Derek finally said through gritted teeth. He could feel his fangs threatening to drop and had to brace one hand against the counter in an attempt to keep himself calm, head bowing as his other hand clenched tightly around his phone. He made sure not to clench too hard, because he’d broken his phone the last time he’d done that. “He shouldn’t have let Stiles do that to him while he was drunk.” 

Lydia was silent for a long moment before she finally asked, “Are you sure that’s what you’re really angry about?”

“Yes,” Derek bit back. 

“Really?” she challenged. “It’s about the friend not pushing him away? Or are you actually mad about the fact that Stiles was doing that to someone to begin with?”

Derek clenched his jaw. “I have to shower, call me if you actually have an emergency.” 

Lydia’s non-committal hum was the last thing he heard before he hung up. He threw his phone angrily against the counter, having it land in the sink, and turned back to the shower. He had to force himself to control his strength when he wrenched the water back on, because he didn’t need to call a plumber, too. 

Stepping into the spray once it was at a good temperature, he forced himself not to think about Lydia’s words as he ran both hands through his hair, but it was hard not to. 

Lydia had always been the smartest one in their pack, much as Derek was loathe to admit it. She’d recognized that Derek was in love with Stiles before Derek even knew about it. Of course, she’d also recognized Derek didn’t realize he was in love with Stiles and that was why he was always such a dick to him, so she’d pulled him aside one day and shoved a book into his hands that she’d gotten from Deaton. 

He’d read it, mostly because Lydia wouldn’t have given it to him if there wasn’t a reason for it, but he hadn’t understood what its purpose had been. Not at first. 

It was a book about Werewolf mates, which was why he was confused about why it had been shoved at him. It wasn’t until almost a week later when Stiles had been sick and Derek had gone to take care of him that he realized he was subconsciously doing things from the book. 

At least, he’d thought he’d been subconsciously doing them. Until he realized he’d done the same things last time Stiles had been sick, and that had definitely been before the book. Which then had him analysing every single interaction he’d ever had with Stiles, and he came to a horrible realization. 

Not only was Stiles his mate, but he was actually in love with him. Like, horrendously in love with him. Would-murder-a-man-and-devour-his-body-for-him in love with him. 

Lydia was the only one who’d figured it out, and while she’d never told anyone about it, she was also always going after Derek about it. Derek had always been overly protective of Stiles, but he’d gotten worse over the years since discovering what Stiles was to him. 

But he couldn’t help it! Stiles was always getting himself into trouble and Derek would rather die than let anything happen to him! 

Lydia kept insisting they should sit down and talk about it, but how the hell was Derek meant to broach a topic like that? “Sorry I yell at you all the time, but I would die if anything happened to you because I’m in love with you?” 

That was already more words than Derek used in a single day. 

He laced his fingers together behind his head and stood under the spray, letting water hit him in the face as he tried, in vain, to ignore Lydia’s words, but he couldn’t. 

Derek was mad at the friend, he was. He was furious the guy hadn’t pushed Stiles away, hadn’t told him to stop and just wait and made sure Stiles kept his hands to himself. 

But he was also upset Stiles had done it to begin with. He knew it was stupid, because Stiles had been drunk, and he probably didn’t even know what he was doing, but it still... stung. 

It stung. 

He knew it was stupid to be upset about it though. Stiles was his own person, he was going to go out and find someone eventually, and then would do much more than just feel them up, but a part of him still looked at Stiles and insisted he was his. 

Stiles belonged to him. Which was a fucked up thing to think, because Stiles wasn’t a possession, but his wolf didn’t think of him that way. Stiles could still be his without being a possession. And he wanted him to be. His. He wanted Stiles to be his. 

Which would never happen, because every time he and Stiles made any kind of progress, Derek threw a gallon of gasoline on it and set it on fire. Because he was so good with people that way.

Why did his life have to be so fucking hard? 

His eyes opened and he turned his head slightly when he heard a key slide into the lock of his front door. Frowning, he turned the water off so he could hear better, and sure enough, that was his door opening and someone walking into his apartment, shutting the door behind them. 

Derek grabbed at his towel, wrapping it around his waist, and he stepped out of the shower. He was dripping water all over the floor but didn’t worry about it as he headed out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and then into the living room. 

He stopped as soon as he caught sight of Stiles standing by the hall table. 

The other man was looking down at the floor, and Derek followed his gaze, seeing the splintered wood from his earlier loss of control. He was sure Stiles had seen the hole in the wall too, since it was more obvious at a glance, but he just kept staring at the floor. 

Derek had been planning to have everything fixed before Stiles came by again. He figured he wouldn’t see him until the weekend was over, especially since it was easy for Derek to control his comings and goings since Stiles hated the bus. 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked. Because of course, throwing an accusatory question at him as if Derek’s moment of weakness was his fault was exactly the way to deal with this situation. Clearly. Of course. Derek was so good at this. 

“Why did you tell people you were my boyfriend?” 

Even though Derek had planned out an answer to this question in case it came up, hearing it asked still made his stomach drop and it took him a moment to figure out what to say, even though he’d already planned what to say! 

“I didn’t.” 

Derek watched in his mind’s eye as the answer he’d so carefully cultivated last night just went flying right out the window because those two stupid words escaped his mouth instead. 

“My friends say you did.”

“They misheard.” 

“Did they?” Stiles looked up at him then, and Derek made sure to keep his expression locked down. 

He crossed his arms over his bare chest, feeling droplets of water sliding down along his spine until they hit the towel he had around his waist. He said nothing, content with staring Stiles down, but he should’ve known better than to bother. He could win a staredown with anyone else, but not Stiles. 

“Tell me what happened last night.” 

“You got drunk and I brought you home.” 

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Stiles argued. 

“I just did,” Derek snapped, irritation bleeding into his tone, as it often did when he was getting defensive and wanted Stiles to go away. “Don’t drink yourself unconscious next time and maybe you’ll remember your own stupidity.” 

His next words had Derek stiffen. “Lydia called me.” 

He was about to be one packmate short. “When?” 

“A few minutes ago. While I was walking here.” When Derek frowned, Stiles waved one hand dismissively. “I was at the diner a few blocks away with my friends.”

Why the fuck had Stiles had food when Derek had made him breakfast?! 

Derek forced himself to loosen his jaw, because obviously that wasn’t something to get mad about. He knew Stiles had eaten the food, because the sink was empty, so this wasn’t a slam against Derek’s ability to provide, even if that was how his wolf was taking it. Stiles was a growing boy, he got hungry a lot, this wasn’t new. 

“You already ate,” Derek snapped, despite his best attempts not to even say anything. 

“I didn’t get anything,” Stiles said dryly. “I was just there for the company.” 

“Great. You like their company so much, then go back to them, I’m busy.” Derek turned to stalk back towards his room but he stopped when Stiles spoke behind him again. 

“Lydia asked me about last night.” 

“Why? You don’t even remember any of it,” Derek reminded him unkindly. 

“But I know some things,” Stiles argued. Then, he seemed to hesitate, and it was enough to make Derek look over his shoulder at him. “You told her about Kevin.” 

Kevin. That was that shitstain’s name. Kevin. 

“You need new friends,” Derek informed him coldly. “He clearly isn’t a good one.” 

“He was tipsy,” Stiles insisted. “Laila kept him in line. That’s not what Lydia wanted to know anyway.” 

“If you’re expecting me to care about what you and Lydia talked about, I don’t,” Derek informed him, and continued towards his room. 

Stiles didn’t say anything else as Derek shut the door. He hadn’t cleaned himself up, not really. He’d just been standing under the spray thinking, so he went back to the bathroom and turned the shower back on. 

He was in the middle of soaping himself down when he heard movement out in the living room. He froze in his actions, wondering if Stiles was about to leave again, but all he heard was the other man head into the bedroom and set his phone down. The chirp it let out made it clear that Stiles had plugged his phone in to charge. 

It hadn’t occurred to Derek it might’ve died until just now. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to Stiles’ phone’s charge when he’d been yanking him out of his vomit-covered clothes to clean him up. 

When he was sure Stiles wasn’t leaving, the footsteps receding back to the living room, he went back to work cleaning off. It didn’t take him long, and a part of him knew he was just procrastinating, but he eventually finished up and turned the water off. 

A part of him kept hoping Stiles would leave, while another louder part was begging for him not to. He didn’t know how to talk to him right now, he was angry, and upset, and terrified, but none of that was Stiles’ fault. 

Except it was. Kind of. Unbeknownst to him. 

Derek dried himself off in the bathroom, then hung his towel back up and went to grab some sweats and a loose shirt. He wasn’t planning on going out again today so he didn’t feel like dirtying a set of clothes, so sweats would do for now. 

When he started for the bedroom door, Stiles spoke from down the corridor. 

“Bring my phone.” 

Derek’s automatic knee-jerk reaction was to tell him to grab it himself, but Stiles hadn’t said it in his usual bratty fashion when he was being lazy. This was a legitimate request, voice somewhat soft, and it had Derek pausing in the doorway. He debated with himself for all of ten seconds before letting out a sharp exhale and turning back to the night stand on Stiles’ side of the bed. 

Stiles didn’t know this, but even when he wasn’t there, Derek always slept on his own side. The other side he always left open, as if Stiles would magically just appear there while Derek was asleep. 

Grabbing the phone, the screen lit up when he unplugged it, and he saw it was only at twenty-two percent. That meant it had definitely been dead earlier when he’d woken up. 

Exiting the room, he found Stiles sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his thighs and hands clasped together as he stared out the window at the scenery outside. It wasn’t much of a view, just a bunch of other highrises, but he didn’t really seem to be looking anyway. He was just facing that direction, not really seeing anything. 

“Your phone should keep charging, it’s gonna die again in less than half an hour,” Derek said, holding it out to him. 

Stiles turned to look up at him, then the phone, and he took it in one hand. Derek let his own drop, and then stood there, looking down at him. Stiles was tapping his phone against his thigh, staring at his own action, and Derek just hovered, not knowing what to say. 

Lydia was right that Stiles would get over this eventually, take a few days to himself, and then bounce back like nothing had happened. Derek had always relied on that easy forgiveness for his shitty attitude, and he knew it wasn’t fair, but it was easier than explaining why he acted the way he did. 

Somehow he felt like that wasn’t going to happen this time.

It seemed to take an eternity for Stiles to finally do something other than tap his phone against his leg. He eventually stopped, and flipped the phone around, unlocking it with his thumbprint. When the screen unlocked, he swiped a few times before hitting an app, and Derek frowned when he saw he’d opened his photos. 

He waited while Stiles scrolled, clearly looking for something. Finally, he stopped, tapped on a photo to enlarge it, and held the phone back out to Derek. 

Derek had no idea what he was meant to be doing with it, but he took it wordlessly anyway and looked down at the kid staring back at him. He felt his lips curl and his eyes sting as they struggled to keep the shift back. 

It was that stupid kid. Kevin. It obviously wasn’t from last night, because he was wearing different clothes and it looked like they were at some kind of event. A game maybe? Stiles often went to the school’s football games with his friends, because it was what normal university students did. School spirit and all that. 

Derek didn’t understand the desire to be around that many people. 

“Why am I looking at the friend you should drop like a hot coal?” Derek demanded, feeling his irritation rise despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. 

“You actually looking at him?” Stiles asked. He’d gone back to staring out the window, even though they both knew he was just avoiding looking at Derek. 

“Unfortunately his features are burned into my brain, considering you made me see more of him than I’d have liked to.” Derek started to throw the phone onto the couch beside Stiles, but before his hand actually let it go, Stiles spoke again. 

“What colour are his eyes?” 

Derek frowned. “What?”

“His eyes. What colour are they?” 

Derek took a second to stare at the side of Stiles’ head, not sure he understood the question, but he obediently looked back at the phone and zoomed the photo in a little bit to get a clearer view of his eyes. 

“Green.” 

“And his hair?” 

“Did you forget what he looked like?” Derek demanded. “Why are we playing twenty questions?” 

“What colour is his hair, Derek?” Stiles asked, voice somewhat sharp. His hands had clenched into fists, and he half-turned back in Derek’s direction, clearly telling him in no uncertain terms that they were having this conversation. 

Scowling, Derek looked back down at the photo, even though he fucking remembered the kid’s hair. “It’s black.” 

“What about his skin tone?” 

This was the fucking stupidest conversation they’d ever had. “I don’t—tanned? He looks tanned. What the fuck are we doing, Stiles?” 

“Got good bone structure too, right? High cheekbones? Angled jaw?” 

Derek let out an annoyed huff, shrugging one shoulder dismissively. “Sure. He’s got looks. Happy now?” 

Stiles said nothing for so long after that admission that the screen darkened before it went completely black. Derek didn’t know what the fuck they were doing right now, but just when he’d lost enough patience to open his mouth and ask, Stiles beat him to it again. 

“Do me a favour. Go look in the mirror for me.” 

“Are you still drunk?” Derek asked dryly. “What the fuck are you—”

He wasn’t sure if it was the scent, or the sound that made him cut off, but one of the two things hit him first and he froze. Because Stiles smelled scared. He’d never smelled scared around Derek before. 

Well, no, he had, but only when they were in life or death situations. Only when things were bad, and Stiles was afraid for his life, or someone else’s. But this was different, because they were alone in Derek’s apartment. It was just the two of them. And Stiles’ heart was pounding in his chest, fast enough and loud enough that Derek didn’t know how it had taken him so long to notice it. 

And Stiles smelled scared. He was emitting so many chemosignals that now that they’d hit his nose, Derek almost reached up to cover it. 

He looked back down at the dark screen in his hand, but instead of the photo, all he saw was his reflection. A slightly distorted version of his reflection, with the colours washed out, but it was enough. 

Black hair. Green eyes. High cheekbones. 

Derek’s heart skipped a beat before his brain actually clued in to what he was seeing, and he slowly lifted his gaze to Stiles. 

He still wasn’t looking at him, still facing the window, hands clenched tightly against his thighs. 

“You told people you were my boyfriend,” Stiles said again, very quietly. “What happened last night?” 

Derek looked back down at his reflection, and thought about what he’d walked in on in that club. Stiles all up in someone’s business. 

Stiles all up in someone’s business who had the same features as Derek. 

Closing his hand around the phone, Derek shifted to sit on the couch beside Stiles, setting his phone down on the coffee table in front of him, and clasped his hands together. 

Then, he told him about last night. But he told him about the thing he was actually asking about. 

A Few Hours Earlier

Derek checked his phone for the twentieth time in as many minutes, staring at the screen for far too long before putting his phone face down on the coffee table. It took a conscious effort for him to lean back and grab his book from beside himself, opening it to the last page he’d been on before going for the phone again. 

He knew it was stupid, and pathetic, to be waiting to see if Stiles had texted him, but he didn’t like when the other man went silent for this long. Stiles was chronically on his phone, because he was always checking in. With Derek, with his dad, with the pack. He just wanted to make sure everyone was okay and safe. It was endearing. 

But it also meant when he went quiet, Derek worried. He knew he had nothing to worry about right now though, because Stiles had been quiet for days. It was exam period, and Stiles always knuckled down and shut the world out when it was crunch time. Sure he’d text when he took his breaks or went to grab food and whatnot, but Derek was so used to the constant pinging of his phone that even twenty minutes of nothing was making him uncomfortable. 

He knew Stiles was studying though! He knew it! At least, he thought he did. 

Grabbing his phone up again, he went to open his calendar so he could double-check Stiles’ exam schedule. He knew he had time off after his last exam, but he was pretty sure Stiles still had one last one on Monday. 

Scrolling to his calendar, he looked at the dates and scowled when he realized today had been his last one. That meant he was probably hanging out with his friends. 

Stiles always celebrated his last exam with his friends, which was irksome to Derek, but something he’d long ago gotten used to. He’d always had to share Stiles, even back in Beacon Hills. The guy was Mr. Fucking Popularity, even though Stiles was adamant that he was a loser. 

Losers didn’t have plans every day of the week! Sure, a lot of them were with pack, but just as many weren’t! Derek still remembered that girl when Stiles was in eleventh grade. Hannah or Hillary or whatever. Wait no, Heather. Her name had been Heather. 

God, she’d been frustrating. Every single time Derek had gone to Stiles’ place or tried to make plans with him, it was always, “Oh, sorry, I’m seeing Heather tonight.” 

How Stiles hadn’t clued in that she had a crush on him, Derek would never know, but she practically had a flashing neon sign above her head. Lydia was adamant that Stiles didn’t feel the same way, and that he hadn’t even noticed. Derek wouldn’t have believed her, considering how much time Stiles and Heather spent together, but it was Lydia. She saw things other people didn’t, and he knew she wouldn’t lie to him.

Not about this. 

Pushing Heather from his mind, he put his phone face down on the coffee table again, annoyed that it was almost eleven and Stiles hadn’t so much as texted him a smiley face. Derek wanted to make sure they were still on for dinner tomorrow. 

Actually, now he realized he should’ve remembered the last exam was today, because he’d specifically arranged for them to have dinner as a celebration. To be fair, Derek often celebrated with Stiles, mostly as an excuse to see him. 

He managed to read two more pages, resisting the urge to check his phone again, when it buzzed against the coffee table and Derek immediately reached forward to snatch it up. When he flipped it around, his chest loosened and he fought off a smile at the name staring back at him. 

Stiles. 

Swiping to answer the call, he put the phone to his ear, and the first thing he heard was loud bass. It wasn’t so loud that Stiles was calling from inside the club he was at, but loud enough that it was clear he hadn’t moved far from the door. He probably wanted a ride back to the dorm, or a place to crash. 

“Hey,” Derek said. “Was waiting to hear from you, how was your exam?” 

“Is this Dere—”

Adrenaline flooded his system and Derek was on his feet in a heartbeat, fangs in his mouth, eyes burning as they bled red and claws threatening to come out. “Who is this? Why do you have this phone? Where’s Stiles?!” 

“Hey, hey, relax. I’m call—”

“Who the fuck is this?!” Derek shouted. “I swear to God, if you touched Stiles, I will fucking rip your entire ribcage out of you! Who are you?!” 

“Oh my God, it’s Laila! My name is Laila!” the girl on the other end said loudly, clearly trying to get her words out before Derek interrupted her again. “Are you Derek?”

“Why do you have Stiles’ phone?” he demanded again. 

“Are you fucking Derek or not?” Laila asked him, seeming to lose her patience. “Your name is stupid in his phone, but you’re the only one with a Chicago area code. If you want me to answer your questions, answer mine first!”

Derek’s breathing was coming much too fast, his hand clenching so tightly around the phone he heard the plastic case cracking. He had to force himself to release his grip to avoid breaking the damn thing. 

Laila. He recognized that name. She was one of Stiles’ friends from school. He didn’t know why she had Stiles’ phone, but she didn’t sound distressed, just annoyed. And he knew enough about her from Stiles—no matter how hard he’d tried not to listen—to know that she would hang up on him. 

Not that it mattered, since Derek could just track Stiles’ phone since they were sharing locations with each other, but if she wasn’t with Stiles, that would be a waste of time. He had to calm down and play nice or he’d never get an answer out of her. 

“Yes, I am Derek. Where’s Stiles?” There. Calm. Normal. Nothing for her to get upset about. 

“That’s why I was calling you.”

And the adrenaline spiked again. “What happened? Where is he? Is he okay?!” 

“If I could get a word out,” Laila snapped, getting impatient again. “Stiles is fine, he’s just drunk.”

Drunk. Stiles was drunk? Okay yes, Stiles got drunk, he wasn’t exactly a saint, but how was he so drunk that someone else was calling Derek from his phone? Stiles never got drunk in public like this. And Derek knew he was in public, because he could still hear the club’s bass in the background. 

“The guys aren’t ready to go, and Meg’s just as drunk as he is. I can’t bring them both home on my own. I figured the elusive boyfriend could come and get Stiles, and I’d handle Meg while Kevin and Jeremy go do dumb boy shit.”

Derek had to have misheard her. “The elusive what?” 

“Aren’t you his boyfriend? He talks about you all the time, and he’s always texting you with this dumb smile on his face. Kind of figured it out for myself and assumed he thought we would have a problem with him dating a dude, which we don’t.” She snorted. “Can guarantee Kevin doesn’t mind, considering. Anyway, you free to come get him or do I have to bully the boys into bringing him back to the dorm?”

“Where are you?” Derek demanded, turning to stride towards his front door. He snatched up his keys on the way past his hall table and bent down to tug on his boots. 

“Liquid Hysteria.”

Jesus Christ, what the fuck even was that name? What happened to normal club names? Like Jungle? 

“I’ll be right there. Don’t let anyone touch him.” 

Derek hung up on her and finished pulling his second boot on before exiting the apartment, grabbing his leather jacket on the way out. He locked the door with one hand while shrugging into the jacket with his other arm. Once the door was locked, he finished putting the jacket on and rushed down the corridor. 

The elevator would take too long, so he slammed through the stairwell door and raced all the way down to the second level of the parking garage. He almost blew the door off when he slammed into it, and a part of his mind was glad no one had been on the other side, or else he’d probably have sent them into the fucking wall. 

Rushing to his ride—a dark blue Mustang, since he hadn’t brought the Camaro out—he climbed behind the wheel and started it up, trying to take the asphalt with him when he sped towards the gate. 

Watching the stupid thing rise was doing nothing for his blood pressure, and he clenched his fists around the steering wheel as he waited for it to be just high enough that he could floor it out of the parking garage. His car being low to the ground helped, in that he could clear it before it had fully opened. 

It wasn’t until he was on the main road that he realized he had no idea where that dumb club even was. Yanking his phone free from his pocket, he looked it up on Google Maps while he changed lanes, then remembered he wasn’t in Beacon Hills and the cops wouldn’t let him go about his day if they saw him speeding and looking at his phone. 

Forcing himself to be a bit more subtle about using his phone, he managed to get directions up for the club, and was glad when he saw he was heading in the right direction. Shoving his phone against the magnetized holder Stiles had installed on his dash, Derek followed the instructions as they were spoken, mind racing as he tried to figure out what kind of brain damage could have caused Stiles to go out and get drunk. 

In public! 

What if something had happened to him?! What if someone looking to hurt Derek had found out about him?! What if his friend didn’t keep a close enough eye on him and he ended up leaving the club with someone he didn’t even know?! 

He was going to rip Stiles’ throat out when he sobered up! 

It felt like an eternity before Derek finally reached the club. The bass was just as loud through his car windows as it had been on the call with Laila and there were flashing neon lights everywhere! 

He didn’t waste time finding valid parking. There was a lot in the back, but it was full, so he just stopped his car in the fire lane and turned his hazard lights on. He wasn’t going to be in there long enough to get towed, and if he got a ticket, he’d just make Stiles pay for it in retribution. 

Moving around the side of the building much faster than a human could, he forced himself to slow when he was in sight of other people and bypassed the lineup at the door. He found it hard to believe Stiles had stood in line waiting to get into this place, but maybe one of his friends knew important people here. 

He started past the bouncer when the man’s hand slammed into his chest to push him back. Derek could’ve just kept walking and sent the guy sprawling, but he grit his teeth and allowed himself to be pushed back slightly. Starting a fight would only delay his entrance.

“You think you’re more important than these people?” the guy asked, motioning the line behind Derek. 

“I’m not here to party, I’m here to get my super drunk boyfriend,” Derek snapped. He started to push forward again, but the bouncer pushed him back a second time. 

The guy was big, and he knew it, standing from his stool to loom over Derek like he thought he could even hold a candle to Derek’s looming. 

Stiles had often told Derek that he could loom from across the country.

“You really think that line’s going to work on me?” The bouncer pushed a bit harder against his chest, but this time, Derek held his ground. He was getting into that club. Now. 

“I’m going in there,” Derek said darkly, “with you standing to one side, or unconscious on the floor.” 

He didn’t entirely mean for his wolf to peek out, but this idiot was standing between him and, well, his idiot. He let more growl enter his tone than usual, and he could feel his eyes slowly beginning to bleed red. 

That gave the bouncer pause and his hand actually pulled away ever so slightly, like he honestly wasn’t sure what was going on, but was smart enough to be scared of it. 

“I’m getting my boyfriend and coming back out. You can fucking time me.” 

When Derek shoved past him this time, the bouncer let him go. 

The second he was inside, he was slammed in the face with overwhelming—everything. Scents, sounds, lights, the works. It was too loud, and it smelled like sweat and bad decisions and the lights were flashing so aggressively he was worried he’d have a seizure despite not being epileptic. 

Forcing himself to ignore everything that wasn’t important, he knew his nose was too overwhelmed to cut all the other scents out, so he tried with his ears. While the music was deafening, he’d spent years keeping track of Stiles, so he just moved against the wall so people would stop jostling him and closed his eyes, forcing himself to drown out the loud bass that was making his bones rattle. 

It took a good thirty seconds, but eventually, his ears zeroed in on a familiar heartbeat, and it took him only a few seconds to ascertain where it was coming from. 

Snapping open his eyes, he moved quickly towards the railing that overlooked the lower floor. It was a mix of a dance floor and some bar tables, some people dancing to the techno playing while others nursed drinks or flirted around the edges. He scanned the crowd quickly, trying to find Stiles. 

It wasn’t so much Stiles that he recognized, but the shirt. Stiles always wore the same clothes, so when he caught sight of red-toned plaid in the intervals of flashing lights, he knew it was him without having to see his face. Nobody else went to a club in plaid. 

Derek made for the stairs like a man on a mission, which he was, and neatly sidestepped a woman who tried to get in his way. Her hand brushed along his chest as she tried to stop him so she could talk to him, but he kept moving, reaching the stairs and grabbing the handrails to make his way down the steps. They were covered in booze and sweat, and he made a face as his hands slid along the sticky rails. 

Stiles owed him so much for forcing him into this place. He wasn’t going to get the stench of this place out of his nose for weeks. 

Pushing through the crowd towards where he’d seen Stiles, it wasn’t until he was halfway to him that he saw what was going on. 

Namely, what Stiles was doing. 

He had both hands up under a guy’s shirt, face buried in the other man’s neck as he bit along his pulse. The guy was laughing, looking towards the left while his hands gripped the sides of Stiles’ shirt. When one went for Stiles’ ass, Derek saw someone else slap his hand away, but the entire encounter was tinged in red. 

There was no way in hell he could stop the shift entirely, not after seeing that, so Derek had to get Stiles and get the fuck out of there right now. 

Two people parted for him urgently as he pushed at their shoulders, either seeing the look on his face, or his wolf coming out more than he’d anticipated. He didn’t care, because it cleared the path to Stiles. 

The guy he was feeling up was laughing as he spoke to the irritated girl beside him, but when he went to do a sweep of the dance floor, his eyes found Derek and he froze. 

Derek said nothing as he walked right up to the group, grabbed at the back of Stiles’ shirt, and wrenched him backwards and away from whoever the fuck this was. Stiles fell back into him even as the guy raised both hands and stumbled back a step, hitting one of the tables behind him. 

“Hey man, no harm intended, I was helping him stay standing!” 

The fact that this moron thought Derek would be able to hear him if he were human with the volume was laughable, but he wasn’t feeling in the mood to laugh right now. He recognized the guy, now that Stiles wasn’t trying to bite hickeys into his neck. It was one of Stiles’ friends, he forgot his name. Didn’t care about it either. 

Why the fuck was this guy just letting Stiles feel him up like that?! Stiles was drunk, what the fuck was wrong with him?! 

Derek could feel himself losing more of his control, and Stiles was still pressed heavily into him. He had to get them out of there before he tore this guy’s head off his body. 

Maintaining eye contact with the worthless piece of shit, Derek reached one hand out across his own body to grab at Stiles’ hem on the opposite side. With a jerk, he got Stiles whipped around so they were facing each other now. His friend stumbled, almost losing his footing, but Derek just bent down slightly, still keeping eye contact with the shitty friend Stiles had, and then pushed his shoulder into Stiles’ stomach until he had him over his shoulder. 

Reaching up to grab at the back of Stiles’ thighs as he straightened, he felt a small trickle of satisfaction at the horrified look on the guy’s face before he turned and marched back towards the stairs with Stiles over his shoulder. 

He could hear Stiles mumbling, but couldn’t quite catch what he was saying. Not that it mattered, he probably wasn’t saying anything of importance right now anyway. 

Climbing back up the stairs, he shifted around people who were trying to get down to the dance floor, and ignored the startled looks a few sober people gave him as they noticed him marching past them with a drunk idiot over his shoulder. 

He had to push past a group of girls coming into the club to get back out through the door, and he turned to give the bouncer an irritated look on his way by. A very clear, “See? Just getting my drunk boyfriend.” 

The bouncer looked away from him relatively quickly, and Derek made his way around the building with a drunk idiot babbling nonsense slung over his shoulder. 

His car was where he’d left it, and there was no tow truck or police officer in sight. Getting the doors unlocked with the click of a button, he opened the passenger side and bent down so he could ease Stiles into the seat. He could now decipher some of the mumbling, and Stiles was insisting that pineapple on pizza was superior to all other pizza. 

Derek didn’t deign to respond to that, he just reached across Stiles so he could buckle his seatbelt in, then shut the door. Walking around the car, he opened his own door and climbed behind the wheel, slapping his hazards off as he fell into his seat. 

He’d only just started to shut his door when the smell hit him, and he turned to look over at Stiles, seeing bile dribbling down his chin, and an obscene amount of liquid splashed all over his pants and shirt. 

It didn’t look like he’d eaten anything for a while, not that Derek was interested in knowing that by looking at puke, but it was far too liquidy to be anything but booze. 

“You’re cleaning that up tomorrow,” Derek informed him, slamming his door shut and starting the car. 

At least Stiles didn’t seem to have thrown up on the upholster. Mostly himself, and the seatbelt. Could be worse, he supposed. 

He wanted to be mad at Stiles right now, but he was more relieved than anything at the fact that he’d actually gotten to him before anything bad had happened. His friend notwithstanding, Derek planned on murdering the guy and making it look like a freak accident. 

Getting back onto the street, Derek started the drive home, casting glances at Stiles every few seconds to make sure he was okay. Alcohol poisoning was a thing, right? How would Derek know if Stiles had alcohol poisoning? Should he be taking him to a hospital instead? He didn’t know the protocol for this, the last two times Stiles had gotten drunk, it had been at home, with other semi-human people around. 

Should he take him to the hospital? 

Derek tuned into Stiles’ heartbeat, and while he couldn’t be sure, it sounded fine. Stiles didn’t seem to be in any distress, he was just leaning his head against the window while continuing to mumble about stupid things. 

When Derek stopped at a red light four blocks later, the mumbling had turned into snoring. 

He let Stiles sleep until they got back into the garage. Once the car was parked, he climbed out and moved around to the other side so he could open Stiles’ door. Despite the vomit, he actually hadn’t gotten much of the seatbelt, so he managed to get it off Stiles before grabbing him under the knees and shoulders so he could lift him out of the car. 

He’d have gone back to the sack of potatoes carry, except he didn’t want more of Stiles’ puke on him than he needed to have. This was safer, most of it was on Stiles’ front and Derek’s right hand. 

It took some manoeuvring getting his keys out, but he finally managed to call the elevator and ride up to his floor. The corridor was empty when he exited, for which he was grateful because he was pretty sure people would have had questions seeing a leather-clad, angry-faced man carrying an unconscious—and vomit-covered—teenager-looking guy into his apartment. 

They didn’t know that he and Stiles were only two years apart, and they definitely didn’t know anything about their relationship. Derek didn’t talk to his neighbours, and while he was sure Stiles did, he wouldn’t blame anyone if their first reaction to this was to call the police. 

Derek winced and ended up getting some sick onto his shirt and jacket when he had to partially release his hold on Stiles, leaning him more into his own chest so he could get the front door unlocked and opened. As soon as he was through the door, he kicked it shut behind himself and managed to lock it. Dropping the keys on the hall table as he passed it, he headed straight for the bathroom.

While he’d have loved to dump Stiles unceremoniously into the tub, he didn’t want to hurt him, no matter how pissed he was. So instead, he just set him down carefully inside the large tub before he started digging through Stiles’ pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. He also had a crumpled stick of gum in one of his back pockets, and a napkin in the other with a number written on it in bubbly print. 

He tossed the napkin in the toilet and flushed it, feeling an irrational anger rising in his chest. 

Well, not irrational, but jealousy was an ugly monster, and Derek was sadly very acquainted with it. 

Shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on the doorknob of the bathroom, he bent down so he could yank off Stiles’ shoes and socks. He pulled him forward to get his overshirt off, struggling a bit when Stiles’ limp arm got caught at the elbow. He resisted the urge to just rip it off him, but he knew Stiles would be upset if he did that. 

Starting a pile on the floor beside him so he could immediately put this shit in the washing machine, he went for Stiles’ shirt next, tugging it up and over his head even as Stiles made a noise of complaint. 

Derek had barely gotten his head through the collar when Stiles suddenly started thrashing, one hand slamming into his chin. It stung for all of five seconds, but he had to use the shirt to trap Stiles’ arms together to stop him from flailing. 

“Gerroff,” Stiles slurred, shoulders shifting as he continued to struggle, despite Derek’s tight grip. 

“Stop being a brat, you’re covered in vomit.” 

“No.” 

How annoying that even while drunk, Stiles was still a stubborn child. 

Derek ignored him and kept one hand holding the shirt with his trapped arms, then went to his pants, undoing them with his free hand. Stiles bucked his hips and almost kneed Derek in the side of the head. 

“Stiles!” he said curtly, anger bleeding into his tone. “Stop it!” 

“Whossat?” Stiles demanded, and Derek had to stand from his crouched position to keep a grip on Stiles’ arms since he was twisting his body away from Derek. “No. Said no. Go ‘way.” 

Sighing, Derek had to at least find some comfort in the fact that Stiles was... well, kind of trying to stop himself from being stripped. That had to count for something. 

Not that it’d do him any good. Derek wasn’t letting him into his bed until he rinsed him off, at least. And no way were those clothes touching his sheets, it was bad enough he was sure his car would smell for the rest of time, he didn’t need his bed to, as well. 

“Stiles, you threw up on yourself.” 

“Who?” 

“You,” Derek insisted, tugging him hard enough to flip him back around. “Will you sit still? It’s me. I’m not going to do anything but wash your stupid ass.” 

Derek managed to get his pants fully undone now, but when he started yanking them off one-handed, Stiles bucked and kicked one leg out again. Derek managed to deflect it with his one hand, but it almost hit him in the temple. 

“No!” 

If his hands weren’t covered in vomit, Derek would’ve buried his face in them in exasperation. He tried to look on the bright side of the situation, but it was hard to when he was trying to clean his stupid friend up and the little shit was being unreasonable. 

“Stiles. Hey!” He grabbed at Stiles’ face with both hands, forcing him to look up into his face—the vomit was Stiles’, and Derek was going to wash him off anyway, so he didn’t feel bad grabbing at him with vomit-covered hands. 

Stiles’ eyes were barely even open, and he definitely had no fucking idea where he was, but Derek let one thumb brush lightly against his cheek. “Hey. You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m just going to clean you up.” 

Stiles stared blearily at him for a few seconds, then turned his head away, forcing Derek to let him go. He twisted around in the tub, like he was trying to sit up, and ended up on his hands and knees. Then he tried to grab at the edge of the tub to climb out of it. 

“Needa call Drek,” he slurred as he tried to pull himself up and out. 

Derek grabbed at his shoulders and eased him back onto his butt in the tub. “I’m right here,” Derek said calmly, tugging the shirt loose since it was starting to get tangled. He didn’t want Stiles to wrench around the wrong way and end up dislocating his arm because of it or something. 

Dropping it on top of his overshirt, Derek went for his pants again, and Stiles slapped him away so violently it actually startled him. 

“No!” 

“Stiles,” Derek snapped, trying hard to keep calm but losing his patience all over again. “Stop it!” He pushed some of his Alpha voice into the command, eyes flashing red at him. 

Stiles stared up into his face with unfocussed eyes for a few seconds, then the stupidest grin he’d ever seen on the moron’s face split across his features. 

“Awoo,” Stiles informed him, one hand coming up. He felt like Stiles was intending to pat his cheek, but he ended up smacking him across the face. 

“Awoo,” Derek repeated, feeling stupid even saying it. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist to lower it back down. “Okay? Can I clean you up now?” 

Stiles twisted away from him again, curling into a ball in the bottom of his tub, and Derek had to remind himself that Stiles would be pissed if he ripped his clothing off him. 

When he grabbed at the back hem of Stiles’ jeans this time, the other man didn’t fight him. Clearly the ‘awoo’ was enough for his brain to pick up on Derek being safe, even though there were many unsafe Werewolves out in the world. 

Derek just tried to reason with himself that a part of Stiles’ brain, way far in the back, finally recognized who he was and knew he wouldn’t hurt him. Still, he didn’t like it, and he was so going to yell himself hoarse tomorrow. 

God he was mad. He was so, so mad. 

But he was also scared. 

All he could think about while he yanked at Stiles’ pants to get them off was how easy it had been to get him home. No one had questioned him. No one had stopped him. The bouncer had just let him walk out of there with a fucking kid over his shoulder. His friends hadn’t even stopped him long enough to confirm he was actually Derek! 

Sure, maybe Stiles had shown them pictures of him. Maybe they knew he was Derek. But still! They hadn’t even asked! They’d just let him grab Stiles and carry him away. 

Derek could’ve been anyone! 

Forcing himself to calm down when he noticed his claws beginning to emerge, he got onto his knees so he could shuffle Stiles around a bit to get him back into a seated position. It took him less work getting his boxers off, which irked him even more, but he said nothing and dumped them on top of the pile. 

The smell was really starting to get to him, so he stood and grabbed the soiled clothes, heading out of the bathroom and across his room towards the stacked washer/dryer set in the front hall. He used one foot to get the sliding door open, and then the washer door open, and dumped all of Stiles’ clothes inside. Then he pulled off the shirt he was wearing and added it in for good measure. He washed his hands in the kitchen before starting the machine, even though he knew he’d run it again in the morning since it would finish too late for him to put it in the dryer tonight. He just didn’t want the clothes to sit there with vomit all night. 

He’d have to figure out what to do with his jacket, but that was a problem for after Stiles was put to bed. 

Wandering back towards the bedroom in his jeans and boots, he’d just passed the doorway and turned towards the bathroom when the smell of vomit hit him in the face again. God, had the smell already permeated the bathroom and he was doomed? 

Entering the small room once more, he realized that was not the case when he stood over Stiles and found him still sitting up with puke all down his chest and half over the side of the tub. 

For a few seconds, Derek just stood there, staring at this stupid, stupid human that he was so horrifically in love with. God, why was he even in love with him? Stiles owed him for this. 

After a brief moment of contemplation and trying to recall all the life choices that got him here, Derek let out an aggrieved sigh and turned to grab some tissues from the box on the counter. He bent down to wipe up the vomit on the side of the tub, threw the tissues into the toilet, and then grabbed a few more before reaching for Stiles’ face. He cradled his cheek with one hand, and used the other to wipe at his mouth. 

Stiles looked half asleep, and Derek knew if he didn’t get him cleaned up quickly, he’d be holding up dead weight. At least semi-conscious, he could probably press Stiles into the wall to keep him standing. 

Tossing the soiled tissues into the toilet, Derek got to his feet and toed out of his boots. Reaching into his pockets so he could toss his phone and wallet into the bedroom, the two items landing on the carpet near the bed, he stepped into the shower and wrenched the curtain shut. 

He made sure to test the temperature before turning the showerhead on, water hitting him in the back when he turned and cascading along his spine. 

“Okay, come on. Up.” 

Stiles moaned pitifully, but Derek just grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to his feet. It was awkward, trying to wash Stiles up, but he’d helped him shower enough times after really bad fights when the human could barely move that he kind of had a technique down. He just leaned back enough that Stiles could lie all his weight against him, then wrapped one arm around his waist to keep him standing. 

Turning to put Stiles under the spray, that earned him an unhappy whine and Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck. 

He bared his teeth unintentionally at the action, but the feeling of ‘threat threat threat!’ subsided relatively quickly. It was Stiles, not someone looking to hurt him.

Fuck, Stiles couldn’t hurt him now even if he wanted to. 

Derek made quick work of cleaning the sick off Stiles’ skin. He had to slap at his hands a few times when they started to wander, but so far he hadn’t tried to suck hickeys into Derek’s neck, so he took the wins. 

Would he have liked hickeys sucked into his neck by Stiles? Absolutely. But Stiles was drunk, and he didn’t want things to get weird. 

Derek forced himself not to think about the dude at the club, and how easily he’d let Stiles drag his hands all over him. He clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt when he recalled the one wandering hand that had gone for Stiles’ ass. He didn’t know who’d slapped it away, but whoever they were, Derek wanted to buy them dinner as a thank you. 

The possessive side of him unintentionally reached down for the same asscheek, resting his hand on it. Not squeezing, but just... rubbing lightly. Wanting to wash away the scent of the other man on Stiles’ skin, even though the touching had been over his pants. 

Not trusting himself to stay in the shower much longer, since Stiles’ hands were still wandering, Derek shut the water off and got Stiles towelled off as best he could. He had to press him into the wall to dry himself off quickly, and ended up pulling his jeans off, realizing he probably should’ve done that before the shower. He could’ve showered with his shorts on instead. 

Multiple layers was probably the safer call though. 

Stepping out of the shower, he shifted Stiles around so he could throw him over his shoulder again before heading for the bed and dropping him onto it unceremoniously. Stiles bounced once, and let out a ridiculous hiccup-laugh that sounded very much like what old movies used to use to denote drunkenness. Derek just turned away to head for the dresser. 

He tried for exactly eight minutes to get new shorts onto Stiles, but it was a lot harder getting clothes on someone who was drunk and fussy than it was to get them off, so he gave up and just got him under the covers. 

Stiles snuggled into his pillow immediately, rolling onto his side to face the rest of the bed, one hand reaching out as if knowing there should be another body there with him. Derek buried one hand in his damp hair, watching Stiles’ features as his breathing evened out and he started snoring a minute later. 

“Why are you punishing me?” Derek asked him softly, letting his fingers brush through the strands. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, fingers in Stiles’ hair while he stared down at him, but a soft tone behind him made him turn. He realized it was Stiles’ phone and he finally managed to pull himself away from him to pad over to the bathroom. 

Derek bent down to grab his own phone and wallet as he passed them, then continued on into the bathroom so he could get Stiles’ belongings. He took his keys and wallet first, bringing both of them out into the main room so he could leave them on the counter, and dropped his own wallet and phone onto the coffee table. Then he paused the washing machine and went back to grab his jeans, tossing them in as well before starting it back up. 

His jacket he hung on the back of a chair and used some cleaner on, even though he knew that probably wasn’t the best call, but all-purpose cleaner smelled better than vomit, and he’d look up a place to bring the jacket to tomorrow morning for cleaning. 

Once he’d gotten everything into some semblance of order, Derek went back to the bathroom to shower properly, tossing his wet shorts into his laundry to be dealt with in the morning. He didn’t take long under the spray, mostly just making sure he’d fully cleaned any lingering sickness off himself, and then stepped out, towelling dry with his damp towel again. 

It was while he was leaving the bathroom to grab himself some sweats that he remembered why he’d started for the bathroom in the first place almost half an hour ago. 

Stiles’ phone was still beside the sink where he’d left it, and Derek picked it up, tapping the screen to bring up his home screen. He had a text message from Laila, so Derek unlocked the phone and opened it up.

[Laila]
you ok? 

[Stiles]
I have him
[Stiles]
thank you for calling me 

He wasn’t sure he’d get a response, but a few seconds later there was a thumbs up emoji beneath his second message. Derek locked the phone once more and turned off the bathroom light. He set Stiles’ phone down on the night stand on his side of the bed, then went to check the door was locked before turning all the lights off. 

Shutting his bedroom door, he padded across to his bed in the dark and pulled the covers back. Stiles let out a sound of distress, but Derek slid into the bed and let the blanket drop again to save Stiles from the cold air. 

Or, what Stiles was suggesting was cold air, at any rate. 

As soon as he was settled, Stiles rolled over noisily and slapped one hand into Derek’s face. He winced, but tolerated it, because Stiles was a bit of a violent sleeper and he’d gotten used to it years ago. Stiles shifted half on top of him, chasing warmth like he always did in his sleep, even while completely wasted. 

Derek just waited for him to settle before shifting the one arm he had half under him fully under him so he could rest his hand lightly on Stiles’ back, rubbing gently at the skin he could reach in this position. 

“Good night, Stiles,” he said softly. “Love you.” 

All he got was a snore in return, but he was used to that. 

Present

Stiles kept his gaze locked on the window, but he wasn’t looking outside, not really. He was actually staring at Derek’s reflection in the glass. At the way he was wringing his hands together, and looking anywhere in the apartment except at Stiles. 

The story had been long, longer than it needed to be. There was no need for Derek to tell him every single step of it, but he understood why. For someone who didn’t speak very much, Derek was surprisingly good at delaying something he deemed to be unpleasant. So he knew the longer he spoke, the longer it would take before Stiles actually had a chance to respond. 

Honestly, when Lydia had called him to yell at him, he hadn’t been expecting what had come out of her mouth. He was pretty sure she hadn’t expected it either, because as soon as she’d said the words to him, there was a beat of silence before she hung up. 

He could still hear her shrill voice in his ear, an angry retort to Stiles’ frustrated comment about how Derek had bitched him out even though he’d apologized for his recklessness. 

“He’s not mad at you, you idiot, he was fucking terrified something could’ve happened to the moron he gave his heart to!”

He’d have assumed she’d said it on purpose in an attempt to get them to talk to each other, but the horrified silence and hangup that followed made it clear it had truly been an accident. 

And Stiles hadn’t known what to do with that information. Because he hadn’t known.

He hadn’t known Derek felt like that about him. 

And only Boyd knew how Stiles felt about Derek. He’d found out by accident, and Stiles had sworn him to secrecy, threatening to absolutely destroy his relationship with Erica if he breathed a word of it to anyone. Harsh, maybe, but he and Derek were... 

Well, they had a weird relationship, but one Stiles valued. He’d been scared if Derek knew how he felt that he’d pull away. He’d been scared that it would change things. 

So now he had to wonder if Boyd had known about his crush this whole time, and Lydia had known about Derek’s. 

Because clearly she hadn’t been lying. Derek had never alluded to anything, and Stiles had never clued in. About why Derek always gave him a hard time when he did something reckless. Why Derek had followed him across the country. Why Derek was always around whenever Stiles needed him. 

He’d always figured it was a pack thing. The Alpha protecting the weakest link, because he was the easiest one to hurt. And maybe it had started out that way. Maybe Derek had sighed and determined that Stiles was a liability all those years ago and decided to keep an eye on him.

But then slowly, at some point, while Stiles was developing feelings for Derek, Derek had been developing feelings for him. 

He didn’t get it. How could Derek not have figured it out? Was he blind? He was a Werewolf! Surely he would’ve clued in with his wolf senses.  

Denial, Stiles thought, and it was like getting kicked in the chest, because he knew it was true. 

Derek wasn’t allowed to have nice things. Derek was adamant that he didn’t deserve things he wanted. So if he wanted Stiles, truly wanted him, then his traitorous brain would have told him over and over again that he was never going to have him. That Stiles would never feel the same way, even while he pined like a lovesick puppy from a foot away. 

Stiles didn’t know for sure what had happened last night. If his drunk brain had seen green eyes and dark hair and gone for Kevin in a bout of drunken bravery—or stupidity—thinking he was Derek. But he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wished it had been Derek. 

“Why did you move here?” Stiles asked quietly, still watching Derek’s reflection. He still wasn’t looking at him, instead rubbing his hands together before wiping the sweat off them onto his jeans. 

“To keep you safe.” 

“That’s all?” 

Derek was quiet for a long moment. “I can’t lose you,” he finally said, very quietly. “Not you.” 

Stiles said nothing to that, trying to figure out how to respond, but before he could, Derek asked a question of his own. 

“What’s my name in your phone?” 

At this, Stiles finally turned to look at him. Derek was scowling across the apartment, but he glanced over at the movement, the two of them watching each other with guarded expressions. 

Stiles didn’t answer. He just leaned forward for his phone and flipped it over so it was screen up. Then he looked at Derek again. 

It only took him a second to clue in, and he stood. Stiles watched him walk away, knowing he was going to get his phone. Derek returned only a few seconds later with it in his hand, and he sat back down beside him. Stiles watched as Derek scrolled through his own phone to his contacts. Stiles was at the very top, number one speed dial. 

He hesitated for only a moment, eyes shifting to the side, as if checking for Stiles’ reaction, and then pressed the ‘call’ button. 

There was silence for only a second, and then Stiles’ phone vibrated and lit up a split second before the ringtone started. 

Derek stared down at it as the words slowly scrolled across the screen. 

Absolutely Perfect Boyfriend Material.

When the whole name cleared, it jumped back to the first word before scrolling sideways again to show the full name a second time. 

Derek hung up, and Stiles watched his phone trigger a missed call before the screen went dark. 

“I knew you’d never see it,” Stiles said quietly, Derek still staring at the dark screen. “You have no reason to call me when we’re together.”

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Stiles didn’t know what to say, and he was fairly certain Derek didn’t know either. It felt... weird. Because Stiles knew now, he knew that Derek liked him. And Stiles also knew that he liked Derek. But somehow, he was still just... waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to have misunderstood, or for this to be a cruel dream, or even just some crazy Witch enchantment or something. 

He was sure Derek felt the same way. Good things didn’t happen to people like them. 

Then, finally, Derek spoke so Stiles didn’t have to. “How long?” 

Stiles winced, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and looking towards the window again. It was getting dark out, but it was still early in the day, so it wasn’t dusk. Probably a storm, then. 

“Years,” he admitted, voice quiet. He paused, then asked, “And you?” 

“Forever.” 

That had Stiles turning back to him, Derek still staring down at Stiles’ phone. 

“Forever?” he asked.

Derek’s eyebrow twitched slightly and he tilted his head, like the answer wasn’t quite right. 

“I didn’t know. Not at first. I just knew every time you were in danger, I couldn’t control my anger. I just wanted you to understand and stop doing stupid things. I didn’t know it was because of how I felt for you. It hadn’t ever... it hadn’t happened before. Not with...” 

He didn’t finish, but Stiles didn’t need him to. He meant Kate Argent, the bitch who’d killed his family. She’d gotten close to him, manipulated him, used him. He’d thought he was in love with her, but what he’d felt wasn’t love. It was just warmth because someone was giving him the attention he so desperately craved. 

Stiles knew Derek had dated a few people in his life, back in high school, and even afterwards a few times, but he’d never really talked about his relationships with any real fondness. They were more just relationships he’d had, like trial runs, and then broken off. 

And maybe this was why. Maybe he’d been waiting for something he hadn’t even known he was waiting for. 

“How did you figure it out?” he asked. 

Derek let out a scoff, glancing at him before looking away again. “Lydia.” 

Stiles couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. It was short, and startled, but it came out anyway. “Lydia?” he asked incredulously, and Derek just nodded slowly, lips pressed together and his phone held in both hands as he fixed his gaze on the far wall. 

“She got fed up with the fighting one day and threw a book at me. I read it only because I knew she’d come after me if I didn’t.” He winced before continuing, very quietly, as if hoping Stiles wouldn’t hear him. “It was about mates.” 

“Oh.” 

What the fuck else was Stiles supposed to say to that?! 

“I should’ve told you,” Derek said. “I should’ve admitted it to you years ago. I was just...” 

When he trailed off for too long, Stiles offered, “Scared?” 

Derek didn’t agree, but he tilted his head slightly and didn’t argue the word choice. Stiles followed his gaze across the apartment, staring at the same wall. He realized Derek was looking at the dark TV. Stiles could see his reflection in it, the same way he’d been able to see Derek’s in the window. 

They’d both been watching each other without the other knowing. For Stiles, it was a practised move, always watching Derek in ways he wouldn’t catch him. But maybe... it was the same thing for Derek. Maybe the reason neither of them had ever noticed was because they were both good at pretending they weren’t looking. 

“Me too,” Stiles admitted. It was only fair. If Derek was going to be vulnerable, well, Stiles could pull on his big boy pants and do the same. “I was worried things would change. In a bad way, I mean. That you’d stop letting me stay over, or that you’d shift away if you felt like I was getting too close to you. I didn’t want to lose you.” 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Derek echoed, very quietly. 

Stiles looked over at him, seeing him still staring at the TV, and offered a small smile before nudging his shoulder. It took two tries before Derek turned to him, and Stiles bumped him a third time for good measure. 

“Stuck with me,” he told him, more of a promise than a threat. 

The familiarity had Derek let out a snort, and he probably would’ve rolled his eyes if his phone hadn’t started vibrating in his hand. Derek opened his clasped hands so he could stare down at it, the screen lit up with an incoming call. 

“She’s late with her warning,” Derek said as Lydia’s name flashed across the screen. 

“She probably figured I wouldn’t be here yet,” Stiles argued. “And she was probably scared too.” 

“Probably.” Derek’s thumb hovered over the swipe, but he didn’t answer or decline the call. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Stiles stared down at the phone for a few seconds, then snatched it from Derek’s hand. He didn’t resist, turning to look at Stiles as he answered the call and put the phone to his ear. 

Things were heavy, and Stiles didn’t want them to be heavy anymore. He wanted them to go back to normal. 

Well, not normal normal, but the new normal. The same, but different. 

So he ruined the moment by speaking into Derek’s phone. 

“Call back later, we’re having sex.” 

He barely heard Lydia’s incredulous squawk before he pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up. When he looked at Derek, he was relieved to see him smiling. 

“We’re having sex, huh?” 

“I mean, we will eventually,” Stiles insisted. “I said to call back later because we were having sex, I didn’t specify when later was or when the sex was going to happen.” He waggled his eyebrows and Derek did roll his eyes here, taking his phone from Stiles’ hand so he could put it on the coffee table besides Stiles’ own. 

“We’re not having sex, Stiles.” 

“Yet,” Stiles said, pointing a finger at Derek. “We’re not having sex yet. But we will, eventually.” 

He expected Derek to play along, start teasing him about it, maybe joking about how Stiles needed to work out more to build up some stamina or something. 

What happened instead was Derek turning more towards him and bringing one hand up to cradle his left cheek.

All the air left Stiles’ lungs. 

“How about we start with this first?” Derek asked. 

Stiles nodded like an idiot before forcing himself to stop acting like a bobble-head. “Yeah, sure, okay.” 

“Okay?” Derek confirmed. 

“Yeah,” Stiles repeated. 

Derek’s lips turned up slightly at the corners before he leaned in, pressing them against Stiles’. It wasn’t a hot, passionate, desperate kiss like Stiles had always assumed it would be their first time kissing. It wasn’t even deep, since both of their tongues were still in their respective mouths. 

But it was exactly what he’d always thought kissing Derek would be like. Soft, but sure. Lingering. There was a world of promise in the press of those lips to his, and Stiles felt every single one of them. 

He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until Derek pulled away, hand still cradling his cheek. He opened them again, and found Derek smiling, his thumb rubbing gently at the skin beneath his eye. 

“Wow,” Stiles said softly, because it was all he could think to say. 

“Wow,” Derek agreed, and when he leaned in again, it was with the same slow, lingering kiss, as if he was making absolutely sure not to rush this. 

Not only for Stiles’ benefit, but his own. They had plenty of time to make out like teenagers, with spit and teeth and tongue. This wasn’t the time for hot and fast. This was Derek promising Stiles he wasn’t going anywhere. 

And this was Stiles promising the same thing back. 

“Next time you have a hot boyfriend, just tell us he’s your hot boyfriend instead of making up some stupid story about him being your dad’s deputy,” Laila said dryly as she stabbed her spoon into what was left of her frozen yogurt. “Like, what kind of deputy takes four years off work to come babysit their boss’ kid across the country? It was such a stupid lie, I don’t even know why I entertained it for so long instead of calling you out on it.” 

“Because I’m adorable and you can’t deny me anything?” Stiles asked, leaning into her side and batting his eyelashes at her. 

She stuck her spoon into her mouth, leaving it there so she could free up one hand to shove into his face, forcing him back. He laughed and swiped his tongue along her palm, making her let out a disgusted noise before she wiped it across his back. 

“Man, I was so close, too,” Kevin sighed, splayed out in the chair across from them and staring up at the ceiling. “Pretty sure I could’ve bagged you after partying all night, what with how handsy you were getting with me.” 

“He was already dating Derek, moron,” Meg insisted, cuffing him across the back of the head. Kevin didn’t even react, still sighing dejectedly at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, but one night with me and he’d have changed his mind, I’m sure,” Kevin insisted. 

“Keep dreaming,” Laila said dryly, finishing the last bite of her dessert just as Jeremy fell into the empty spot beside Kevin with his own. She arched an eyebrow at him before pointing her spoon towards his bowl. “How much did that cost? You put the whole store in that cup?” 

Stiles couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him then, because Jeremy had probably put more toppings into his bowl than actual frozen yogurt. 

“The toppings are the best part!” Jeremy argued. “The yogurt’s just there as a base, it’s the rest of the stuff that matters.” He dug his spoon out of the mound, a few chocolate chips abandoning ship as they ended up rolling off the side of the bowl and onto the table. He stuck it into his mouth and groaned unnecessarily loudly to prove his point. 

Laila just rolled her eyes and went back to scratching her spoon uselessly against the bottom of her empty bowl. 

Jeremy finished his bite before jerking his chin at Stiles. “Where’s yours?” 

“He’s waiting for his boyfriend,” Meg teased, her voice a slight sing-song. “Says he wants a free meal.” 

“I do,” Stiles agreed with a smirk. “If I ask him to buy me one, he will.” 

“I’ll buy you one,” Kevin said, straightening slightly to look over at him. “Does that earn you a hall pass?” 

“Are you sure you want to keep pursuing someone with a scary boyfriend?” Jeremy asked him. “You need to get laid or something, I feel like Stiles turned your libido on and you’re struggling to turn it back off.” 

“Stilinski’s hot, what can I say? I’ve wanted to fuck him since first year. I’m down to fight his boyfriend if he’ll let me have him.” 

Stiles smiled brightly at him as Laila’s scratching stopped abruptly beside him. “Well, here’s your chance.” 

Kevin frowned at him, confused, then jumped a mile high when a hand landed on his shoulder. Stiles just grinned at the expression on his friend’s face when he whipped around to find Derek standing behind him. He hoped Derek wasn’t using all his strength, because he looked to be squeezing Kevin’s shoulder pretty hard, and Stiles didn’t want him to break any bones. 

“Hi,” Kevin said, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. 

“Kenneth, right?” Derek asked, giving him the scariest fucking smile Stiles had ever seen on his face. 

“Kevin,” Stiles corrected, then motioned beside him, and across. “Laila, Meg and Jeremy. I know you know their names, I talk about them often enough.” 

“Could afford to talk about one of them less,” Derek said, in what was very obviously a threat. He was still smiling down at Kevin, who looked two seconds away from having his soul leave his body. 

“He’s just horny, ignore him,” Stiles insisted. “He wants a piece of prime Stilinski ass. Can you blame him?” He waggled his eyebrows at Derek, who slowly lifted his gaze to look at him. 

“I don’t think you’re helping Kevin’s case,” Laila said quietly, leaning closer to Stiles. 

“It’s fine,” Stiles insisted, waving one hand dismissively. “Derek looks big and scary, but he’s a marshmallow.”

“He threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” Laila reminded him. 

“It was so hot,” Meg said, sighing slightly. She turned to Derek then, who was still staring at Stiles. “You got any brothers?” 

“He’s got a hot uncle,” Stiles offered. 

“Ew,” Meg insisted, scrunching up her nose. 

Stiles ignored her, more interested in the way Derek’s nostrils flared at him calling Peter hot. 

Which, to be fair, he was. Not his type, and too old for him, but he could appreciate how attractive Peter was. 

Besides, he loved riling Derek up, it made him extra cuddly when they were alone. He couldn’t be cuddly in public, because he had a reputation to uphold, but when they were alone, man did the guy cuddle. Stiles loved it. 

Which probably explained why he always antagonized him like this. 

“Wanna get some fro-yo?” Stiles asked, motioning the place behind Derek. He was sure Derek had seen it, since they were literally sitting on the adjoining patio, but Derek obediently turned anyway. He faced Stiles again, and the creepy smile was back. 

“Sure. Clarence is buying. Right?” 

When he gave Kevin’s shoulder a slight shake, he blurted out, “Yes, of course! Absolutely. My treat.” 

“Great. Come on.” Derek clenched his hand into the material now and pulled, forcing Kevin out of his seat. He stumbled slightly, but obediently followed as Derek moved towards the shop so he could get Stiles some frozen yogurt. 

“Uh, is Kevin going to be okay?” Jeremy asked uncertainly. 

Stiles waved his concerns off. “Don’t worry, Derek’s fine. This is just some Alpha male bullshit because of what happened at the club.” 

It was kind of funny that it literally was an Alpha acting like this, but Stiles had gotten a digital copy of the book Lydia had given Derek on mates, and he understood a lot about Derek’s behaviour now. 

Also, he hadn’t known Kevin liked him for three years because he’d been too busy being in love with Derek. Kevin didn’t mean any harm though, and even told Stiles he’d stop making comments if they made him uncomfortable. Stiles didn’t mind though, he found them kind of funny now, and the fact that Kevin had specifically told him he would stop made it clear that he actually cared about Stiles regardless of the fact that they were never going to be a thing. 

Still didn’t appreciate him grabbing his butt at the club though, even if he didn’t remember it. Kevin had admitted he was borderline drunk, and had apologized for it. Then he’d joked that it was his one chance to get ‘prime Stilinski ass,’ as Stiles kept calling it, so he didn’t regret it. 

Well, he probably regretted it a bit right now, since Derek was still dragging him around the small shop as Kevin filled two different bowls with frozen yogurt, clearly getting one for each of Stiles and Derek. 

Letting out a laugh, Stiles pulled his phone out and opened his messages with Derek. 

[Stiles]
Don’t break him please
[Stiles]
Next year will be boring without him 

He looked up after sending the messages, Derek hovering over Kevin as he went through the toppings, clearly asking which ones to put on which frozen yogurt. Derek waited until Kevin was at the till before pulling his phone out. He turned to give Stiles a look, but he replied anyway. 

Before Kevin could pay for the treats, Derek leaned over and tapped his phone to the bank machine, doing it for him. Much as Derek was pretending to be a big, scary dude, he’d never have let someone else pay for this. It was all just part of his master plan to terrify Kevin’s libido into another country. 

Derek grabbed both bowls and headed back for the table, Kevin trailing behind him and massaging at his chest, like he was having a heart attack. 

Stiles’ phone went off as Derek took a seat beside him, sliding his frozen yogurt in front of him. He leaned over to kiss Derek’s jaw in thanks and opened his messages, looking down at the reply he’d gotten with a smile. 

Not at the reply, but because of the name of the person who’d sent it. 

[Absolutely Perfect BOYFRIEND]
I promise nothing 

END