It was morning, the sun just beginning to warm the ground around the Nemeton when Scott stepped into the grove's clearing.
Stiles supposed it looked strange to Scott, seeing him lying on top of a magical tree stump, in the middle of a forest, wearing clothes better suited for warmer weather, with no shoes. But he didn't really care about the strangeness of it. During the past few nights up in his tree, Stiles had discovered something. He'd done some experimenting and part of his fae magic was the ability to regulate how his body reacted to temperature changes. It was instinctual, like the sun and the earth energizing him. It meant his night in the preserve had been pretty comfortable in just t-shirt and pants. There'd been no discomfort from over-exposure, though the weather was still cold enough to warrant it.
There was something else Stiles had found out about his magic. He'd been listening to the trees tell him of Scott's progress through the preserve.
Scott had taken his bike as far as he could, and Stiles had tracked him by using the trees' awareness of vibration in the ground and the sensation of roots he bumped over. When he got off his bike and walked, Stiles picked up footsteps, the earth moving with the press of feet. It was a disjointed sensation and he kept getting sidetracked by animals, but he'd done alright until Scott had gotten close enough Stiles had to decide if he wanted to be found.
Part of the information dump he'd been given by the Tree was the knowledge of how to keep people out of the Nemeton's presence. The Tree was good at it itself, but a little bit of help now and then was needed. Some people were tricky and would need an even trickier person to dissuade them. Now Stiles wasn't pretending to be human anymore, he could admit to himself just how important his role of protector would be.
He continued to recline on the stump as Scott walked up to him, then cracked open an eye. Scott was staring at him with a carefully composed blank expression. Stiles sighed internally and sat up. This should be interesting.
"You always going to be a dick to Deaton?" Scott asked.
"Good morning to you, too," Stiles greeted him.
Scott pulled a hand through his hair. "Yeah, hi. So, are you?"
Stiles paused before answering. He hadn't given any thought to how Scott would react to him not liking his mentor and boss. That it was weighing on him hadn't occurred to Stiles at all. He crossed his legs, and invited Scott to sit on the stump with him. A sign of utmost trust.
"Yes. I will," he answered.
"But why? He's only ever helped us! Helped you!"
"It's not about what he's done for the pack." Stiles ignored the comment about Deaton helping him specifically. "It's because of what he did here."
"Stiles, you're just being a jerk."
"No, I'm not. There are reasons."
"Then what are they?"
"Do you see how smooth the cut is?" Stiles ran his hand along the Nemeton in a caress. "How would that be possible do you think?"
Scott frowned down at the stump. "How's that important?"
"You asked. I'm telling you. You're getting an education here, dude. Not one that many people get. So suck it up. Do you see it?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"How would it have happened? You'd need a pretty big chainsaw. Don't see a timber cutting machine getting their way through into here, do you?"
"No. There'd have to be a cleared road."
Now Scott was thinking. Stiles wanted to pat him on the head.
"Yeah. And this is a magical area, too. A ritual place. Lots of energy. Lots of power would be needed to even get close if you were coming here with intent to chop down a centuries old magical being."
Scott scoffed. "Magical being. Yeah, right."
Stiles glared at him then dropped his glamour. "Don't disrespect the Nemeton because you don't believe what I'm saying, Scott. Not while you're sitting on it. If you're finding this too hard to understand, you can leave. Right now."
Scott was lucky Stiles loved him. He got a chance to apologize.
Scott sat back a bit. "Um. Dude. Enough with the face. I'm sorry for what I said."
Stiles didn't know whether to be insulted or bemused or just angry. First his dad, now his best friend. "You got a problem with how I look, Scott?"
"No! Not really."
"Then what the hell? Explain it to me. I understand it from Dad, he's human, but you're a True Alpha, dumbass, so what's your problem? Am I not furry enough for you?"
"That's not it, Stiles. I don't know if I'd react the same way to other fae, but I don't think so."
Stiles pulled his glamour back on. "So, it's me?"
"Let me explain, okay?"
Stiles waved a hand in his direction.
"I've seen a lot of scary stuff, but you're so," Scott trailed off, shrugging.
"Not me?" Stiles guessed.
"Yes! Not you. I can't get over it."
"You can't get over it." Stiles wanted to strangle Scott a little bit. "It's not like you're the poster boy for humanity, Scott. Don't you remember when your mom saw you for the first time, how her reaction made you feel?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"Then stop being such a God-damn hypocrite!"
Scott was contrite. "I don't mean to be. Really. It's just that, it's you."
"What?"
"You won't like what I say."
"I'm already not liking what you're saying. Just spit it out."
"I think the problem is the Nogitsune. When you're not looking right, I think threat. I know you're not one, but it's how I react. I'll work on it, okay?"
Stiles was quiet, then he repeated, "When I'm not looking right."
"God, Stiles. That's not what I meant —"
"How about we just drop this." Stiles was done with this conversation.
Scott though, in true Scott fashion, wouldn't be put off. "Deaton says you use fae glamour to hide who you are almost all the time."
Stiles snarled out, "That bastard druid needs to shut his fucking mouth!"
"Stiles!" Scott was shocked.
"Here's the truth of it, Scott. You don't want to hear me bad mouth your Yoda, you don't bring him up. And you definitely don't talk to me about what he says in regards to me!"
"Fine."
"Good."
There was a uncomfortable pause between them until Scott slumped his shoulders. "This to do with the Nemeton?"
Stiles was honestly surprised Scott had worked that out by himself. "Yeah. Back to the teaching part of our program?"
Scott gave him an apologetic look. "Yep. Go on, I'm listening."
Stiles placed his hand back on the stump, smiling softly at the energy that flowed around his fingers at the touch. "The Nemeton in its heyday was imbibed with ritual magic from fae, druids, and other creatures."
"I thought it was just a druid place?"
Stiles couldn't help his condescending snort. "That's what the druids would like everyone to believe, but no. In fact, this particular area was connected more to the fae than any other. It's partly why the Hidden People were able to stay in Beacon Hills for as long as they did. When it was cut down it reduced their hold on the area. They were forced to relocate."
"The Hidden People?"
"It's just another term for Fae."
Scott sighed. "There's this whole other side to you now that I don't understand. It's really hard. You're my bro, but we're not as close as we were before this happened."
Stiles stared at Scott, then chuckled grimly in disbelief.
"What?" Scott asked defensively.
"Are you kidding me right now? You're whining about our friendship because there's a supernatural part to me that you can't fully understand?"
"Yeah, I am. It's true!"
"Scott. You've been a werewolf for how long now? Years, man. It never occurred to you that all my researching and being the most supportive friend you ever had was a way for me to connect to the world I was looking at mostly from the outside?"
Scott rubbed his hand across the stump, pouting.
Stiles stopped the shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine. He could feel it if he wanted to; the wolf aura Scott put out in every touch. He could also feel Scott's butt sitting on the stump if he had the inkling to do so, but he wasn't going there at all, so he ignored the Nemeton's awareness of Scott that was at the edges of his mind.
Scott sighed, and gave Stiles a rueful smile. "No. It didn't. I just always thought of you as being right there with me. I never thought about what it was like for you."
It figured. Scott was very good at being oblivious to others, especially Stiles.
Stiles shook his head and tried to explain. "I made myself as much a part of it as I could. I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, Scott. Just so you know I understand your feelings about me being fae. But you also need to know, the problems your having? They're because of you, man. If you want to be close to me, be close to me. Just go with it, instead of fighting it. Part of that is realizing that sometimes I'm going to act differently to when I was human, and I'm never going to like your boss again. It's who I am."
Scott's face fell a little, and Stiles wanted to hug him and smack him upside the head at the same time.
"It'll take time, I get it. But you also need to remember that for the most part, I'm still me. Just like being a wolf didn't change the bigger parts that make up who you are. You may have started howling at the moon —"
"I've only ever done that a few times, Stiles."
"— but you never became a totally different person. Even when you were trying to kill me. It was still you underneath. So if I do stuff that's different, remember that I'm still me. And we'll be fine."
"You just monologued me, man," Scott said, trying not to smile.
"I totally did," Stiles agreed. "I'm a monologuing god. I could give Mel's 'Wallace' a run for his money. 'They will never take my freedom!'" He threw up a clenched fist.
"That movie is historically inaccurate, you know, to a really huge degree. The fight on the hill didn't even happen. It was on a bridge."
Stiles groaned. "It's called an adaptation and so not the point, Scott."
Scott raised his eyebrows. "You want to continue with your historical tale?"
"Nice segue. And yes. It all comes back to who chopped the Nemeton down."
"Who did?"
"The druids, Scott. And your druid was part of the group who did it."
Scott gave an unbelieving huff. "Why the hell would he do that? I thought druids worshipped this place?"
"That's not a simple question and I can't answer it because I don't know for sure. The easy answer is, they did. He did. It hurt the fae. A lot. And it hurt the Nemeton, more than any druid ever cared to understand. So I won't be polite to him, or like him, ever again."
Scott leant back on his hands. "Is that a fae thing for you? The not letting go of the past?"
"No, that's a me thing, Scott. You should know that. And it's more than the past. It's the Nemeton as it is now, it's all the horrible things that happened because it was cut down, it's the fact that it made the fae move on from here, it's the fact it's like it just happened. When I get close to him, it's all just there."
Scott was frowning down at the stump. "Did you know all this at the beginning?"
"No. The way I behaved then was bleed over from the fae who chose me. I didn't know the reasons."
"And now you do, you feel the same way."
"Yes."
"So it's like a genetically passed down trait of fear," Scott said with authority.
Sometimes Scott broke Stiles' brain. "What?"
"Something I learned. Apparently, phobias can be passed down from generations through DNA. They did a study on mice with blossoms."
"Ookay. Except this is hatred. Not fear."
"Nothing to say that can't be passed down too," Scott pointed out reasonably.
"Maybe."
"You don't think it's possible that what you're feeling is because of fae influence?"
"I know it is. But it's not like I've become a Borg, Scott!" Stiles had to take a deep breath. "I wish I could show you. That you could feel it."
"Feel what?"
"The Nemeton's pain. Watch it be cut down, feel it happening, the magic being corrupted and warped and changed and dying. The devastation of the fae. And then maybe you could understand everything that's happened since."
"Can you do that?"
"I can't show you, no."
"No, I mean. Have you been through that?" Scott sounded honestly appalled for Stiles.
"Yeah. I guess the best analogy would be when they cut the Home tree down in Avatar." He was hoping this got through to Scott. He'd cried when he'd watched it, even if he denied it.
Scott sucked in his breath and his eyes went wide. He touched Stiles' leg. "Dude," he said in understanding.
Stiles was realizing that sitting on the Nemeton was not the place for this conversation. "We need to talk about something else, or leave."
"What, why?"
Stiles tapped a finger on the stump. "It's not a good idea to continue this here." The Nemeton was stretching out and bumping against his mental walls, reacting to his agitation.
"You're doing it again."
"What?"
"The face. You're being all fae-you." Scott didn't sound as worried about it this time. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and studied him.
Stiles grimaced but didn't pull his glamour back on, leaving it for Scott's benefit. He moved off the stump to stand up. He could still feel the Nemeton and by extension, the other trees in the grove. It must have been incredible when the grove had been whole and full of all sorts of magic during a peaceful time. He may have seen an echo of it in the fae's memory but the real thing would have been something else entirely.
Scott followed him. "Today's the longest you've been changed. Normally it's only for seconds, which is why it was so creepy. This is kinda cool, Stiles. Do you have to concentrate or is it more instinctive?"
Scott's abrupt change in perspective completely floored Stiles, thought it shouldn't have. Scott's emotions flowed like water, causing numerous issues for Stiles who's opinions tended to be more solid. He'd wished more than once Scott would just stick to something. Namely, whatever Stiles thought was right.
"Uh. I can do it when I want and it's pretty simple, but sometimes I don't know I'm doing it," he admitted.
"Really?" Scott was intrigued. "When I first changed, holding it required focus. Unless it was happening for some reason I couldn't control."
Stiles mused that dropping a glamour sounded a lot easier than actually changing bone and muscle structure. He was always fae, even if no one could see it or touch it.
"How do you feel when you do it?" Scott asked.
Stiles thought about it. "I feel cold. Not physically, emotionally? No, just less, but also more?"
"Like you're standing removed from everything but at the same time can feel everything too strongly?"
"Yeah." Stiles was shocked by Scott's accurate wording; both the fact he used those words and that they were so spot on. It was obviously a day for Scott to surprise him. "How did you ... ?"
"It's similar to being a wolf, I guess, the feeling everything. But not the removed thing, that's all you. It's part of the creepy factor. Your eyes, man, they're alien. We should find out if your face comes out on photos, so you can get a better idea why everyone freaks out about it."
"Maybe." Stiles didn't feel like telling Scott he'd checked himself out in the mirror more than once. He pulled his glamour back on, noticing how dull the world looked through human eyes.
Scott glanced up at the sky which had brightened into full morning while they talked. "Did you want a ride somewhere?"
Stiles didn't really but what the heck, he was feeling rested and energized from his night out in the preserve so he could chance riding on Scott's bike. "Yeah. What day is it?"
"Monday. It's so weird hearing you ask that."
"Why? It's not like I have school or anything else to judge it by. Time is different now."
They started walking.
"That's true. Hey, what are you doing out here anyway? I called at your house last night and your dad was all sorts of pissed and upset. He said you were here, well not here, just in the preserve. Did you stay all night?"
"Would that be too weird if I said yes? And that school was actually the reason why I was out here?"
"No, not too weird, just different. Didn't you get cold? I mean, all night?"
"It's not like I have to feel that anymore, you know," Stiles corrected him offhand.
"What?"
Scott's confusion reminded Stiles he hadn't actually told anyone that piece of information. "Weather will only effect me if I let it."
Scott stopped walking. "No. Seriously?! That is the coolest thing I've ever heard. You mean you don't get cold or too hot?" He jogged a bit to catch up to Stiles who'd kept going.
"Eh. I can still feel it. It just that my body isn't effected. I don't need to shiver to keep warm or sweat to cool off."
"Like I said, coolest thing ever! Who'd want to sweat if they didn't need to?"
Scott's enthusiasm made Stiles laugh out loud.
"But what was that about school?" Scott bent and picked up a stick, twirling it while they continued walking.
Stiles lowered his head and scrunched his shoulders up around his ears. He wasn't proud of the way he'd behaved. "Dad and I got in a fight about it. He wants me to go back. I told him I'm not going to."
"You're not coming back?"
"No."
"But Stiles —"
"What? There's only a few more months before graduation. I'm behind so much I wouldn't be graduating with any of you anyway, so what's the point?"
"But you'd be with us! What about after? What about the group dream, all of us together?"
"Scott. That dream isn't going to happen for me. Not anymore."
"But why?" Scott had stopped walking again, radiating confusion and sadness.
Stiles walked back to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Things have changed too much for me, Scott. I'm not like you." He dropped his hand and bumped his shoulder into Scott's to get him walking again. They walked in silence for a while, just listening to their footsteps and the noises of the preserve. It was very peaceful.
When they got to his bike, Scott said, "You're supposed to be this all-powerful being now. But I get the feeling it's not as easy as you make it look."
Stiles shook his head. Why did people say this was easy for him? Derek, Lydia and now Scott had mentioned it. Was he really that good at hiding how screwed up he was? "All-powerful?" he scoffed. Scott made him sound like a god or super-hero. And while he could make a joke about having joined the chess board, he definitely wasn't either one of those.
"Semi-powerful? Quasi-powerful? You're able to bring more game than before?" Scott picked up his helmet and passed the spare to Stiles as he got on his bike.
"Really, Scott? Bring more game?" Stiles put on the helmet and got on the back of the bike after he tamped down his reaction to the metals and gasoline. He grabbed Scott's jacket in a death grip.
Scott laughed. Stiles liked to think it was at his comment but it was more likely because he thought it hilarious at how terrified Stiles was of riding his bike. "So where did you need to go?"
Stiles thought for a bit. Scott didn't really need to take him all the way home. A short ride would be better. "Where did you come in?" He knew where but Scott didn't need to know that.
"I came by the dirt bike trail."
"There's fine. Wait. Shouldn't you be at school?"
"Yeah. But somehow I thought finding my best friend after he spent the night in the preserve was more important."
Stiles clapped him on the back. "I appreciate it."
Scott shrugged. "You've done it for me."
"True. We are awesome friends to each other."
Scott went to start the bike, but Stiles touched his shoulder. "You going to school today? Now that you've found your wayward friend?"
"Unless he needs me for something, yeah. I can't miss too many classes so close to graduation."
Stiles groaned and rested his head on Scott's back. "You had to remind me." He really didn't want to have to explain himself to his dad again. His heart jumped as a fresh spike of sadness hit it.
Scott tipped his head, marking the change. Stiles waited for him to say something. Instead, Scott started the bike and Stiles held on even tighter than he'd been before. His sadness mixed with a rush of adrenalin as the bike rumbled underneath him. He quickly flipped the helmet visor down.
Scott laughed again, and Stiles was certain this time it was about his fear. "Laugh it up, chuckle boy!" he called out to Scott over the motor. "If you ... aaahhhh!"
Stiles swore Scott made the ride worse than it had to be, just to feel him trembling and holding on too tight. He had no idea why he was still so scared of bike riding, considering he'd run through the trees last night at about the same speed. But he was.
After he got his feet back on solid ground, he hit Scott on the shoulder. "Jerk!"
Scott saluted him as he took off, back wheel slipping a bit over the fallen leaves. He was still laughing. Stiles held up his middle finger to salute him back.
***
Stiles warily returned home, taking longer than he had to, and stood at the tree line at the edge of the yard, rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn't bring himself to take another step. Spending the night at the Nemeton had helped a lot, but it had also made it very clear that no matter what his dad said, there were some things that wouldn't be able to be negotiated.
There was nothing Stiles could give his dad in regards to all of this. There was no coming back from it. There would be no school, no college, no human life to be had. Or if there was, it wouldn't be the one his dad had obviously been polishing in the back of his mind for years.
Stiles understood. He'd had dreams. He'd wanted to work in law enforcement, follow in his dad's footsteps. He'd had to let that go. He wasn't sure when he had but it was probably the moment he became fully fae. Now he had no dreams, not really. He was adrift and floating. It was scary and Stiles had a feeling no one was going to tow him back from where he'd sailed off to.
Steeling himself, he walked up the yard, making a sudden detour to his sycamore tree. He rested his head against its craggy trunk and breathed slowly to ward off the building panic attack. It was slow in coming and had him sweating a little. There were dark patches in front of his eyes. The closer he'd gotten to home, the more last night had weighed on him. That, and all the times his dad expressed displeasure at him for being fae.
His dad was his hero. Stiles desperately wanted his dad to look at him with pride and love him for everything he was. He needed to be good, better than he was. He tried, he tried all the time. And he failed. Constantly. His dad deserved so much more than Stiles had ever been able to give him. He deserved a better son.
Stiles held onto the bark with both hands and tried to sink himself into the tree's awareness. It was harder than normal. With effort he managed to dip down into its energy flow. Its living force connected with him and he breathed out. The tree gladly picked him up and cradled him, wrapped him up in its dreaming and took him into itself.
Stiles let himself go.
***
When Stiles came back to himself, it was midday. He was on his knees, resting up against the sycamore's trunk in an awkward press of chest and cheek. He could tell straight away that he was in fae form. He could feel it easily; the remoteness and the deeper connection to nature that dropping the glamour gave him. Talking to Scott had helped him be more aware of it.
Twisting around, he sat up against the trunk of the tree and blinked up at the sky. He'd have to go inside at some point. He'd told his dad he would be back today and if nothing else, Stiles didn't want him to worry about that. It was small compensation for having a screw-up for a son, but the only thing Stiles could give to him right now.
"Stiles?"
Stiles whipped his head around at Derek's voice and before he could stop himself, he was standing up and launching his body, flailing arms and all, into Derek, who stood not far from him under the sycamore's overhang. Derek's arms closed around his suddenly shaking form and something clicked into place inside him.
"Derek," he mumbled softly into a shoulder and turned his face to rest against warm skin. He breathed in deep and took as much of Derek's scent into himself as he could.
Derek rubbed his chin softly against Stiles' head. There was a rumbling coming from his chest, reverberating through Stiles and making him shuffle even closer to feel it deep in his own lungs. The movement caused his half-hard dick to press against Derek's hip. Normally he'd be freaking out and trying to excuse himself from the situation, but his immediate relief in having Derek back with him was enough to root him to the spot. What put his mind into a free-fall dive was the fact Derek was hard too. An echoing line of heat burning into him that made his own dick swell further.
A shiver of apprehension traveled through him. He ignored it for the overwhelming rightness of the moment.
"Stiles," Derek breathed out into his hair.
"You came back," Stiles said stupidly.
Derek looked at him, his face holding a brief sadness before smoothing out. He touched Stiles' cheek. "I came back to you."
Stiles smiled, and ran the back of his fingers over Derek's jaw. "I missed you," he confessed.
A light ignited in Derek's eyes. "Stiles?" he asked, hopeful.
"Derek." Stiles could only hope his own eyes were expressing half of what he was feeling right then.
Derek's answering smile was as blinding as it was soft, and so beautiful to Stiles. Derek moved at the same time he did, and then they were kissing.
Stiles' world shrunk inwards; consisting of only Derek and himself. At the same time it was also infinitely bigger than it had ever been; the entirety of his being lit up from within and soaring free.
Derek steered him until the sycamore was against his back. He slotted their hips together and rocked in a way that had Stiles jerking uncoordinatedly until he caught the rhythm. The push and pull of Derek's lips and God, his tongue, as it twined with his own, made Stiles groan desperately.
Everywhere was a tingle of electric sparks; to the hand under his shirt running up and down his side, to the squeeze of fingers against the back of his head, to the hips rolling into his own thrusts, to the mouth and teeth nipping down his neck to suck on his clavicle.
Stiles bared his neck, tipping his head to the side. "Love you, Derek," he slurred through hitched breath and a drawn-out moan. "Love you so much."
Derek's answer was to bite down gently with human teeth and growl, low and urgent, against Stiles' neck.
Stiles arched up under him and grabbed Derek's head, trying to get him even closer. He needed Derek closer, damn it. Closer. He wasn't close enough. "Der!" he choked out.
Derek was pressing him into the tree with a hand under his ass, helping him to grind into the increasingly needy rutting. Derek's other hand slipped down to Stiles' jeans and undid his zip, then boldly stroked him through his briefs. Stiles cried out, his dick too confined behind the material, twitching and trying to get to Derek's teasing fingers. The stroking disappeared to the sound of another zipper.
Stiles looked down and his mouth watered at the sight. Derek's dick was framed by his open jeans but hidden by his underwear. While he watched, Derek pulled the elastic down slowly, revealing an uncut head weeping precum down a throbbing veined shaft. Derek pulled the material further down and rested it under heavy hanging balls.
When Stiles risked looking him in the eye, Derek's were shining blue and he couldn't look away as he felt Derek's hands pull his own briefs down and tuck them away the same as his own. Without breaking their gaze, Derek picked up Stiles' hand and placed it on the head of his dick. Stiles immediately closed his fingers around Derek's length and groaned loudly as Derek shut his eyes and fell forward into him.
Their groins met, and Stiles opened his hand, leaving his fingers there, as they started to rock against each other. It was wet and heavy and hard and slick, and Stiles was going to come incredibly fast with the friction and knowledge his dick was slicking alongside Derek's and catching on his foreskin with every thrust.
Derek moved back to kissing Stiles' mouth, which Stiles was wholeheartedly on board with. He coaxed Derek's tongue into a twisting dance, and cupped the back of his head with one hand, pulling and tightening his hold way past anything gentle or even caring, tripping right into possessive and demanding. Derek gave in to him, every pull of Stiles' fingers was answered by growls and Derek opening up under Stiles' questing, reaching, grasp.
Stiles wished his clothes were gone so he could feel Derek all over him, but it was far too late for that as he sucked into Derek's mouth with desperation. His blissful moans were swallowed up by a clever mouth. He didn't stop kissing Derek, breathing harshly through his nose, as he rode the endorphin high of his orgasm, his dick pulsing out over his hand and both of their groins.
After a few more jarring thrusts, Derek groaned and shuddered against him, his own come wetting down Stiles' thighs and making his jeans stick to him. Derek tried to pull away to breathe. Stiles kept his mouth on him and wouldn't let go, coaxing him to keep kissing. Derek managed a quick gasp and accepted Stiles' tongue back in his mouth with an undone groan.
Derek took the lead in the kiss. He managed to gentle the almost frantic mash of their mouths and after a while Stiles was leaning into a gentle soothing glide of lips against lips and Derek's large fingers tracing his cheekbones and jaw.
Derek pulled back with one last soft kiss and opened his eyes. He blinked slowly, his pupils blown wide, lips swollen as he huffed out a breath. He ran a fingertip under Stiles' left eye, brushing away tears Stiles didn't remember shedding, then kissed the fragile skin there, causing Stiles to gasp at the tenderness of the gesture.
Still in the post-orgasm-mind-melt phase, he blurted out, "So that just happened."
Derek dropped his head and snorted into Stiles' neck. The sound travelled directly to Stiles' heart. Derek started kissing his neck again and stopped over the pulse point, alternating sucking and nipping gently on it. Stiles tipped his head back and Derek rewarded him by licking a stripe up his skin.
Stiles sighed in contentment. "This is good," he said, his eyes closed as he ran his clean hand over Derek's back. Derek's mouth was pulling lovely zinging sensations out of him that made him shiver.
Derek was yet to say anything but Stiles wasn't perturbed by it. He was so relaxed and at peace, right where he wanted to be. He ran his fingers through Derek's hair and tugged a little. Derek reluctantly moved away from the impressive hickey that Stiles assumed he was now sporting.
"Hi," Stiles stated.
Derek actually seemed a little worried and, God help Stiles' libido, shy. "Hey."
"You good?" Stiles asked. He ran his hand over the side of Derek's face and back into his hair. His hair was so soft and Stiles was a shameless tactile hussy.
"Yeah." Derek's slight frown deepened. "Are you okay?"
Stiles sighed. "Yes, so don't worry that this shouldn't have happened, okay?"
"But you —"
"Are feeling all kinds of good, so don't worry, Der." Stiles thought it a bit weird that he had to spell it out for him. Surely the joint orgasms were proof enough that a good time had been had by all.
Speaking of which. Stiles grimaced at the mess all over him. He wiped his dirty hand on his jeans. "Wow, I need to clean up. You need to clean up. We both ... huh." He took a moment to be honestly prideful of the fact he'd made Derek Hale come in his jeans like the teenager Stiles had only just stopped being. But being sticky with come was something that needed to be fixed asap so he nodded towards the house. "Shower?"
Derek's eyes flashed at Stiles' question.
Okay, so he hadn't meant it like Derek had taken it, but now he had images of sharing a shower with a slippery wet naked Derek and he was totally on board with that idea. Stiles zipped up carefully, grimacing at the stickiness of his clothes.
"Come on," he said a bit shakily, waiting to take Derek's hand as Derek covered himself back up too.
Derek followed Stiles across the yard and up onto the porch. When Stiles paused at the door, Derek was right behind him, allaying his fears. "Your dad's not home."
Stiles was very thankful for that. "Can you read minds?" he asked Derek, only half joking, as he opened the door.
"No. I just know you," Derek answered.
Stiles turned to him and smiled. "Yeah, you do, don't you?"
Derek's eyes glowed.
Stiles' smile got wider.
***
Sometimes Stiles' brain was his worst enemy. It was also his greatest asset, too, so he never really cursed it too much when it kicked into overdrive and gave him anxiety and other fun-filled issues. But right now, Stiles wished it would shut up, take a break and just be the fuck quiet so he could enjoy this moment.
He'd invited Derek to shower with him. He wanted to be happy, he had been happy about oh-point-two seconds ago. Until he'd turned from the back door with Derek close on his heels, and led the way up the hallway.
When they entered the bathroom, Stiles' body may have been going through the motions; taking off his shirt, turning on the shower, but his mind was whirling along at two-hundred miles an hour. He'd gone from enthusiastically on-board with this situation to slightly panicky.
Derek had been watching him closely, a slight frown lingering and getting more pronounced by the second. Stiles was very aware Derek was scenting him, smelling rising anxiety and confusion.
Stiles didn't feel all that good. His stomach had little cramps and his head was heavy. He jumped when Derek touched his arm.
"Stiles?"
"Yeah. I'm, it's fine, Der." Stiles put his hand under the water spray to check the temperature.
Derek gently turned Stiles towards him. "It's okay, Stiles."
"I'm sorry, Derek, I didn't mean to," he blurted out. Do what exactly? Use Derek to make himself feel good? He felt nauseous.
"Stiles, it's okay," Derek repeated softly and stepped back from him, dropping his hands. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. "I'll wait for you to finish." He turned and left the bathroom.
Stiles' shower was perfunctory and when he sidled into his bedroom with his shirt on and a large towel wrapped around his waist, he couldn't make eye contact. "Shower's free," he mentioned and waited for Derek to leave the room before shutting the door behind him. Stiles then sat on his bed and slowly tapped his fingers on one knee. He turned both hands over and did something he hadn't done for months. He counted his fingers. He knew he wasn't dreaming. He was sure. Positive. But the concern was always there. Always that little lingering doubt.
He counted his fingers again.
Nine. Ten.
Not dreaming.
Just a fuck up. And that, he always knew for sure.
Stiles shook his head, blinked and stood, finding a clean pair of jeans and underwear to put on. He had a distant thought that Derek had no clean pants, but didn't know what to do about that.
Derek's shower was even shorter than his had been and all too soon Derek was opening the door and coming into his bedroom, closing the door and sitting down near him on his bed. The front of Derek's jeans was damp so that answered Stiles' question about clean pants. Stiles watched him in a detached way, letting Derek catch up one of his hands and hold it in his large warm ones.
"Jesus, Stiles, your hand is freezing!" Derek sounded worried.
Would there ever be a time when Derek wasn't worried for him? Or worried about him? He must get tired of it, constantly having to care for the invalid. Scott had been right. Stiles was the invalid. Even now he was fae, he had things wrong with him.
"Stiles!" Derek waved a hand in front of Stiles' face.
"Yeah?"
"You're really starting to worry me, are you okay?"
Stiles made the supreme effort to smile and focus on Derek's face. He patted Derek's hand. "I'm fine," he stressed.
Derek was anything other than convinced.
"Really. Peachy keen. It's all good."
Derek had suspiciously bright eyes.
Stiles' stomach did a little slippery-slope drop, down into his knees. "Derek, I'm sorry."
"No, Stiles. Don't. You were right, what happened wasn't wrong. It was the timing."
"Timing?"
Derek ran a finger over Stiles wrist. He was focusing on the movement, doing it again, so Stiles glanced down. Derek was tracing his finger over a shiny slivery scar. Stiles had another one, almost exactly the same size on the other side. Derek flipped his hand over. Stiles watched Derek's eyes, his eyebrows, his nose and his turned down mouth, as he traced this scar too. If he took Stiles' other hand, he'd find two scars on that wrist as well.
Stiles didn't bother with them. He never traced them like Derek was doing, never looked at them. There wasn't any point. He didn't know why he even had them, the burn mark on his chest had disappeared completely.
"I've wanted," Derek started. He breathed out heavily through his nose. "I should have stopped but I missed you. I'm sorry."
Stiles hadn't anything to say. He'd caused Derek to feel like this. Just by being unable to do the right thing.
There was the sound of the front door opening and both of them stilled.
"Stiles, you home?" his dad called out.
Derek raised a questioning eyebrow. Stiles didn't answer his dad's call.
"Told you, Mel," his dad said, his voice clearer than it should have been. "He's never here when I'm not."
"It can't be as bad as you say it is, Noah." Melissa sighed. "I still refuse to believe it."
They walked down the hall to the living room, in the opposite direction to Stiles' bedroom.
Stiles stood up and moved over to the doorway. It was open slightly, not having fully closed behind Derek. He slowly opened the door wider and quietly walked down the hallway, stopping before the living room. Derek came up behind him, equally as silent.
"I told you, he thinks he's being smart. He hasn't slept in his own bed since he changed. I checked in on him the first night and he wasn't there. He waits until he thinks I'm asleep, then he creeps out the window. I'm pretty sure he sleeps up in that damn tree."
"Okay," Melissa said, slowly.
"At least Scott sleeps in his own bed and is still human enough to do that! Stiles is so different now, it's like I'm looking at a complete stranger half of the time!"
Stiles' dad was obviously working himself up for a big heart-to-heart spill with Melissa. Stiles should move away, leave the house. But a larger part of him wanted to hear this.
"How did you cope when you found out about Scott?"
"It was a big shock." Melissa paused, gathering her thoughts. "But then, I didn't know about all of the supernatural things like we do now."
"Didn't make much difference to me," Stiles' dad said, grimly.
"I suppose not," Melissa agreed.
"Mel, I just," Stiles' dad sighed long and low. "I swear, it isn't Stiles."
Stiles would have backed into the wall if Derek hadn't caught him. He was trying not to breathe, or have a heartbeat. If his heart wasn't beating, it couldn't hurt.
Melissa had made a disagreeing noise at the comment, but Stiles' dad wasn't listening. It was his time to talk. "He's so different, Mel. When we spend time together, I can't understand him. He told me he doesn't want to go back to school. How is he going to have any kind of life without an education?"
"Noah, remember, he's still going through so much, school may have to be put on hold for a while longer. Give him time. It's been only just over a month since he came home."
"You didn't hear him. I just don't understand any of this! Do you know, he went out and purposely changed himself? My son decided to be a ... a creature."
Stiles managed a few steps backwards down the hallway without stumbling over his feet. Derek's eyes flashed blue as he cast a furious look at the living room.
Melissa took her time to answer. "Noah, so help me, if you think your son or mine, or any of their friends have less humanity because of what they are, I will walk out of here and let you deal with this on your own!"
"I don't know what I think! Do I wish none of this was real? Hell, yes! You talk about humanity? My son tells me he can't ever have a normal human life. So what's left of my son, then? Is he still my son? I don't even know."
"You have to know, Noah. Stiles is still your son."
"Is he, really? My heart tells me to love Stiles, to help him, to take care of him. My head tells me that he isn't my son anymore and I can't change that. I feel it every time he acts weirdly or when he shows that damn scary face of his."
Stiles' breath hitched. He placed a hand on the wall for support. There was a sudden roaring in his ears. When Derek took a step towards him, he shook his head once then wished he hadn't because it made the roaring worse. He carefully took a step, still holding onto the wall. He kept going, down the hall, past his bedroom and to his right, coming into the back hallway. He stopped near the back door, opened it and went outside.
"Stiles," Derek whispered softly from behind him.
Stiles stumbled down off the porch, Derek catching him by the shoulder. He held Stiles tight as he swayed and blinked. "I knew, Der, I knew. Not his son. He hates me, Der. I'm sorry, so sorry." Stiles sagged into Derek's chest as he was wrapped up in a tight embrace. Derek held him until he was able to stand on his own, and then continued to hold him until he could breathe with only occasional shortness of breath.
Stiles sniffled and wiped his hand across his eyes and face, stepping away fully. He hugged himself as he lifted his gaze. Derek looked murderous and Stiles was taken aback. Was Derek that angry at him?
"Your dad," Derek growled, "should know better."
Stiles then understood who Derek's fury was directed at. "Derek, no." It wasn't his dad's fault.
Suddenly Derek stiffened and turned to sniff the air. "What is that?!"
Stiles didn't smell anything. His fae abilities didn't include a super sniffer. "What is it?" he asked, casting an eye around the yard as Derek turned in a slow circle, still scenting the air.
Derek snarled. "Someone's been here quite recently."
"Someone we don't know?" Stiles asked, then inhaled quickly, remembering.
"What?" Derek turned to him.
"Someone was here one night, weeks ago." Stiles' heart started to beat faster. "How did I forget that?"
"Did you recognize them? Did they say anything?" Derek seemed like he was about to wolf out into his beta form at any second.
Stiles was feeling a growing sense of dread. "No, I didn't, and then they were gone when I got down. I was up in my tree." He pointed to the topmost branches.
Derek raised an eyebrow at this, but let it go. "What were they doing?" He was still checking out the yard, eyes constantly moving.
"They were watching the house." Stiles walked a little distance away from the porch, and Derek followed him. "What did you smell just then?" he asked.
Derek's top lip curled up in distaste. "It was rotten and ripe. I know it, but I can't place it."
Stiles rubbed at his arms. "Maybe we should go back inside?" He really didn't want to. His dad and Melissa were still in there.
"We don't need to," Derek answered. "You could come over to mine?"
Stiles turned to him to give him a grateful 'hell, yes', when a gentle breeze blew past them. Stiles got a whiff of the smell this time and choked on the memory of it.
Ripe vomit. Bad curry, last smelt in the boot of a car.
He turned around and around, trying to find where the smell was coming from. It clung to him. It was in his hair, on his clothes, his skin.
Derek yelled something and the back door slammed open a few moments later. Stiles' dad and Melissa were there on the back porch, and Stiles stumbled away as his dad jumped down onto the grass and reached for him.
"No!" Stiles cried out, and put his hands up to his face to shield himself. He was shaking. Derek tried to reach him but Stiles danced back, faster than him. He was taking large sharp breaths and couldn't stop. "It's, it's —"
"What?"
"Boot, car," he wheezed out, and shut his eyes against the dots that were obscuring his vision.
There was a shocked silence and then his dad asked, slowly and quietly, "Stiles, are you talking about your kidnapping?"
A desperate noise forced its way out of his throat and Stiles crumpled at the knees onto the grass. The afternoon sunlight was hotter than it should have been against his skin as he leant over, trying to breathe. Derek tried again to move to him, but Stiles stood up just as quickly as he'd fallen, gave a strangled, "No!" and held out his hands to ward him off. He felt the sunlight tingle across his open palms. He tried to make sense of the jumble of thoughts in his head. "One," he said softly, and ticked off a finger. "Two, three."
Melissa said, "Oh, Stiles," in a heartbroken tone.
He kept going. He got all the way up to ten.
"Stiles, please." Derek was holding his hand out to him.
Stiles cocked his head and his glamour slid off.
His dad sucked in a devastated breath.
Stiles blinked and tears rushed up, threaten to spill over. He closed his eyes and willed everything away. All his hurt, all his pain. All his guilt. He wanted it gone. When he opened his eyes his breathing was back to normal. When he spoke, he was quiet, withdrawn. "You don't see me, do you, Dad?" He wanted his dad to look at him properly just once, without cringing, without fear, without despair.
"I, can we just ... can you change back, please?" his dad asked, keeping his eyes averted.
Stiles finally broke. There wasn't enough to hold himself together. An idea came to him. A way to help himself. To be free of the hurt.
He must have given away his intentions somehow because Derek yelled out, "Stiles! No!"
Stiles turned his mind into the sunlight and pulled himself through it just as Derek leapt towards him.