FIC: Teen Wolf -- The Old Familiar Sting (3/5)

[the_deep_magic]

Title: The Old Familiar Sting (3/5)
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
For summary and warnings, please see part one
One / Two

Well, at least the “Stiles in his bed” part (or, more accurately, “Derek in Stiles’ bed” part) was real.  If either of them had moved in their sleep, they’d moved back in the night, so that Stiles was still at Derek’s back, limbs wrapped around him like a monkey’s.   There was also, however, the issue of Stiles’ morning wood pressed perilously close to the crack of Derek’s ass and the faint scent of his arousal in the air.  But Stiles was completely still – for once – and his grip was loose enough for Derek to slip out with only an unconscious noise of protest from a sleeping Stiles.

It was at least past sunrise this time, but still early, and Derek wanted to let Stiles sleep in.  He’d barely slept more than Derek had over the past two nights, and it would start to take its toll pretty soon.  So Derek declined to cook breakfast, instead just helping himself to one of the protein bars in the cupboard (Stiles even knew what flavor Derek liked – when did that happen?) and preparing to work out.

It had been a while – no use, really, wondering how long – since Derek had worked out.  Long enough that his muscles started to burn much earlier than usual, enough that the soreness built up faster than his body could heal it.  Still, it felt good, pushing himself like this, further grounding himself in his body.  He quickly lost himself in it like he used to, the rest of the world and his own thoughts fading away.

He was on the floor doing crunches, grunting with effort after too many idle weeks, when he became aware of a second heartbeat in the room, going almost as fast as his own.  He rolled up to his feet to see Stiles standing there in faded pajama bottoms that hung too low on his hips and some superhero t-shirt or other, his eyes wide.

Derek was used to people staring at his body, but for some reason it was gratifying to be able to keep Stiles quiet without saying a word or laying a hand on him.  He let it go on for a second, watching Stiles’ cheeks get pinker and pinker, until Derek finally asked, “Need something?”

“Um, breakfast?” Stiles squeaked.  “Yes, that.  What would you like?  For breakfast.  Which I will make.  In the kitchen.”

For the first time in a long time, Derek bit back on a genuine laugh.  “I’m set.  Make yourself whatever you want.”

He passed Stiles on his way to the stairs and got a whiff of arousal, stronger than it had been in bed earlier that morning.  By the time Derek got out of the shower, it was almost 11:00 – he must’ve been working out for hours.  He toyed with the idea of going back downstairs damp and shirtless, just to see the look on Stiles’ face, but ultimately decided it wasn’t fair to toy with him, especially considering their middle-of-the-night conversation.

Derek wasn’t ready to face those repercussions yet, even if the nightmares had been greatly reduced when he finally got to sleep.  He worried it was a fluke and forced himself not to get his hopes up.  He’d been experiencing some kind of delirium last night – that was the only reason he could think of for telling Stiles things he’d never even said aloud.  He was just now realizing the immensity of all he’d revealed while so exhausted and addled and wrapped tight in warm, surprisingly strong arms.

So Derek was a little wary walking into the kitchen, but the attitude was hard to maintain while watching Stiles stuff his face with pancakes.  He looked up, cheeks bulging and a little startled, at Derek.  “I’m calling this brunch,” he said after he’d swallowed

Derek slid on to the stool across from him.  “So, what did you have planned for today?”

Stiles stared down at his pancakes.  “Did you want to go see Isaac or Boyd?  You don’t have to tell them anything if you don’t want to.”

Derek balked at that, and not just because, despite the shower, they’d be able to smell Stiles all over him.  They’d be able to smell Stiles all over the apartment, come to think of it, but Derek would deal with that if he had to.  No, he still didn’t feel ready to face them, and felt extra raw after last night.  “Not… not yet.”

Stiles just shrugged.  “Okay, what did you want to do?”

“I get to pick?”

“Well, you haven’t taken it upon yourself to remind me in a while, but I am not, in fact, the boss of you.”

“You’d never know it,” Derek muttered, without bitterness and mostly to himself.

“Any ideas?”

Before Derek could think better of it, he said, “We could drive out to the coast.”

Stiles grinned, and Derek had to struggle not to squirm in his seat at the sight of it.  “Sounds good.  I’m driving, though.”

“Not my car, you’re not.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Did I say that?  No.  I know the majestic Camaro is sacrosanct.  Even though you let Scott drive her.”

“That was one time, and it was an emergency.”

“Still: Scott.  Scott has troubling operating a Schwinn.”

It was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes.  “Werewolf senses.”

“Do not translate into knowing how to drive a stick shift.  And you don’t get to use ‘werewolf’ as a justification for everything.”

“Actually, I kind of do.”

“Fine,” Stiles said, squinting.  “Go make me a soufflé using your werewolf senses.”  He wiggled his fingers in the air.  “Nice and fluffy.  You’ve got all the ingredients.  Get to it.”

“You don’t even know how to make a soufflé,” Derek countered.

“As it happens, I do.  But you objected so strongly to Egyptian cotton sheets that I’ve decided to introduce you to the finer things in life slowly.  We should probably work on the huge-ass hole in your living room wall first.”

“As opposed to the huge asshole in my kitchen?”  Stiles gleefully flipped him off.  “Fine, fine, you were right about the sheets,” Derek sighed.

Stiles licked his finger and made an imaginary tally mark in the air.  Derek absolutely did not stare at his mouth.  “Weren’t we going to the coast?”

“Oh, right.  Swimming or no swimming?”

Derek hesitated.  He’d never loved being in the water, even before being paralyzed by the kanima and thrown in a pool.  “You can swim if you want.”

“Eh, maybe,” Stiles said, his mouth full of pancakes again.

&&&

Stiles talked for most of the three-hour drive to the coast.  While not ideal, it was infinitely preferable to Stiles’ music, which did nothing so much as make Derek feel old – is this what the kids are listening to these days?  Derek hadn’t paid much attention to music trends over the last few years, but surely the stuff he had listened to as a teenager had been infinitely better in quality, hadn’t it?

At the thought, Derek groaned and let his head thump against the passenger window.

Stiles immediately pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and shook Derek’s shoulder.  “Hey.  You okay over there?”

When Derek looked up, there was genuine concern in Stiles’ eyes.  Well, he guessed he hadn’t really given Stiles any warning, and considering what he’d been going through the past few days…  “Yeah, fine, sorry.  I was just having a… moment?”

Stiles heaved a sigh.  “Well, the next time you decide to have a ‘moment’ with yourself in my car—” he must’ve suddenly realized how that sounded, because he immediately flushed pink “—try not to make it look like you’ve just passed out.  I don’t have anything in my first aid kit for swooning werewolves.”

“Your concern is touching,” Derek groused, even though it was, kind of.

Stiles grunted and pulled back onto the highway, but it didn’t take long before he’d resumed his monologue on the myriad of problems with hiring a British actor to play Superman.

He quieted down once they neared their destination, though, and instead of a beach, they pulled into the parking lot of a state park.  It wasn’t terribly crowded, considering it was summer; all the action must have been at the public beaches.

There were some decent walking trails, and while Stiles seemed intent on verbally cataloguing every form of wildlife listed on the map he’d picked up from god-knows-where, Derek focused on how different the smells were – briny, ocean smells instead of earthy, woodsy scents.   The sounds were different, too, the steady lap of the waves underlying everything else.  The change was a pleasant one; it reminded him to use his senses after having spent far too long cloistered in his apartment.

There was – or at least there had been – an older pack that lived near the coast, though Derek couldn’t say where exactly.  The Hales used to visit them sometimes on vacation.  There were no kids Derek’s age to play with, but he and his siblings used to get into enough trouble all on their own.  His youngest brother once swam out so far that he got caught in a rip tide and Laura had had to swim out and bring him back.  Any of them probably could have done it, but Laura was by far the best swimmer in the family.  She’d wanted to be on the swim team back in high school, but was too competitive and never could hold herself back, so their parents forbade her from joining.  If Derek remembered right, they’d still been fighting about it when the fire happened.

Derek realized he’d stopped walking, and when he glanced beside him, Stiles was gazing at him with wide eyes.  Shit, Derek must have said some – or all – of that aloud.

“I’m sure…” Stiles started, looking like he was unsure if he should continue, but he did.  “I bet she blamed herself sometimes.”

Laura had never said as much, but Derek remembered the early days, when he would walk in on his sister crying.  He’d always wanted to comfort her, but his own guilt ate at him so badly that he usually just ended up sneaking away, retching into the bathroom sink until tears were running down his own face.  And fucking Stiles had to go and bring all that up again.  “It’s not the same,” Derek snapped, striding off down the path without looking back to see if Stiles was following him.

They were practically at the water by the time Stiles caught up with him, panting and sweaty.  “I’m sorry,” he wheezed, hands on his knees as he tried to get air back in his lungs.  “I went too far.”

Derek said nothing, just unzipped Stiles’ backpack and got out his water bottle for him, which of course Stiles drank too fast.

“Don’t choke,” Derek said dryly.  “I can’t exactly speed up your healing process, though I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Augh, no,” Stiles gasped, slowing down on the water.

They’d come out of the treeline onto a rocky shore, and they must have been walking for longer than Derek thought, because the sun was just beginning to set.  He picked his way over to a flat, sun-warmed rock and sat, not saying anything but leaving room for Stiles.

Stiles practically collapsed beside him, digging around in the backpack.  “I have some snacks in here if you’re hungry.  We can get real dinner on the way home.”

“I could eat,” Derek said, and was promptly handed a tiny Quaker granola bar, s’mores flavor.  “What the hell is this?”

Stiles looked at him flatly.  “It’s a granola bar.”

“It has chocolate and marshmallow bits in it.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles said, biting into his own with a flourish.  “That’s what makes it taste good.”

“That’s what makes it dessert.”

Stiles shrugged.  “The healthy ones taste like cardboard.  We’ve been walking all day and you have that werewolf metabolism, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to use ‘werewolf’ as an excuse.”

Stiles jabbed Derek sharply in the ribs with his elbow.  Thus began an elbow war that Derek could’ve easily won, but he let Stiles get in a few more pokes – and finish swallowing his granola bar – before knocking him clean off the rock.

“Un-fucking-fair,” Stiles grumbled, picking himself up and dusting off the sand before realizing that Derek had spread himself out completely across the rock.  “If you think I won’t sit on you, you have been severely misinformed.  Even Scott’s werewolf spleen is no match for my bony ass.”

Derek decided to be charitable and move over to give him some sitting room.  He didn’t quite scoot over as much as he could have, though, and Stiles had to sit pressed against him to get both butt cheeks on the rock.

Together they watched the sky flare into shades of pink and orange.  Miraculously, Stiles was silent, and while his head wasn’t exactly resting on Derek’s shoulder, he was definitely leaning into him more than he needed to.  Derek knew that they’d need to go soon – the walk back would be quicker without Stiles pretending to be a BBC documentarian, but the path wasn’t lit.

Slowly, Derek became aware that Stiles was no longer leaning against him and watching the sunset, but was watching him instead.  Derek turned, intending to point out to Stiles that werewolves didn’t have the patent on creepy staring, but Stiles’ face was so earnest – and so close to Derek’s.  It would’ve felt more unnatural to back away than to close the few inches between them and kiss Stiles.

It was a soft, chaste kiss, an unhurried one, and Stiles was only frozen with surprise for a split second before he reciprocated.  Derek felt warmth suffuse his belly as Stiles’ nose bumped gently against his own.  After what seemed like a long time and no time at all, Stiles sighed and rubbed his lips lightly against Derek’s before moving away.

All the warmth drained away when Derek saw the shock on Stiles’ face, but before Derek could say anything, Stiles pressed his fingers to Derek’s lips.  “Don’t apologize,” he said softly.  “It’s okay if you’re sorry, but I’d rather not hear it.”

Derek was at such a loss for words that Stiles had zipped up his backpack and was heading back up the beach before Derek could say anything – even if he had known the right thing to say.

&&&

The drive back was nearly silent, but only mildly uncomfortable.  They got drive-through cheeseburgers and ate them in the car, Stiles only giving Derek a half-hearted threat not to get ketchup on the upholstery.  The radio was set on some classical station, and Derek was very nearly lulled to sleep by the quiet rumble of the car, but sleeping was the last thing he wanted to do.

Trying desperately to keep his mind off the kiss, he kept thinking about how Stiles had brought up the idea of Laura blaming herself, how angry it had made Derek… and how quickly the anger faded away.  It should have had him stalking back to the car, leaving Stiles far behind on the trail, but instead he’d continued on to the beach, and by the time Stiles had caught up – a matter of minutes – Derek’s first impulse was to get Stiles his water, not strangle him.

It was a little frightening that even now Derek couldn’t even muster up that momentary burst of anger he’d felt.  There was so much he had to be angry about, and at the top of the list was Stiles barging into his life and staging a one-man intervention that Derek still wasn’t completely sure he was on board with.  He used to be able to summon anger as easily as he could shift, but now when he tried, all he felt was a kind of vague despair.  Had the drug taken his anchor away from him, too?

They got back sooner than Derek would’ve thought.  Stiles groaned as they walked the stairs up to the loft, muttering to himself about being so out of shape that practice, which had stopped until school began in the fall, was probably going to kill him when lacrosse season came around again.

“Do you mind if I crash on your couch for a few?  I swear I’m gonna go shower and I don’t have any sand on me anyway, but I just need a couple minutes to not be driving or going up stairs.”

“Driving?” Derek asked incredulously.

“Hush.  It’s taxing,” Stiles replied as he flopped onto the couch, arms spread over the back and legs splayed out in front of him.  He closed his eyes and groaned as he let his head rest back against the cushions.  Baring his throat.

Derek turned on his heels and went to the kitchen, not really hungry but unable to stand there and watch Stiles like that, spread out and vulnerable, his pale skin still pink from the sun.  Derek downed an entire glass of water and started back out toward the living room – they were going to have to talk about what to do tonight, the sleeping arrangements.  But then Derek realized the subject of the kiss would probably come up, and spun back around to go back to the kitchen and… alphabetize the canned vegetables or something.  No, that was stupid, better to get it over with now.  Derek got a step further than he had before, but ended up turning back.

“Dude, I can hear you pacing,” Stiles said, not moving a muscle.  “Don’t even need werewolf ears.  You’re about as stealthy as an indecisive rhinoceros.”

Derek ran his hands through his hair and steeled himself as he walked back around the couch to sit on the small space that Stiles wasn’t currently occupying.  Stiles turned his head toward Derek and opened his eyes, and the sight of it struck Derek right in the sternum.  Stiles’ eyelids drooped a little, his long eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheekbones, and his drowsy, slightly-unfocused eyes were a warm, inviting amber.  Derek swallowed hard and tried to remember what they were supposed to talk about.

“I understand if you want to pretend it didn’t happen,” Stiles said lightly, not even sounding annoyed or resigned.

Derek didn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it, either.  It was just that the timing could hardly be more wrong.  Stiles was so young and Derek was supposed to be more of an adult than this.  And he didn’t want Stiles to think it was mere gratitude for the last few days, because it was… well, it was something Derek couldn’t name.  Something that had just felt so right in the moment – still felt right to remember it – but that moment shouldn’t have happened yet.  Derek couldn’t even begin to think how to word all that without it sounding like an apology.

Stiles smiled sleepily.  “Yeah, here’s where your ‘not talking about it’ thing comes in handy.  Just wanted you to know that it was…  It’ll just be a really good memory to have.”  He laughed softly.  “On the beach at sunset with an incredibly gorgeous guy.  Couldn’t have scripted a better first kiss if I’d tried.”

“That was your first kiss?” Derek asked before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice still maddeningly calm but his heart rate increasing slightly.  Not the sudden skip of a lie, but the rush of embarrassment.  “Thanks for the genuine surprise, by the way.  Don’t get that a lot.”

“I’m not sorry,” Derek said suddenly, but then didn’t know how to follow it up.  But you’re seventeen.  But I don’t know if I’d be ready for this anyway.  But I’ll only end up taking you down with me.

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip.  “That’s… something, I guess.”

He didn’t push any further, which seemed like a minor miracle.  Still, there were things they did need to talk about.  “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“What do you want to do?”

Derek closed his eyes and sighed.  He was fairly certain that it had been Stiles’ presence in his bed that had kept the nightmares to a minimum.  But that was a bad idea not just for the obvious reasons, but also because Stiles would be gone in a few days.  Derek couldn’t reasonably expect a high schooler to fall asleep next to him every night, to be there if he did wake up in fear.

The thought of that fear made the anxiety he’d been holding off flood back into him, and he remembered the drug – he’d forgotten it today, actually forgotten about it while they’d been out.  He was finally able to admit to himself that he had a problem; that was supposed to be the first step, but Derek never could do things the right way.  The desire for the quick fix hit him like a brick wall and he could feel his hands wanting to tremble again.  Okay, so this was the psychological part.  Fuck.

He was snapped out of his daze by Stiles squeezing his knee.  Suddenly he was up and alert, right next to Derek on the couch, smelling of bug spray and sunscreen that could never entirely cover his natural scent.  “Hey, big guy.  What’s going on up there?  Because as obviously gifted as I am, I still can’t read minds.”

“I can’t keep you.”  Oh god, did that actually come out of Derek’s mouth?

Stiles blinked rapidly, but Derek could hear his heartbeat shoot up.  “Um, true.  But how’s about we back up about four or five mental steps there, for my sake.”

Derek groaned and put his head in his hands.  “What I meant was, I think I might be past the physical part of the addiction.  But the thought of the nightmares makes me crave it again, and I’m pretty sure the only reason I’ve been getting through the night is because you’re here.  And you can’t stay forever.”

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly, but looking much less startled.  “But don’t look too far ahead and freak out.  I’m here now.  We’ll figure out what do when the time comes, okay?  But what do you need from me right now, tonight?”

Derek didn’t know whether to laugh or put his fist through a wall, because the simple answer to that question was hold me.  It took him a while to calm down enough to say, “The same as last night, I think,” hoping Stiles wouldn’t make him elaborate.

“Your room or mine?” Stiles asked.

Derek still didn’t want to face his bed, to smell nothing but his own sweat (and cum) on the sheets.  “Yours.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling faintly but genuinely.  “I’m gonna go take that shower now, because even I think I reek.  You go do your— Hey, do you have, like, a manly beauty regimen you do every night?  Because let’s be honest, I could use some tips.”

Derek snorted, as much because Stiles didn’t need a damn thing as because it was a ridiculous question.  “Ask me again when you have facial hair.”

“Hey,” Stiles retorted, poking Derek in the chest.  “I can totally grow facial hair when I want to.  And all three of them are really impressive.”

Derek meant to grab Stiles’ wrist, but what he ended up doing was more like holding it, his thumb against Stiles’ pulse.  “Get in the shower.”

Stiles blew a raspberry and jerked his hand away, and Derek had a moment of disappointment before he realized he was going to have to deal with another night in bed with Stiles.  Paradoxically, he was dreading how much he was looking forward to it.  He could control his body’s reactions – he wasn’t so worried about that – but sleeping with the comfort Stiles’ warm, lean body pressed against his, Stiles’ scent soaking his sheets…  Derek feared he was trading one psychological addiction for another.

Derek was already in bed, pretending to read, when Stiles came back from the shower, smelling like – Jesus – smelling like Derek’s soap, his shampoo.  He was wearing the same t-shirt and pajama pants from the night before, but Derek hadn’t really been looking closely then.  Now he had no choice, and everything about Stiles – his soft, worn clothes, his clean skin, his open expression – just seemed so inviting.

When Stiles got into bed, Derek gave up on the book and went to switch the lamp off.

“You can keep reading for a bit if you want,” Stiles said, vigorously squashing the pillow until it was shaped to his liking.  “The light won’t bother me.”

“No, it’s fine, I was at the end of a chapter anyway.”  It wasn’t technically a lie, since Derek hadn’t really even begun the new chapter.

“You want to be the big spoon tonight?” Stiles asked with a goofy grin, like it was nothing, like it was a conversation they had every night.  Before going to bed.  In the same bed.

“I might smother you in your sleep.”

“You’re not going to accidentally smother me in my sleep.”

“Who said anything about an accident?”

“You’re funny,” said Stiles, settling down with his back facing Derek.  “Like a clown.  Or a trained seal.  Or a cat falling off a—oomph.”

Derek let his arm land heavily over Stiles’ side as he scooted close to, but not quite touching, Stiles’ back.  “Happy?”

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed sleepily.  “You’re like a furnace.”

“You didn’t notice that last night?”

“Last night you weren’t wrapped around me like a blanket.  Speaking of which, just kick the covers down and I’ll be fine.”

Derek did and settled back down.  “This okay?”

“You can get closer, big guy.  The Stiles is for cuddling.”

Derek sighed and pressed himself up against Stiles’ back.  It practically shoved his nose against Stiles’ neck, which put a heavy strain on Derek’s control.  But for once, Stiles was perfectly still.  He wasn’t treating this like something sexual – which it wasn’t, Derek reminded himself – and that made things a little easier.

Still, it took Derek a while to really relax.  The way Stiles was breathing, Derek thought he was asleep, and he felt a pang of jealousy for the ease with which Stiles could just drop off.

But then Stiles took a particularly deep breath and Derek heard Stiles whisper, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Derek whispered.  His breath stirred the short hairs at the back of Stiles neck and Derek could feel him suppressing a shiver.

But Stiles’ voice came out low and even.  “For opening up to me last night.  I know that was big for you.  We never have to talk about it again if you don’t want to, but if you ever do…”

Stiles trailed off and Derek waited, but apparently that was all Stiles had to say.  After a few more minutes, Derek could hear (and feel) Stiles’ heartbeat slow as he fell asleep for real.

Derek lay awake for a long time, though.  He remembered what Stiles had said the night before, though it felt like days ago: think purposefully about good things, concentrate on how they make you feel.  He was willing to try, even if he wasn’t ready to admit to Stiles that he had tried.

So he thought about his family visits to the beach – not the one where his brother almost drowned, but other years.  How good it felt to meticulously create a sand castle, complete with outer walls and turrets and a moat, and then how satisfying it was to pounce on it and destroy the whole thing.  Derek the tried to push out the thought of all the other things he’d destroyed and thought of one of the rare moments when he’d walked into the train depot and found Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all sitting around, talking laughing together.  Moments where Derek felt like he had a real pack.  He thought of all those weeks when he’d known Stiles was sitting just outside his door, and even though that wasn’t exactly a happy time in his life, Stiles’ presence had been just about the only constant, the only person he could count on to be there, whether Stiles talked or not.

It took more than three hours, but eventually Derek did manage to fall asleep.

He didn’t dream at all.

&&&

Derek woke alone in bed, the sheets cool enough for him to know that Stiles had been up for some time.  He looked at the clock – it was nearly noon.  He hadn’t slept that long in… Well, he definitely hadn’t slept that long since moving back to Beacon Hills.  Not while unmedicated, at least.

When he walked out into the living room, he was greeted with the sight of Stiles flopped face down on the couch, appearing to read a book he was holding open on the floor.  “How can you possibly read like that?”

Stiles looked up at him and grinned, and Derek had a fleeting thought that this was something he could stand to wake up to every morning.  “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Stiles said, closing the book around his finger and sitting up properly.  “Also, good morning, yes, I slept fine, thank you for asking.  You?”

Derek was almost afraid to say it out loud, like that would somehow jinx it.  “No nightmares.”

Stiles dropped the book altogether and popped up off the couch, taking a step toward Derek like he was going to hug him.  He seemed to balk, though, and instead just said, “Derek, that’s awesome!  How do you want to celebrate?”

Derek could think of any number of ways to celebrate, particularly with Stiles, but he held them back.  He’d had plenty of time to think last night, and he’d realized there was something he needed to do.  “I want to go visit Erica’s grave.”

The stunned look on Stiles’ face would’ve been hilarious at any other time.  “That… uh… That is not what I was expecting to hear,” Stiles said, far more diplomatically than his usually reaction to surprises.

“I know.  But I know you’ve been going, and I just… I feel like I owe it to her.”

This time Stiles did step forward and put his hand on Derek’s arm.  “It’s totally up to you.”

“You think it’s a bad idea?”

Stiles shook his head quickly.  “Not in itself.  But if you’re just going so you can beat up on yourself some more…”

“That’s not why.  There are just some things I need to say.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling faintly as he squeezed Derek’s arm.  “After lunch, though.  Because I’m starving and you need your meat or protein bars, or whatever.”

Derek rolled his eyes.  “Stiles, you saw me eat falafel two days ago.”

“Still protein, even if it’s deep-fried.”

Just to spite him, Derek made himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

&&&

They took the Camaro this time, Derek driving (obviously).  The silence was entirely comfortable this time, and Derek rolled down the windows as soon as they got to the preserve.  He hadn’t been here in weeks, and the scent of these woods was both soothing and heartbreaking.

Derek parked in front of the house, which seemed stubbornly intent on staying upright long after it probably should have crumbled to dust and ash.  Well, parts of it, anyway.  When they got to Erica’s grave, fresh flowers – probably from Boyd – laid near the simple cairn acting as a headstone, Stiles nudged Derek gently with his shoulder and murmured, “I’m gonna go for a walk.  Take your time.”

After the crunching footfalls let Derek know that Stiles had gone beyond the treeline, he knelt near the headstone.  This was something he hadn’t done before – not with the rest of his family, not with Laura, and certainly not with Peter.  He knew Stiles visited his mom regularly, but Derek had never seen the point in it before, talking to the dead.  He’d never considered the fact that it might actually be for the benefit of the living.

“Erica,” he started, then hesitated, not knowing where to begin.  “I don’t… I’m working on not thinking of this as my fault.  Stiles says you wouldn’t blame me, but I am responsible.  Or I was supposed to be responsible when I brought you into my pack.”

He took a deep breath, not knowing how to word what he needed to say next.  “I know I didn’t tell you everything.  I know I… I took advantage of you while you were in no position to resist.  But I chose you because you were already strong, already a fighter, and I thought you deserved better.  I wanted to give you a body that wouldn’t fail you.  I didn’t even think about the ways I could fail you.”

Derek’s eyes burned with tears.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  You weren’t wrong to want to leave.  You deserved a better alpha.  And I’m going to try to do the best I can for Boyd and Isaac.  And Scott, if he’ll let me.  And Stiles.”  Derek dropped his voice, even though he knew Stiles wasn’t listening.  “You were right about Stiles.  He’s…”  He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t find the words.  But if by some miracle Erica could actually hear him, she’d understand.  “I’ll try to do right by him.  Once I figure out what that is.”

He’d said all he needed to say, but he stayed kneeling by her grave for a long time, until he heard Stiles approaching the house.  Derek rubbed at his eyes before he stood and turned around, but it wasn’t as though he could entirely hide how he felt.

Before he could even make it all the way back to the car, Stiles had Derek enveloped in a tight hug.  Derek felt awkward putting his arms around Stiles’ waist, but Stiles didn’t seem to notice.  “I asked her, once, soon before she and Boyd left,” Stiles said softly.  “If she regretted it.  Taking the bite.  She said she didn’t.”

“That’s what she said?” Derek asked, trying to resist the urge to bury his face against Stiles’ neck.

“Well, that and ‘You should think about it, Stilinski.  It would do you some good.’  And then she slapped my ass on the way out.”

Derek snorted, his body shaking with silent laughter, and soon Stiles was joining him, and he imagined Erica smirking and rolling her eyes at both of them.

The laughter slowly died down, and Derek could hear Stiles swallow loudly.  “Did, um… did you want to say anything to Peter?”

Derek though of the mound of dirt out back, marked with another cairn but not with any flowers.  “No,” Derek said quietly.  “I’ve already grieved for the man he used to be.  Not the thing that’s lying in that grave.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, sounding a little relieved, but he didn’t let go of Derek for a long time.

&&&

The rest of the day passed quickly, though they didn’t do much.  After leaving the old house, they went out for ice cream, which didn’t feel as disrespectful as Derek thought it might when Stiles first suggested it.  Stiles told Derek about everyone in chemistry class fighting to be Erica’s lab partner – apparently, two girls got into an actual, hair-pulling fight – and Derek told Stiles about Erica’s strange insistence that Derek get a cat.

“What would I even do with a cat?” Derek asked as Stiles tried to laugh and swallow a huge spoonful of rocky road at the same time.

“You could have contests to see who could look more disaffected.  Y’know, a disdain-off.   I have to tell you, though, a cat might actually give you a run for your money.”

“I hate cats.”

Stiles grinned.  “Yeah, but I bet they love you.”

“In human form, yes,” Derek sighed.  “Our neighbor in New York used to have a cat.  It never left me alone.  And here I’d almost forgotten what that was like.”  He glared across the table at Stiles, but by now all that did was crack Stiles up.

“Be prepared to wake up tomorrow with me asleep across your face.”

Derek could think of all kinds of inappropriate ways to respond that would make Stiles blush until he burst a blood vessel, but then it reminded Derek of something.  “You have to go back home tomorrow, don’t you?”

Stiles immediately sobered up, though there was still a streak of chocolate on his chin.  “Yeah.  My dad gets home tomorrow afternoon.  I could go see him and try to push for staying at Scott’s for a few more nights—”

“No.  You’ve done enough lying for me.”

Stiles’ face went grim.  “I don’t like it either, but if you need me…”

Derek regretted bringing it up – they would have to have this conversation, but it didn’t need to be here or now.  “Later.  Right now, you look like you lost a food fight with yourself.”  Then Derek licked his thumb and acted like he was going to clean Stiles’ chin with it.

“AAAUUUGH, NOOOO!” Stiles shouted, warding him off with flailing arms until everybody in the place was staring at them.  Stiles blindly grabbed for a wad of napkins and buried his face in them, while Derek just buried his face in his hands and wondered how the hell his life had gotten to this point.

&&&

“You sure?” Stiles asked.

Derek had dreaded the question, because no, of course he wasn’t sure.  God knew what was going to happen after Stiles left, or after the next blow landed.  Because there was always going to be a next one, and one after that.  But Derek had tried this way of coping and he knew what it had done to him, so he said a firm “Yes,” never so glad that Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

Stiles seemed to know anyway and narrowed his eyes a little.

“Fine,” Derek sighed.  “I’m not sure.  But we know I don’t need it physically and… and I’m through with it.  Whatever happens now, I deal with in other ways.”

The small bag of powder was in Stiles’ hand, but he let Derek lift the toilet lid.  After a long, awkward moment, Stiles broke the silence with a rude snort.  “We totally should’ve done this at the beach yesterday.  Way more dignified, not to mention dramatic.  The sun setting in the background and everything.”

“I don’t think I was ready then,” Derek said, which was safer than admitting but then I might not have gotten to kiss you.

“Fair enough,” Stiles said softly, and handed Derek the bag.  “Do the honors?”

Derek’s hand trembled as he took it, and Stiles clasped Derek’s other hand tightly, twining their fingers together.  Derek was so shaken at holding the drug again that he barely noticed the casual intimacy of the gesture.

He didn’t know how long he simply stood there and stared at it, but Stiles didn’t rush him.  Finally, Derek dumped the contents in the toilet, followed by the bag, and flushed before he could think too hard about it.  Stiles immediately gathered him up in a tight hug.  “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.  “You are such a badass, you know that?  You beat this thing faster than I ever thought possible.  And you never actually beat me up in the process, which, thanks for that, by the way.”

Derek buried a pained laugh against Stiles’ shoulder, because he had come perilously close, twice.  But he hadn’t really hurt Stiles.  He’d controlled himself, backed away from his anger instead of centering on it, and that still left him feeling anchorless, but he’d obviously latched on to something.  He was just frightened to acknowledge what that something was.

But it was hard to deny when he was breathing in Stiles’ scent, so pure and undiluted this close up.  He meant to lift his head from Stiles’ shoulder, but his nose only dragged up Stiles’ throat until Derek’s mouth was positioned right at the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw, and it was as necessary as breathing to taste the salt of Stiles’ skin.

Stiles made a soft, surprised noise and turned his face just enough that their lips dragged against each other and Derek’s mind went blissfully quiet, aware only of the moment, nothing before or after.  Stiles was tilting his head, yielding to Derek in a way that made his hands tremble because Stiles never yielded, not in anything.

Derek raised a hand to cradle the back of Stiles’ head and the kiss slowly slid into decidedly less-chaste territory.  Derek couldn’t remember when their mouths had opened, but Stiles’ tongue was pressing curiously against Derek’s, maybe testing what he could get away with, and it was all Derek could do to be patient and let Stiles explore.  There was an unmistakable innocence to the way Stiles pressed in tentatively, but he was quickly gaining confidence.

So Derek was stunned when Stiles once again pulled away first.  Derek should have been grateful; he’d been able to control himself so far, but once he let himself start, he was afraid he wouldn’t know where the breaking point was until he’d passed it.  Still, his heart dropped when Stiles pressed a closed-mouth kiss to the corner of Derek’s lips and stepped back.

But his hands still rested on Derek’s chest, like he couldn’t quite bear to let go just yet.  “Derek,” he said, his eyes sliding shut when his voice cracked.  “We can’t.”

Derek stared at the floor, too ashamed of himself to look at anything but Stiles’ feet.  “I know.”

“It’s not that I don’t—” He heard Stiles take a deep breath.  “I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

That made Derek’s head snap up.  “You think you’re taking advantage of—”

Stiles’ eyes were warm, but pinched with regret.  “You’re doing so well, but you can’t tell me you’re 100% yet.  And whatever you’re feeling, it’s so mixed in with what you’ve been going through over the past few months—”

“You think I’m confused about this?  About what I want?”

Stiles’ eyes darted away.  “Actually, until a minute ago, I thought you wanted to pretend it never happened in the first place.”

“I wasn’t the one who said that.”

“Well, I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it, at least.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Derek blurted out.

“Okay,” Stiles said, his voice steady but his breathing erratic, and Derek had no idea how to interpret that.  “But I think you need some time to sort out your feelings.  I know I definitely do.  And I know this is something you don’t take lightly, so I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”  He slid his hands up to squeeze Derek’s shoulders.  “Or question each other’s motives.”  He smiled, a little sadly.  “I guess it’s not a matter of wanting.”

Derek nodded, wondering how the hell Stiles could be this mature about it when Derek was barely managing it himself.  Well, he supposed Stiles would imply that Derek and maturity were only passing acquaintances, and that would be a hard point to argue.  Still, he had Stiles all to himself for one more night…  “Do you, uh.  Could you still stay with me tonight?  I can control myself.”  Derek wondered if he should admit more, but it came out before he could stop it.  “I’ve been controlling myself.”

Half a dozen emotions flickered across Stiles’ face so quickly that Derek couldn’t catch any of them until Stiles finally landed on a small smile.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’d like that.”  Just as suddenly, he frowned and looked down at his shoes.  “Hey, I haven’t been, like, doing anything… weird in my sleep, have I?”

Derek thought back to that first morning they’d woken up together, Stiles out cold but the heat of his erection pressed lightly against Derek’s back.  “Nope,” Derek said innocently.

Apparently he couldn’t pull off “innocent” so well, because Stiles groaned and covered his face with his hands.  “I’m assuming it wasn’t too traumatic for you, whatever it was.  So just… never, ever tell me.”

Continue to part four.