Certain Kind of Fool

Derek, who has been dragged against his will to the same resort his family visits every summer, is determined to spend the next two and a half months sequestered in his room. His only friend, his sister Laura, is preoccupied with her newly-bonded mate, and doesn't seem to care about anything but making him happy.
When Derek meets Stiles Stilinski, a sharp-tongued waiter, he thinks that this summer might not be a complete waste of time. There are only two problems: First, Stiles is human. Second, he doesn't believe in mates.

Notes:

More "inspired by" Dirty Dancing than a true AU. An exploration of the mate trope, made extra-fluffy by putting these two goons in high school. Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

PART I:

Derek slumps into the sofa that’s been immaculately set for his arrival. Much like he slumped into his spot in the van this morning after he’d slumped into his regular spot for a much too early breakfast.

“I’m too old for this shitty place,” he says as his mother passes by with three suitcases in her arms. His father trails behind, his socks pulled up to his knees and wearing a brown pair of Birkenstocks.

Fuck, his parents are so embarrassing.

Talia raises an eyebrow as she passes by, but it’s Laura who pipes up. “Language, Derek. And stop being a total tool before the summer even starts. Some of us want to be here.”

“Some of us want to bang the lifeguard,” Derek mutters under his breath.

“Bang!” Julie giggles from her hiding spot under the wooden coffee table in the middle of the room.

Laura runs over and scoops Julie up in her arms, nearly tripping over Ben in the process. “Not in front of the baby,” she hisses. She turns to smile at Julie, her face suddenly brilliant. “Derek is a grump!” she coos. “He’s just mad because he doesn’t have a mate.”

“Hasn’t found his mate,” their father pipes in from the kitchen. “Let’s not be cruel.” He proceeds to stick up weird stick figures that Julie keeps bringing home from preschool all over the fridge while their mom exchanges all the complimentary soda with her weird organic milk. Derek rolls his eyes and starts counting down the minutes until this summer is over.

“Derek, don’t you think it’s a little early for the Play Station?” His mother walks into the same room he’s been using every summer since they started coming here, and deposits Ben on his bed. It takes three seconds for a huge glob of spit to land on his leg.

“You said I had to come, and I’m here. This agreement didn’t include anything about me leaving this room.”

“You used to love it here,” Talia says, keeping Ben from rolling onto the floor. “You and your sister would have so much fun.”

“Yeah, well, Laura’s an Alpha in Training now.”

His mom leans out to run her fingers through his hair, making Derek completely wipe. Sighing, he sets the controller down. “I’ll bring the baby to the pool,” he says. He winces as another river of drool trickles down his forearm.

“What a lovely idea,” Talia says, as if that wasn’t her entire game plan. “You two have fun!”

After changing the baby – also part of his mother’s scheme, he’s sure – they set off through the familiar brambles to one of the club’s three pools. He stays away from where he knows Laura is sidled up beside Sebastian; he sees enough of that crap from his parents, and he can’t deal with anymore of her condescension. She met Sebastian halfway through last summer, and Derek had heard enough of his views on Werewolf Politics and The Importance of Interpack Relationships to last a fucking lifetime.

Ben, who’s strapped into his carrier, doesn’t seem to share Derek’s complete distaste for Silver Birches. Instead, he stares around the acres of carefully manicured forest with wonder. Derek’s not sure what’s so impressive, considering they have an entire preserve to themselves back in Beacon Hills, but he guesses that’s babies. Must be nice to be so damn excited about everything.

“Dadada,” Ben babbles, pointing at a squirrel that’s racing ahead of them on the path.

Derek mumbles something encouraging and then leaves him to his open-eyed wonder, choosing this time to carefully map out the next six weeks. He still can’t believe that he’s spending his summer in this wifi-free wasteland when Cora and Daniel are in France. They get to go to Amsterdam on the weekend; he gets to go to Meringue classes and watch the instructor try to feel up his mom’s ass. He should have taken a stupid French elective when he had the chance; at least there was Internet access at French camp.

They’re about halfway to the pool when a strange scent catches Derek’s attention. He stops suddenly, and Ben squeals with laughter. “Shhhh, Ben,” Derek whispers. The scent is faint, but distinct. There’s no way that he could be wrong. He steps off the path and into a copse of thick trees. Stray twigs brush at his arms and he shields the baby’s face until they stumble into a small clearing.

There’s a guy about Derek’s age standing near the edge of the tree line on the opposite side.

Derek stops, stunned. The guy is currently dancing on the spot, with a t-shirt pulled over his head and a backpack full of random crap spilling out on the ground behind him.

He’s also human.

“Dada!” Ben shrieks, scenting the air. Derek’s pretty sure he’s never seen a human before. He can’t even remember the last time he’d seen one. A couple of the packs his mother dealt with kept humans, but Derek’s mom wouldn’t hear tell of it. She’d even petitioned to abolish segregated schools, back in her Hippie stage, before she had two new infants and an elected position and Constituents to worry about.

The guy – the human – falls to the ground with a small yelp.

Derek stifles a grin, wondering what it’s like to just stand there and have no idea that there’s someone twenty feet away from you. How disorienting those dull senses must make life.

“What the fuuuuuahhh, I mean excuse me,” the human babbles, once he meets Derek’s eyes. “I was running late, I had to change.”

Derek crosses his arms. “They don’t have change rooms for that?”

“Yeah, human change rooms,” the guy says, hastily buttoning a white shirt. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”

Derek’s face darkens and the human scrambles to save face. “Look, dude.” He takes a deep breath and starts over. “I’m very sorry Sir, I was running late. I really appreciate my job here, so I’d really like it if you didn’t report this, but I understand if you feel you need to do so.”

“Report you?”

“Da!” Ben screams.

The human looks like he’s contemplating suicide with a tree branch. “Look,” he says, walking over. “Are you going to file a complaint or not?”

Closer, Derek can see the dark circles under this guy’s eyes. He’s skinny and his heart’s completely out of whack, even though he seems perfectly fine. There’s a lingering smell of cigarettes and vodka clinging to his hair.

“Don’t you know that every wolf here is going to be able to smell the cigarettes and booze? Not that I care, but I don’t really think that’s what the Country Club crowd is looking to inhale this early in the morning.”

“Fuck!” Ben giggles again and the human freezes. “I mean, shoot!” He groans and tilts his head at the sky. “Look,” he says, his shoulders slumping. “Are you going to report this or not? Because if you are, I’m just going to go straight home from here. I don’t know how I’ll explain losing this job to my dad, but at least I’ll get to sleep until he gets home.”

Derek doesn’t owe this guy anything. If anything, he should be pissed about some human being so flippant with him. But all he can think of is how much this guy would piss off Sebastian, and by turn, Laura.

“Tell me your name.” The words are out before he can even think about why he’s saying them.

“What?” The human looks pissed now, and Derek refuses to back down.

“You want me to keep my mouth shut, tell me your name.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” the guy mumbles under his breath. Either he’s a complete idiot or he really doesn’t want to keep this job.

“Well?”

Though it looks like it’s costing him a great deal, the guy must decide that appeasing Derek is worth it if it means keeping his job. “Stiles,” he grits out between clenched teeth.

“Stiles,” Derek repeats back. He didn’t pick up a lie, but the guy’s – Stiles’ – heartbeat doesn’t follow a normal rhythm. It’s…twitchy, kind of like him.

“Yeah, Stiles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a manager to grovel in front of.” He sprints across the clearing and grabs the backpack.

“Stiles,” Derek repeats once he and Ben are alone again.

“Da!” Ben agrees, happily gumming a finger that Derek left within range.

The price of avoiding Laura and Sebastian means hanging out by a pool that’s populated by middle aged werewolves who salivate over his mother and keep eyeing him like he’s a banquet spread. Hoping that this will fulfill his quota of family activities for at least a week, he dunks Ben down in the cool water.

While Ben happily splashes and blows spit bubbles Derek is distracted by a commotion by one of the sun shelters.

“If this is the kind of service you’re offering, then I’m afraid that my husband and I will have to take our business elsewhere!”

Veronica Smithson – a woman Derek vaguely recognizes from some charity something or other he’s had to attend with his mother – is brandishing a martini glasses like it’s a weapon and looking at the serving boy with undisguised disgust. It takes Derek a second, but he realizes with a jolt that the serving boy who’s currently staring at the ground like he wants it to swallow him whole is Stiles. Derek wades a little closer; his view is obstructed by an old dude in floaties.

Seriously, what kind of werewolf never learns to swim? May as well be a useless –

The word human dies in Derek’s mind as he gets another glimpse of Stiles’ face. He looks devastated. Well, he also looks pissed off and frazzled, but Derek is guessing that those are more of his default setting.

“I told her that I don’t make the drinks,” Stiles is saying as the manager looks helplessly on at Mrs. Smithson. Derek’s nose curls as he takes in her perfectly curled hair and expensive bathing suit; he can’t believe that this is the kind of person Laura wants to become. Dig-for-earthworms-Laura, who-gives-a-shit-about-how-often-you-smile-Derek-Laura, champion-of-rabid-omegas-Laura is soon to be designer-swimsuit-Laura and schmoozing-with-rich-voters-Laura. It makes him so goddamn angry.

“And I told him that his attitude will quickly get him fired,” Mrs. Smithson answers, her nostrils flaring. “I don’t care why my drink is made improperly, only that it is.” She edges away from Stiles and addresses the nervous manager. “Don’t you think that there are enough unemployed young werewolves who could benefit from a job like this?” Her eyes narrow, and Derek is sure if he concentrated he could hear the manager starting to wet himself.

“I, ma’am,” he fumbles. “I will personally bring you a new drink.”

“What I think,” Mrs. Smithson begins, when Derek makes a decision.

He jumps out of the pool, pulling a shrieking Ben along with him. “Veronica,” he says smoothly, trying his best for a charming smile. From the look on Stiles’ face he isn’t quite pulling it off.

Veronica spins, ready to launch into whoever’s intruding, but when she sees Derek she stops short. “Derek,” she purrs, reaching out to rub her hand over his bicep. “When did your family arrive?”

“A few hours ago.” Derek surreptitiously pulls back, trying his best not to make a face. Again, judging by Stiles’ expression he’s up shit creek. “My mother was looking for someone to have cocktails with,” he adds hastily, hoping that she’ll take the bait.

“Talia is – really?” Veronica says, too busy preening to realize that if Talia Hale wanted to have cocktails she would very well walk out and do so. “And you’re in the same – ”

“Cottage as always,” Derek finishes. “The Moonrise Estate.”

“Of course.” Veronica wraps a sequined sarong around her bathing suit and slips into her glittery sandals. “It’s lovely to see you again, Derek,” she says, and then walks away without acknowledging Stiles or the manager.

Ben babbles a suitable goodbye, saving Derek from answering. He settles for scowling at her retreating figure and then turns to the manager, who’s started to regain a bit of his color.

“Mr. Hale,” he starts, but Derek cuts him off.

“I’m sure this was just a misunderstanding,” he says, raising an eyebrow. He lowers his voice to a near-growl. “Everything is fine now.”

“Yes, Sir. Everything is fine.” He scampers off out of the pool area, and Stiles turns to Derek, his face mutinous.

“Are you stalking me?” he whispers, looking around to see if anyone is paying attention.

“Stiles, was it?” Derek says mildly. “I need a towel for my brother, if you could just show me where they are.”

They set off toward the abandoned linen tower, with Stiles looking positively murderous. Honestly, he’s going to have to learn to keep his facial expressions under control if he wants to keep this job. “Look,” he says in a low hiss, “I get that you’re like Werewolf Royalty or something, and I’m just some low-life human, but that doesn’t mean that you can just butt into my business.”

“I was saving your ass. Don’t you think you should be thanking me?”

“Thanking you?” Stiles’ face twists, but it’s hard for Derek to take him seriously. What’s he going to do? Ben could probably take him on and win. “For what, distracting Tweedleditz for an hour? She’ll be back tomorrow, and probably more pissed off than ever.” He reaches into the linen tower and hauls out a towel, shoving it into Derek’s hand. Ben picks up the corner and stuffs it in his mouth happily.

“Look,” Derek says, starting to feel a little guilty. “I understand that – ”

“You understand nothing,” Stiles says lowly, his voice cracking with anger. “You have a membership to the most exclusive club on the west coast, people fawn over you like you’re some sort of celebrity, and you probably haven’t had to work for a damn thing in your entire life. You think I don’t see a hundred broody wolves just like you, thinking it’s such a hardship enduring your existence. Now if you really want to help me, then you’ll leave me alone.”

“I – whatever,” Derek says, rubbing the excess water from his brother’s hair and then tossing the towel in one of the many laundry baskets. He turns without another word and sets off in the direction of his cabin, praying to anyone who might be listening that his mother and Veronica Smithson have already left.

Derek’s just settled into bed with a copy of Oryx and Crake when his father does his little four-beat knock on his door. “Come in,” he sighs, knowing what’s coming.

When his dad walks in, Derek seriously wonders about the whole concept of mates. Sure, having someone that you’re predestined to love and who makes you feel complete seems like a great idea, but seriously, his mother and father couldn’t be less alike if they tried. His dad is sporting a bright orange t-shirt with a picture of Julie on the front that she made in preschool earlier this year, old bike shorts that have seen better decades, and a Smokey the Bear bucket hat. As always, his socks are pulled all the way up and he’s switched out his Birks for a pair of old plastic sandals. Still, he’s smiling as if Derek’s disgruntled expression is the best thing he’s seen all day, and his hands are laden down with marshmallows and chocolate and there’s a guitar strapped to his back, and Derek smiles for the first time since they got here. He gets up without a word and follows his father out back.

“Where’s Laura?” Derek pokes at the logs with a piece of kindling, trying to get the fire to blaze. His mother is busy whittling a stick long enough for Julie to use and his dad is plucking individual strings and watching Ben dissolve into giggles with each one. “This is family bonfire night, isn’t it?”

“Your sister will be here,” his dad says, looking unconcerned.

As Julie runs over toward her father and brother, Talia comes to take a seat by Derek. “Veronica told me she ran into you at the pool today.” Derek was expecting this – both the discussion and the oozing, black feeling of hatred for Veronica that seeps out uncontrollably. He can feel his eyes flash golden, and his mom presses her hand into his.

“It’s going to be a long summer if you cannot control your anger, Derek.”

He looks up, sheepish, and meets her eyes. They spark red for an instant, and though he feels better, he’s also ashamed that he still needs the help. He’s not some pup, like Julie, who wolfs out every time she has to get in the bathtub.

“Did you know he was going to be here?” Derek doesn’t bother telling her about Stiles – he knows that she already knows. He shouldn’t be surprised; she knows everything.

“Mr. Washburn called me before he hired Mr. Stilinski to ask for my opinion.”

“You mean your permission.” Derek kicks at a patch of grass, unwilling to look at his mother.

“Yes,” Talia says simply. “He wanted my permission.”

“And you gave it.” Derek supposes that’s something, even if it’s bullshit. He knows his mother stills cares, he just wishes she would do more.

Talia smiles. “I figured how much trouble can one human boy cause?”

Derek thinks of Stiles’ flashing eyes, of his fuck-you attitude. “I think you’d be surprised.”

“Are you talking about that Stilinski kid?” Laura plops down beside Derek, reeking of chlorine and Sebastian.

Talia notices Derek’s expression and stifles a laugh. “You could have showered, sweetheart.”

Laura flushes, but she looks more blissed out than embarrassed. It’s gross. “I’m sorry, I was running a little late.”

“Young love,” their father says from across the fire. “Worth the price of chlorine, n’est pas?”

“I vote no,” Derek grumbles, but he’s cut off by the sound of Julie flinging herself toward Laura. Ben bumbles along behind her, crawling about a millimeter a minute in the cool grass.

“You should stay away from that Stilinski kid,” Laura continues, once she scoops Julie up. “Seb told me he was bad news.”

“Oh, well Seb told you,” Derek bites, wishing already that Laura had just skipped the fire altogether. He’d certainly have a better time without her here.

“Come on, Derek. Can’t you just listen for a change?”

“Right, because you’re going to be the Alpha one day, so everything you say goes.”

“Man, I wish you would stop with that already.” Laura huffs and grabs a marshmallow from the bag beside her feet. She picks off tiny pieces and lets Julie nibble them from her fingers. “I don’t know if you’re jealous, or…”

“Jealous?” Derek snorts and feels vindicated at the flash of hurt on Laura’s face. “I think we all know that Ben would make a better alpha than I would.” Ben smiles at the sound of his name, but Derek’s too pissed to care. “And maybe he’d make a better one than you, if you’re just going to judge people based on what Sebastian says rather than getting to know them yourself.”

“So what, you’re a Stilinski expert now?” Laura asks, setting Julie down.

“Laura,” David says, trying to stop another fight from erupting. Talia just looks on, content as always to let them work through things themselves.

“Oh right, take Derek’s side,” Laura snaps at her father. “He doesn’t give a shit about humans, he’s just going to go against Sebastian no matter what.”

“You don’t know anything about what I care about,” Derek says, getting up and brushing stay bits of ash from his shorts. “Not anymore.”

Laura grabs for his arm, but Derek flings her away with a snarl. Her eyes flash yellow, but she lets him go.

To his surprise no one follows him inside, and he can hear them asking Laura about Sebastian, and how he spent his last few weeks of Senior Year as clearly as if he were still sitting beside them. He throws on a pair of headphones to tune them out, and picks up his book. His stomach grumbles – he really should have made some s’mores before Laura showed up – but he refuses to even go as far as the kitchen.

He’s about four chapters in when he hears Laura coming up the hallway. She knocks on his door, but doesn’t wait for him to answer before letting herself in.

“I’m not in the mood, Laura,” he says, flinging both the book and the headphones on his desk.

Laura doesn’t say anything, just holds out a s’more and perches in his computer chair. The marshmallow has been toasted black and then peeled, just the way Derek likes it, and there’s an extra piece of dark chocolate. He takes a bite, trying to ignore Laura’s smile as he does so.

“I wish you’d stop being so mad at me,” she says quietly.

Derek swallows. “I wish you would act like yourself.”

“I am myself, Derek.” Laura bites her lip, and he can tell she’s close to tears.

“It’s like you can’t even have an independent thought without waiting for Sebastian to weigh in,” Derek continues. “He’s such an asshole.”

“He’s not an asshole. He’s just not like you.”

“Yeah, well I don’t get the appeal.” He takes a breath, trying his best to hold back, but he can’t help it. He just doesn’t understand. “What do you guys even have in common? I just don’t get it.”

“I don’t think it’s something you can get, Der.” Laura smiles, and picks up a photo of the seven of them at Laura’s graduation a few weeks ago. Their mom looks regal, as always, in a blue dress and an updo that almost made them late, and their dad is wearing glasses with progressive lenses and has his camera bag hanging around his neck like some sort of tourist and is holding a neon sign that says “Laura Hale for President 2024”. “Look at mom and dad.”

Derek grunts, unwilling to admit that he’d been thinking exactly the same thing earlier that evening.

“Look,” Laura says, “if this really is about that human kid that’s working here, then I’m sorry I made you mad.” She pauses, twisting a strand of her hair carefully. “But do you really think you’re going to be like…friends with him?”

“No,” Derek says. He remembers the flash of Stiles’ brown eyes and feels something twist, low in his gut. “I don’t know. Who cares if I did?”

“Everyone,” Laura says. “Everyone would care, and no one would be happy about it.”

“Dad wouldn’t care,” Derek says quickly. He’s pretty sure his mother wouldn’t either, but he’s not sure. It’s kind of her job to care.

“Just leave him alone,” Laura says, standing and sticking her hand out for him to take. “It’s safer for him that way.”

Derek hears the strum of his Dad’s guitar, and the opening notes of the first of many embarrassing campfire songs he’s going to be forced to sing tonight.

“Fine,” Derek mutters. “I’ll leave him alone.”

Laura doesn’t comment on the skip of his heartbeat. She just smiles and trips him up before taking off for the backyard.

Over the next few days, Derek finds himself hanging out on the fringe of the pool while Stiles serves drinks, picks up wet towels, and deals with people’s shit. He doesn’t bust in on any more conversations, but if he tells a couple of the high-profile weres where his mother is making an appearance that day, he’s not going to feel guilty about that.

Sometimes Derek brings Ben along, and other times he brings Julie. For Julie he’ll always be second string to Laura, but once she’s at the pool she’s happy enough. On one disastrous morning he tries bringing both of them, and is storming off for home before Stiles even arrives on shift. He’s pissed off enough that he even snaps at his father, then spends the rest of the evening feeling guilty enough to help him sort through this summer’s fascination: pictures of wild mushrooms.

If he’s annoyed by Derek’s presence, Stiles doesn’t let on. In fact, Derek would think that he hadn’t noticed he was even there, if not for the fact that Stiles never came over to ask if he wanted a drink. His apathy was such that it had to be intentional. Instead a young werewolf named Erica had taken to hanging around, and once she’d gotten over her flirting, Derek found she was pretty good company.

“He’s got a great ass, doesn’t he?” Derek nearly fails over into the pool when Erica whispers in his ear. He’d been too distracted – yes, by Stiles’ ass, which was admittedly quite nice – to pay attention to what had been going on around them.

“What?” Derek says dumbly, as Erica laughs beside him. She throws her head back and her ample cleavage is displayed to full advantage. A few of the conservative werewolves titter in her direction, but most of them just settle for staring from a distance.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers lowly, scooping Derek’s empty lemonade glass and putting it on her tray. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

For some reason, Derek doesn’t doubt it. Erica seems like the kind of person who could keep a secret.

When he’s leaving for the day, he doesn’t realize Erica’s following him until she pulls him off the beaten path and beyond view.

“What the hell?” Derek hisses as she tugs on his arm.

“So what’s up with you and Stiles?” she says, no-nonsense.

“Nothing!” Her eye roll is completely unwarranted, and Derek tells her so. “You’ve been there at the pool every day, Erica. Stiles doesn’t even talk to me.”

“You’re right,” she says. “In fact, he insists that I be the one to talk to you.”

Even though he’d already figured that much out, it still stings to hear it said aloud. “He hates me.” He tries not to sound too depressed, but Erica’s not buying it.

“He told me what you did with Veronica Smithson,” Erica continues, ignoring Derek’s assertions that he needs to get home. “Didn’t sound like he hated you.”

“Well, I don’t know who you were talking to, but the Stiles that I met was supremely pissed off that I even said anything.”

“Well, obviously,” Erica says, as if that makes complete sense. “But he was still impressed enough to tell me.”

“So you guys are…friends?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Erica asks, her face closing off.

Derek shrugs, feeling like an idiot. “Well, you know, because…”

“Because he’s human.” She doesn’t even wait for Derek to set her straight, she just turns and walks away. After a second she whips around, her blonde curls cascading over her shoulder and her eyes flashing yellow. “I expected better from you, Derek. I was under the assumption that you weren’t a complete asshole.”

“Wait!” Erica growls when Derek grabs her arm, and he lets go hastily. “Seriously, Erica, I don’t care if Stiles is a human. I just – he’s interesting, okay. I’m just – I’m interested. But everyone else does care, so I guess I was wondering…”

“Why I didn’t.” Erica draws her head back proudly, and looks Derek right in the eye. “I’m a bitten wolf.”

And, wow. That is not what Derek was expecting. “But you’re like –”

“Seventeen,” Erica fills in. “I had severe epilepsy when I was a kid. Doctors told my parents that I wouldn’t live to see ten. They were desperate, and there were still some wolves who would help back then.”

“Fuck.” A bitten wolf. There had been a rally once, with bitten wolves picketing outside Hale House in Beacon Hills. Since then, Talia had backed legislation supporting full rights for bitten wolves, but that didn’t mean that everything had changed. They weren’t human, but there were some established packs that didn’t really see a difference. Bitten wolves had tenuous control, weaker instincts, and a lot of them bought into human cultural norms rather than those of werewolves. It was messy, and it was fucking brave of Erica to be so upfront about it.

“So that’s why so many of the club members don’t like you?” Derek snaps his mouth shut as soon as the words are out, but Erica looks more amused than anything.

“Well, yeah.” She pops in a stick of gum and blows an obnoxiously big bubble. “What did you think it was?”

“Well, I thought it was probably…” Derek pauses, then gestures at his chest. “You know.”

Erica bursts into laughter and Derek can feel his face heating. “You crack me up, Hale,” she says.

Derek’s chest warms a little at the endearment; no one is ever comfortable enough around him to treat him as anything less than Talia Hale’s son. He’d like to be Erica’s Hale, he thinks. He’s never really had a friend – a real friend – outside Laura.

“Listen,” she continues. “You want Stilinski to talk to you, come to this party with me tonight.” She scribbles an address on a piece of paper and shoves it in his hand. “Don’t be late!” She presses a kiss to his cheek and is off before he can reply.

Derek’s helping his dad shuck corn for a barbeque that evening when he brings up the party. Laura and his mother were invited to some afternoon tea, and Julie and Ben are passed out in the sticky heat of the living room, their little heads just visible through the full-sized windows leading onto the patio.

“So a friend from the Club invited me to a party.”

David’s reclining in a lawn chair with his feet stretched in front of him. He peers up at Derek over the top of his sunglasses. “A party?” he says in a faux-British accent.

“Yeah, it’s in Ash Creek,” Derek says. “Erica said she’ll pick me up and drive me back, though.”

“Erica, hmm?” David takes the bait, as Derek hoped he would. The party is in Ash Creek – obviously Derek’s father would be able to tell if he lied – but in one of the heavily human populated areas, which had seen better days. Derek had waited in line at the Club’s computer lounge and had used his daily usage googling the neighbourhood. It was safe to say that the fact he was a Hale wouldn’t do him any favors. It was even safer to say that his mother wouldn’t let him anywhere near this party if she found out where it was. “She wouldn’t be the reason that you’re spending so much time at the pool, would she?”

“She works there,” Derek says carefully. “But we’re just friends.”

“The kind of friends that kiss goodbye?”

Derek looks so confused that his father nearly laughs himself out of his chair. “Cherry lipgloss,” he says, reaching out to flick Derek’s cheek. “This nose always knows,” he says, tapping the side of his nose with a grin. “I can smell a dirty diaper from a mile down the road.”

“Okay, gross,” Derek says. “And you’re also not funny.” David raises his brows like he knows Derek is wrong.

It takes a few seconds, but then something clicks. “That’s why I’ve changed so many diapers five minutes before you walk through the door.”

His dad brandishes an ear of corn and takes a bow.

“I hate you,” Derek says, throwing a piece of corn across the lawn. “Seriously, hate.”

“Well, to win back your affection, I suppose I should let you go to this party.”

Derek looks up, surprised. He certainly wasn’t expecting his father to give in this quickly – and without even talking it over with his mom.

“I know that Laura’s distance has been bothering you,” David says, coming over to sit beside Derek on the picnic table. “I wish you could understand it from her side. Meeting your mate, it’s overwhelming. It’s intoxicating. Laura will come round, just give her some time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek mumbles. He gets up to go call Erica on the cabin phone. His mother had taken away their cells at the beginning of the summer in the spirit of “family togetherness”, so he has to make due.

“Hey, Derek?” His dad looks suddenly serious. “Be careful, with this friend of yours. I know that you can’t resist the tortured, brooding image, with your paperbacks and your leather jacket, but I know underneath you’re a romantic like your old Dad. I know that things are different these days, but some things are still worth waiting for.”

“See, this is why I wouldn’t let Erica meet you if she wasn’t just a friend,” Derek says, fighting the urge to cover his ears and run inside. He can’t believe he’s getting the sex before mates talk from his dad. “Tortured, brooding image? You’re so embarrassing.”

“I have baby stories,” David yells as Derek retreats into the house. “You better start groveling!”

When Derek talks to Erica, he tells her to come right away. She shows up before his mom and Laura get home, and there’s a baby emergency that keeps his dad away. He manages to slip away, parent-free, in plenty of time to grab something to eat before the party.

Erica brings him to a greasy little dive and introduces him to Boyd, her boyfriend.

“Boyfriend?” Derek chokes over a fry. He looks up at Boyd – who is a hell of a lot bigger than him, bitten were or not – and internally panics.

Boyd just stares at him, decidedly unimpressed, while Erica laughs. “Derek here is a little prude,” she says, gleeful. “Honey, a kiss on the cheek is what you get from your Nana.” She reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Derek growls. She settles for stealing a fry, munching and trying to convince Boyd to come with them.

“No way, cops busted the place last time,” Boyd says, his face impassive.

Derek wonders if he’s joking. He hopes he’s joking. Oh God, his mother is going to kill him.

“That was because Beccah called them herself,” Erica counters, kicking Boyd in what Derek presumes she thinks is a discrete manner. “Some sort of lover’s drama. Colin’s out of town, so we don’t have to worry about any of that shit tonight. Please come?”

“Maybe.”

Erica seems to take that as a “yes”, and for all Derek knows, it could be. In any case she lets him finish his fries in peace.

“So do you really think the cops are going to show up?” Erica has some kind of Russian music on, and while it sounds pretty good, it’s not enough to take his mind of what Boyd had said.

“Don’t fret, Hale,” she says, reapplying her smudged lipstick in the rearview mirror. “Even if the cops did show up – which they won’t – it’s not like they would do anything to you.”

“I would let them take me. I would let them take me far away from my mother. I’d beg.”

“She seems pretty nice. I’ve seen her around, you know, through the crowds.”

“She’s great,” Derek says honestly. “But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t skin me alive for being at this kind of party.”

“You must have a hardcore boner for Stilinski.”

Derek sputters and Erica just laughs at his discomfort. Derek feels like that’s the blueprint for how this friendship is going to play out.

“I get it,” she says. “He’s seriously hot, those big brown eyes. I hear he’s pretty impressive in other ways, too.” She winks and Derek flushes. “I used to have the biggest crush on him. He didn’t really feel the same way, but he was pretty cool about it.”

“Does he, uh…date a lot of people?” Derek asks. He’d gotten the impression at the pool that Stiles was a bit of a loner, like him. He’s going to get laughed right back to the club, he can see it now.

“Oh, no. I’m bringing you to this party, and I’ll point you in his direction, but that’s the extent of my involvement in this situation. You’ve got balls, to even consider coming here, but I don’t see how this can end well.”

“Thanks for the support,” Derek says, looking at the window and wondering what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

“There is no way that you put all that effort into sneaking out here and you’re not even going to go inside.”

They’re parked outside an abandoned warehouse, in the kind of alley that shows up on the news whenever there’s a report of some nameless human being murdered. The air is bloated with the stench of sweat and booze and garbage, and Derek will never admit it out loud, but he’s starting to wish that his mother had put a stop to this crazy idea.

“You’re sure he’s in there?”

“If you’re telling me you haven’t already pinpointed his scent, then you’re full of shit.”

She’s right, and she knows she’s right, so Derek doesn’t bother telling her. Instead, he jams his arms into the sleeves of his leather jacket and gets out of the car before he can change his mind. “Come on,” he says, waving at Erica. There’s no way he’ll be able to walk inside without her.

Derek doesn’t really know what he was expecting when Erica said they were going to a party. Obviously he wasn’t thinking cocktails and business-casual, but he had gone with Laura to a college party once, where there had been pretentious wolves sipping beers and arguing over obscure movies.

This, though – this looks like a scene from the Matrix, with hundreds of bodies trapped under walls of concrete, undulating to some too-loud techno. There are sprays of alcohol hitting the floor in every direction and clouds of smoke billowing from every corner. Almost everyone is human – at least, as far as he can tell. He can smell Erica, maybe another one or two wolves, but that’s it.

“Are you sure that they’ll want me here?” Derek whispers, frozen in place.

“Relax,” Erica says, slipping out of her jacket and readjusting what little material is covering her chest. She fluffs her hair and grins. “You’re with me, that’s all they need to know. Stiles is the only one who knows who you really are, and he won’t say anything.”

Derek hopes he’ll say something, preferably some demonstration of gratitude or awe, but he’d settle for a “hi”.

As they make their way through the crowd Erica introduces him to various people. Most of them are too drunk to give a shit who or what he is, but there’s another werewolf – bitten, Derek is sure of it – who gives him a long look before slowly nodding his head and getting back to his drink.

Erica leads him to a secluded corner with an old divan and a few collapsible beach chairs. She drags him down on the divan and takes a couple of beers out of her huge purse. She offers one to him, says nothing when he declines with a short jerk of his head, and takes a long sip of her own. He can smell the sharp scent of wolfsbane, and wonders if Erica is actually insane. It would explain so much.

“Do you see him yet?” she asks, after a couple minutes of silence.

Truthfully, Derek hasn’t tried all that hard to find him yet. He can smell him – could do since the moment they drove up – but he’s a little afraid to let himself look. At the pool Stiles is cool, closed-off, and completely off limits. Here, Stiles is just as likely to tell him to go fuck himself as he is to pay any sort of positive attention.

Still, he needs to try. Unless he takes one hell of a shower, or there’s some kind of miraculous intervention, his mother is going to be furious when he gets home. May as well make it worthwhile.

Erica pulls a knee up to her chest, and rests her head on it. “You’ve got ten minutes before Boyd gets here.” She looks around, surveys the room with a critical eye. “Then probably twenty more before he whines to leave. So if you’re gonna find your lover boy, I’d suggest you do it…”

Her voice trails off and Derek’s eyes snap across the room, directly along her field of view.

“Derek,” she starts, sounding as sorry as he’s sure she’s capable. “It’s not a big deal.”

Except, well, to him it is. Because there’s Stiles, backed up against the wall, with some blonde girl pressed into him. She’s small, small enough to fold into the curves of his body, and his hands are tangling in her hair, and she’s pressing, pressing, pressing.

Derek thinks he’s going to be sick. He should have known better; Stiles is a human. Just because he’s felt some inexplicable pull doesn’t mean it’s reciprocated. At best, Stiles think he’s a creepy stalker. Why would he mess around with Derek when he clearly has different – more natural – options?

“I – I need some air,” he gasps out, and runs toward the door. Erica spares a second to look in Stiles’ direction – just in time to watch him take note of Derek’s grand exit. He whispers something in the girl’s ear, and then saunters toward Erica, a bemused expression on his face.

“Was that Derek?” he asks, even though Erica knows he’s not really looking for an answer.

“He came here to see you,” she says, taking another pull from the beer. “You should go talk to him.”

Stiles runs his hands through his hair, then smiles at Erica before turning to head toward the door. “Interesting.”

Erica chugs the rest of her drink as she watches him make his way through the crowd, the smell of the girl’s perfume still lingering on his clothes. She wonders if she should stop him; she likes Derek. She decides against it though; she may not know Derek that well yet, but she knows werewolves. He wouldn’t stay away even if she told him everything. Her phone buzzes, and she gets ready to go meet Boyd, wondering the whole way why she ever decided to get mixed up in this shit storm.

“So you really are stalking me, then?”

Even though Derek heard him come out, Stiles’ presence still startles him. “Look, I’m really sorry.” He looks up to meet Stiles’ eyes, only to find him rummaging for a lighter. “That’s not a cigarette,” Derek says, looking around quickly. What a time for the cops to drive by.

“Nope,” Stiles says, popping the ‘p’ loudly enough for it to echo in the empty alley. The concrete is surprisingly good at blocking the music. “You know stalking is illegal too, right? Even if you’re a Hale.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, letting his head knock against the wall. “I just wanted to talk to you, without you getting paid to be nice to me. When Erica said party I never thought it was going to be all this.”

“I wasn’t that nice to you when I was getting paid,” Stiles says, taking a slow draw. The smoke smells like rotting leaves, damp and musty.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Derek says, ignoring the jibe. “I didn’t know you were with someone.”

“With someone?” Stiles sounds confused, as if Derek didn’t see him with a tongue down someone’s throat three minutes ago.

“Your girlfriend, I presume?” The word feels heavy and strange in Derek’s mouth. He knows that some young wolves date now, before they find their mates, but girlfriend and boyfriend aren’t really terms that exist in their vernacular. Someone’s either your mate or they’re not, there really is no in-between. Just a failed connection.

“Girlfriend?” Stiles laughs, and even though he’s laughing at him, Derek feels something inside him settle at the sound. Stiles never laughs at work; he does this fake little chuckle for the sake of the guests, but nothing as bright as this. “You mean Kaitlyn?”

“I guess?”

“That was just, that was nothing,” Stiles says with a shrug. “She’s a friend.”

“Do you make out with all your friends?” Derek remembers his dad saying almost exactly the same thing about Erica, and wishes he could just melt into the ground.

“Maybe,” Stiles answers, grinning. “Are you always this judgmental?”

“No! I – I don’t know,” Derek admits. “I just – wolves are –”

“Prudes,” Stiles finishes. “Puritanical zealots who propagate the idea that you need to save it all for your one true love or you’ll live as some broken husk of a person.”

“No,” Derek snaps, but he honestly can’t think of a good argument. “It’s not like that,” he says helplessly. “It’s just. Mates are. You just wouldn’t understand,” he finishes lamely. He doesn’t really know how to put into words how in love his parents are or how happy Laura has been since she met Sebastian without sounding like a total freak.

Stiles looks a Derek for a second, then takes a series of quick hits. His voice is low and rough when he finally speaks. “Christ, being a werewolf must really be awful.”

“Really?” Derek’s stunned. Humans are treated like trash: they can’t go to university, they barely make it out of the slums or dead-end jobs, and they’re looked down on by most of the werewolves Derek’s ever met. Being a werewolf might include a lot of embarrassing over-share and some weird traditions, but it’s certainly not awful, not in the same way as being a human.

Stiles smiles at him, in the same way he sometimes smiles at Julie when she’s being particularly belligerent. “You just can’t imagine it, can you? That someone might not want to be you.”

“No,” Derek scrambles. “I mean, my sister is my best friend and I’m spending the summer bringing my little brother swimming and singing campfire songs with my dad.” He looks at the ground, and he knows his ears are turning pink. “I’m kind of a loser.”

“Hey.” Stiles reaches out and tilts his chin up. Their faces are so close together that Derek finds it a little hard to breathe. Stiles flicks the stub of his joint into the darkness of the alleyway. “No time for pity-parties.”

He pulls on Derek’s hand, and Derek can feel the heat of his touch all the way up his arm. He wonders what it must be like for Stiles, to just touch people like this all the time. He wonders if Stiles feels disgusted for having to cheer him up, or if he feels anything at all. “Come on loser,” Stiles says with a tiny smile. A smile that Derek hasn’t seen before, that he imagines is just for him. “Let’s go back inside.”

For the first time since he got in the car, Derek feels like maybe this was the right decision. He takes a steadying breath and follows Stiles back into the crowded warehouse.

They’re just inside the door and Stiles already has a drink to his mouth. The vodka burns Derek’s nostrils, but Stiles just laughs at the crinkle of his nose. “I’m guessing you don’t want any.”

Derek doesn’t answer, just looks away. His mother would kill him for drinking, even if the alcohol can’t really affect him. If he had some of the wolfsbane-laced booze that Erica had brought along? He wouldn’t see the outside of the cabin for the rest of the summer. Stiles really is going to think he’s a loser.

“Hey,” Stiles says, nudging his shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t have to. Quick question though, why did you come here if this makes you so uncomfortable?”

“I – Erica told me it was the best way to talk to you,” Derek admits. He doesn’t go into further detail, because somehow he thinks that admitting to having Stiles’ work schedule memorized is probably on the “creepy” side of the getting-to-know-each-other spectrum.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

The thing is, now that he’s standing here, face to face, Derek actually has no idea. He’d thought that this thing with Stiles was just some leftover curiosity from the day they met. He’d never met someone so overtly hostile toward him, and at first maybe he thought that was it. Now though, with Stiles close enough that Derek can like, really smell him, can see the small trickle of sweet on his temple, the small valley that formed from the dip of his collarbone, he has no idea what to do.

Luckily Stiles seems to find that more endearing than repulsive, and he draws Derek a little closer. Close enough that it's hard to concentrate.

“Maybe we should dance,” Stiles whispers. “Loosen up a little.”

But the heat of Stiles’ body is too much for Derek. All he can see is Stiles pressed up against the wall with that girl flush against him. Maybe Stiles is right – maybe he is a prude – but he doesn’t want to be just some nameless guy against a wall. He wants Stiles, small laughs, snarky comments, outrageous ideas and all. He wants Stiles to like him.

Again, Stiles doesn’t really need to be told, he just picks up on Derek’s hesitance and leads him across the room to where Erica had been sitting. She’s gone – off in some corner with Boyd, Derek supposes – and a group of teenagers have taken over her spot.

“Well Stiles, what’s this?” says a short girl with vibrant red hair. She’s intimidatingly pretty, but her expression is feral; it takes Derek a second to convince himself she’s not a wolf. The girl sitting next to her gives Derek a dimpled smile, which he tries his best to return.

“Uh, this is my friend…Miguel,” Stiles says, with a little wave of his wrist. “Just visiting for the weekend, figured I’d give him the tour.

Miguel,” Stiles continues, turning to look at Derek with a quick widening of his eyes. “Meet Lydia, Allison, and Scotty.”

“Scott,” the other guy says. He barely manages to pull his eyes away from the brown-haired girl, but Derek doesn’t mind. He’s got a similar problem right now, and it’s actually comforting to know that humans are capable of that kind of devotion.

“Riiight,” the red-haired girl – Lydia – drawls. She turns, and asks him what his favorite book is in perfect Spanish.

Derek’s startled, but he’s been in a bilingual prep school since he was five, and has no trouble answering. He even throws in a few runners-up just for completeness. Stiles glares at Lydia, but she just flicks her hair over her shoulder and continues to scrutinize Derek like he’s something that crawled up from under the floor.

“So Miguel,” she says, holding out a perfectly painted fingernail for inspection. “You look a little uncomfortable. New to the party scene?”

“Uh, strict parents,” Derek answers truthfully. He’s so used to half-truths and evasion rather than outright lies, that it doesn’t even matter that none of them can tell.

“I’ll bet.” Her words are sharp and the Allison is looking at her like she’s grown an extra head. Scott looks happily oblivious, which he’s sensing is a theme.

“So, Miguel,” Allison interrupts. “How did you and Stiles meet?”

“At the club,” Stiles says smoothly. “He works a busboy in one of the restaurants.”

Lydia snorts, and Allison elbows her in the ribs.

“Is there something bothering you, Lydia?” Stiles grits out.

She turns the force of her glare on Stiles, and Derek can see something familiar. Something he sees all the time from his mother and Laura. “Do you mean other than the fact that you brought Derek Hale to my party?”

“Derek Hale?” Scott yells, and at least thirty people look over.

“What the fuck, Lyds,” Stiles hisses, refusing to back down under the heat of her glare. “Why don’t you just tell the whole fucking room?”

“Please, nobody was falling for that Miguel routine.” Scott looks like he’s about to say something, but Lydia gives him a withering glare, and he decides to just shut up.

“This is actually a great opportunity,” Lydia says, standing so that she’s toe to toe with Derek. “I’d like to do a little experiment.”

“Leave him alone,” Stiles hisses, grabbing for Derek’s hand.

Derek can feel the weight of everyone staring at him, but he doesn’t want to just run. He has the feeling that Lydia is important to Stiles, and if she’s resigned to hate him, then at least he can let her take out a little of her frustration.

“Derek’s big enough to fend for himself, aren’t you Derek?” She walks around him, forcing him to turn to face her. “That’s what we’re told, right? You’re stronger? Faster? Smarter?” The last word is chipped out like ice, and Derek knows instantly that there’s nothing he can do to win Lydia over. She’s got the kind of grudge that doesn’t go away, the kind of grudge that changes lives.

“Lydia, we all know that you’re brilliant,” Stiles says. “Derek doesn’t make the rules.”

“No,” she concedes. “But his mother does.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Strict parents, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, and it’s true. He’s sorry that his life is so much easier than theirs. He’s sorry that he’s afforded so many rights that are denied to them. He’s sorry and he wishes things were easier. “I know it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Stiles agrees. He narrows his eyes at Lydia. “But it’s also not fair to take it out on Derek.” He reaches out and threads his fingers through Derek’s, and Derek’s too punch-drunk with the touch to complain.

“Come on, Derek,” he says, “we’re leaving.”

“Stiles wait,” Scott begins, but Lydia cuts him off with a look.

“Let him go,” she says. “Let him have his fun with the pretty little Hale. Everything will be back to normal in a few days when the thrill is over and reality sets in.” She smirks meanly at Derek and then disappears into the crowd.

Derek mumbles a quick goodbye and follows Stiles back to the parking lot.

Stiles tries to apologize as soon as they get out of the building, but Derek doesn’t want to hear it.

“You get worse treatment than that at work every day,” Derek says. And it’s true. People refuse drinks, they make Stiles redo orders, they won’t let him touch their hands, and some of them even get up and leave. He’s harassed, bullied, and condescended to on a daily basis. What’s worse, is that Lydia’s rant may have hurt Derek’s feelings, but there’s nothing else she can do. He’ll never be in the same position as Stiles, simply because he was born a werewolf, and there’s nothing fair about that.

“Yeah, but those are my friends,” Stiles says. He moves a little closer to Derek. “They're supposed to be better than those assholes.”

“Stiles, I get it. Well, I mean I don’t get it, because I can never get it. But I guess that’s the point. That’s why Lydia was right. Even if you were interested, this would never work.”

“Hey!” Stiles tips Derek’s chin again, and he actually looks hurt. “I know you didn’t come all the way out here just to give up like that.”

Derek’s heart is pounding against his chest, and he’s so happy that Stiles can’t hear how much he’s affecting him. “Is there something to give up on?”

“I’m not a werewolf,” Stiles says, as if Derek isn’t acutely aware of this fact. As if everyone in his life hasn’t been reminding him. “What I mean,” Stiles continues, “is that I don’t buy into this whole mate idea. If you want to give this a shot, I don’t want it to be because you think you’ve imprinted on me like some kind of duckling.”

When Derek doesn’t answer, Stiles panics a little. “That’s not what this is, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answers truthfully. “I’ve never felt – like this before. Everyone just tells me you know, that you meet them and that’s that.” He takes a breath, steels himself for the embarrassment of making such a confession. “I know that I like you,” he says in a rush. “You’re smart and you’re funny and you don’t let everyone’s shit get to you.” His voice picks up; he knows he needs to make Stiles understand the truth. This is so hard – so impossible – without being one hundred percent honest.

“I don’t do what you did in there. I don’t just kiss people for fun, I’ve never…” He trails off, afraid that this is too far. That this is too much for someone like Stiles.

“Never?” Stiles whispers. “Not one kiss, and you think you want to waste that on an asshole like me?”

“Pretty much,” Derek says, taking a seat on the curb.

Stiles sits right beside him, and nudges his leg with a bony knee. “I can’t promise some bolt of lightning, fishhook in the bellybutton, teen romance type deal. I mean, you’re a good guy, Derek. You’ve maybe got to ditch the stalker act a little and smile when you’re creeping on me in public, but you’re not a dick, not like me. “ He spins Derek toward him, pulling his knees into the space made by his own legs. “Plus, the whole leather jacket is working for you. You may still be a world-class dork, but a smoking hot one.”

Derek’s entire face lights up at that, and there are so many things he wants to say: about Stiles’ eyes, his hair, his smile, his ass, but there’s no way he’s ready for that yet.

“I know you don’t do casual, but I don’t do destiny. I meet someone, I talk to them, we kiss. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t…”

And Derek knows that every minute since their encounter in the woods has been leading up to this. Every time Stiles met his eyes for an instant across the pool, every time he lay on his bed trying to come up with some way to talk to him. He knows that his parents won’t approve, that Laura won’t understand, and that Stiles’ friends won’t support them, but still. He’ll never be able to live with himself if he doesn’t try.

“I want to,” he says. He doesn’t even think about the kiss not meaning anything, because he knows it does. Even if Stiles doesn’t believe in mates, Derek knows that this is something.

“Really?” Stiles says, needing to be sure.

“Really.”

Stiles smiles – a brilliant, eye-crinkling smile, and Derek can’t keep his own smile away.

Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s chest, right above the space where his heart is hammering. He’s sure Stiles can feel it. “So is it okay if I –”

“Yes.” It’s almost a plea, because Derek doesn’t want to overanalyze it. He doesn’t want to talk it to death. He just wants to give Stiles a blanket yes, because he wants, oh God, he wants.

When Stiles presses their lips together, all of Derek’s insecurities are gone. There’s no space to think of how Stiles has so much experience and he has none, or how everything could be riding on this kiss, or how he didn’t have time to brush his teeth after his fries. All he knows is that Stiles’ lips are warm and that he can feel the kiss everywhere. It dances along his spine and through his hands. His lips part by instinct, and Stiles presses forward gently, and there’s tongue and tiny nibbles of teeth and hands wrapped in his hair and Derek wishes that he could freeze the way he feels in this exact moment, because thinking about it will never live up.

“Wow,” he says, when Stiles pulls away. “I mean, I don’t know if you –”

Stiles lips are shiny, and when his tongue darts out to lick them, Derek just wants to press himself forward again. He resists the urge, but barely. “No, that was wow,” Stiles agrees. He reaches out and traces his finger along the line of Derek’s jaw, then leans in to press a very soft, short kiss against his mouth. “That was a double-wow moment.”

Derek smiles, delighted when Stiles decides to wrap their hands together again.

“Do you want me to drive you back to the club?”

“Uh, you were drinking,” Derek says. “And you’re high.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, affronted. “I had one drink like an hour ago and my slight buzz has all but disappeared.” He grins at Derek, slowly. “Fully expunged by an entirely different buzz.”

“You could walk me the nearest bus stop,” Derek says, not wanting to completely turn down his offer.

“Right,” Stiles says with a snort. He looks up to see Derek’s puzzled face. “Oh, you’re serious.”

He pulls a phone out of his pocket and flips it open, checking the time. “I’ll walk you to the Subway a couple of blocks up,” he decides. “And then we can call you a cab.”

Derek doesn’t reply, he just slips his hand back into Stiles’ and lets him lead the way.

PART II:

The cottage is dark when Derek gets back. He spent the entire cab drive feeling drunk, too high on the lingering feeling of Stiles’ lips against his to think about the repercussions of what he’d done. The cab driver hadn’t recognized him, but his tight-lipped expression meant that he could tell exactly what Derek had been up to.

The dark porch and absent state of his parents don’t even strike Derek as odd; of course they’re in bed. It’s fate. The way that the balmy night air feels perfect on his electric-charged skin and the steady thrum of the cicadas, directing his walk up the front path both convince Derek that nothing can go wrong. This night is unfolding exactly as it was meant to. The more time that passes since the kiss, the more he knows: Stiles is his mate. He has to be. The entire world is lining up for them.

He’s so happily distracted, so sure that nothing can go wrong, that he doesn’t notice Laura until he’s nearly on top of her.

“You stink,” she says, wrinkling her nose. Instead of waiting for him to answer, she just grabs him by the arm and drags him back out the front door. She pulls him past their manicured lawn, and across the dirt path to a small alcove that’s been carved out for sunbathing during daylight hours.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she hisses, letting him fall to a heap on the ground. “You are so beyond lucky that I convinced mom and dad to go to bed. I know you were pissed about coming here, but do you want them to kill you?”

“Chill out, Laura, I’ll take a shower.”

“Chill out?” Laura hisses. “Chill out? Derek, you smell like booze and drugs and – and – “ She takes a step closer to him. “Like that Stilinski kid.”

Derek flushes and Laura groans. “Jesus, Derek. I thought we agreed on this.”

“We didn’t agree to anything,” Derek counters, suddenly defensive. “You just spilled some speciest bullshit and I smiled and nodded.”

“Don’t be a selfish ass,” Laura snaps, using the I’m-The-Alpha voice that Derek fucking hates. “You don’t care about your family – about your own mother – then fine. But think about that kid, Derek. Think about what people will do to him.” She laughs, and the sound makes Derek want to run straight to his room and away from this person who looks like his best friend. “Think about what he’ll do to you, Derek.”

With that plea, Derek can almost see the old Laura. The venom seeps out of her voice and he can believe, for a second, that she really is worried about him. And then she starts to talk again.

“Der, he smells like a different person every day. He comes to work looking hungover and smelling even worse and he doesn’t even care. If he doesn’t even respect the job, then – ”

“Respect the job?” Derek’s momentary pulse of empathy has completely dissipated. Laura isn’t trying to help; she’s just overjoyed to have the opportunity to be a self-righteous Alpha. “The people here treat him like shit, and it sounds an awful lot to me like you’re defending them.” He snarls, the coils of anger prickling at his skin, threatening to disrupt his control. His fangs drop and Laura actually looks a little nervous.

“Calm down, Derek,” she says, her voice instantly soothing.

The tone just serves to piss Derek off further. His nails bite into his palms and he snarls, angry at Laura, angry at his mom, and angry at himself, for not being in better control.

“I’ll go get mom,” she says quickly, and part of Derek is elated that she knows she can’t handle this. She’s not his Alpha, no matter how much she wants to act like it. Still, the last person Derek wants out here is his mother.

“If you do,” Derek snarls through a mouth of fangs, his heartbeat as steady as a drum. “Then I’ll never forgive you.”

He charges through the woods toward the lake, stifling the urge to howl, knowing that it won’t make a difference; the only person he wants to hear it wouldn’t understand its meaning.

When Derek slinks back to the cottage, soaking wet and exhausted, his parents are waiting. He feels a jolt of anger as he sees Laura crouched behind them, but his mother’s eyes flash and his whole body rebels against him.

“Take your shoes off on the porch, Derek,” his mother says, her voice low. She doesn’t need to tell him to come in, or to be quiet, or that she’s disappointed in him. Derek just knows, and even though he doesn’t think it’s fair or right, his every instinct is telling him to obey.

“Derek, I –” Laura’s voice trails off as Derek turns to glare at her, and she allows herself to be shuffled inside by their Father.

Once they’re all inside, Derek takes the empty seat across from his mother, with Laura and his dad flanking her on either side.

Talia doesn’t say anything, and Derek knows she probably won’t. Unlike her husband, who fills every silence with bastardized song lyrics and gibberish, she prefers to communicate through facial expressions. This one is conveying that he better tell her what the hell he was doing all night, and quickly.

Still, Derek doesn’t want to give in. This night was supposed to belong to him and Stiles. He doesn’t want to explain or defend it; he just wants it to be accepted, as easily as Laura and Sebastian.

“Does she have to be here?” he huffs, petulant.

Laura’s eyes are puffy and bloodshot, but she keeps her chin high, looking almost like a carbon copy of their mother. It makes Derek feel a little better about his attitude.

“Your sister cares about you,” his mother says simply. “She was worried.”

Derek debates telling his mother about the party, but he knows from the guilt radiating from Laura that he doesn’t need to. He also debates saying sorry, but he knows that his heartbeat will give him away. There’s no way that he could apologize for what had happened and be truly sincere.

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” he settles for. His mother nods, but doesn’t look any happier.

A few seconds pass in the same charged silence, when something horrible occurs to him. “Are you…you’re not going to get Stiles fired, are you?”

Talia raises an eyebrow, and then starts to answer when Laura explodes beside her.

“Th-that’s your concern?” she yells hoarsely. She’s a brilliant shade of crimson; Derek knows she hates crying, but he’s vindictively glad for it. She deserves to feel badly about this.

Derek sneers as his parents look on. It’s like he can’t help himself. “Because Sebastian isn’t your first concern?”

Laura laughs, a high-pitched, manic-sounding noise that makes him feel like he’s ten years old again. “You think you can make out with Stilinski against a dirty wall at some trashy rave and it compares to what Sebastian and I have? Derek, Stilinski is a human. He doesn’t want a mate, he wants to screw around with Talia Hale’s son and if you think – ”

“Laura,” David says, in a tone that’s almost unrecognizable. “That’s enough. Your mother and I will take it from here.”

Their father’s words don’t carry the weight of the Alpha’s, but they manage to stun both Laura and Derek into silence. Their mother is the disciplinarian; there are so many rules for young werewolves, and it’s up to their Alpha to make sure those rules are understood. But none of the Hales wanted to disappoint their father. He was their dad. He wore t-shirts with their pictures on them and made up completely embarrassing cheers for their sporting events. Disappointing him meant you’d really fucked up.

Laura is crying again, from anger this time, Derek knows her well enough to be sure of that, but she leaves without argument.

“So are you going to fire him?” Derek asks quietly, once he’s heard Laura’s door snick shut.

“That seems like an unfair question,” Talia says, and Derek feels immediately chagrined. He’s been feeling so insecure, so worried, that he really hasn’t been fair to his mother. He knows she wouldn’t do something like that.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, completely sincere this time. “It’s just so unfair.” He wishes he could curl into his mother’s arms. He wishes that she could make this better, that it was that easy.

“Your sister is stubborn,” Talia says. “But she loves you and she’s worried about you.” She takes a pause, considering her words in the same way Derek has seen her do in televised debates. “I can tell that you have certain feelings about Mr. Stilinski,” she finally says.

Derek bristles at the word choice, but he doesn’t want to push his luck further.

If his mother notices, it doesn’t show. She continues on, as calmly as ever. “But do you think that he feels the same way?”

The phrase imprinted like a duckling flashes through Derek’s head and he feels a rush of shame.

His parents don’t say anything, but it’s not necessary. Derek knows what they’re thinking. He knows what everyone will be thinking.

“I know he felt it too,” Derek says, his voice small.

“You’ll keep taking your brother and sister to the pool,” Talia says, not unsympathetic. “You’re confined to the resort for the remainder of the summer unless I give express permission to the contrary, and you’ll coach the club’s Little League team on Wednesday afternoons. Understood?”

Derek nods his head, grateful to be dismissed. His dad claps a hand on his shoulder as he rises from his chair, but the usually comforting gesture only serves to make Derek feel worse.

--
Derek’s up early enough the next morning to feed and change the baby before anyone has to ask. Ben gobbles down his cereal in record time, and Derek barely has time to smell Laura’s shampoo before she’s out the front door. David and Talia are taking Julie on some sort of Cub Wilderness Day, so Derek has time to second-and-third-guess what he’s going to say to Stiles before he finally sets out for the pool.

He knows that Stiles’ shift starts at nine, but it’s well past that when Derek sets out on the even path from the cottage. Ben had been particularly hard to wrangle without the tempering influence of his mother, and Derek had finally given up on the concept of a swimming diaper. He was just going to chuck him in the pool and hope for the best. Baby poop couldn’t be nearly as bad as making a complete ass of himself in front of Stiles. Plus, it would give him a great exit strategy if he needed it.

After a night of thinking of nothing else, Derek’s overwhelmed by the smell of Stiles before he even reaches the pool. He’s done a better job than most days of getting rid of the undertones of alcohol and cigarettes, and Derek can’t smell himself at all. He’s knows it’s stupid, and that it would only make Stiles a target, but part of him wants desperately to have their scents intertwined. He wants everyone to know that they belong together. That they belong to each other.

Stiles is leaning over one of the free-standing coolers, filling it with ice, when Derek finally makes it to the deck. Ben, sensing Derek’s rising emotions, is a flurry of noise and movement, and Derek jumps into the water immediately, helping him bob along the surface. The sudden splashing snags Stiles’ attention, and when he turns around he shoots Derek a slow, burning smile that nearly makes him drop his brother. Stiles, completely aware of what he’s doing, smirks and saunters back to the bar to pick up his next round of drinks. His pants look much tighter than any Derek has seen him wear before, his hair is artfully rumpled, and Derek will not stop having embarrassing thoughts about what he could do with the spare ice scattered around the foot of the cooler. But since they’re in public and Derek probably wouldn’t have the first clue where to start with anything remotely sexy, he settles for smiling like an absolute lunatic and trying his best not to drown his baby brother.

Now that Stiles is actually paying attention, Derek can really notice how far he’d gone to avoid him for the past few weeks. A part of him can’t help but be worried that someone will notice, but it’s so hard to focus on negative repercussions when Stiles glances up through his lashes, looking for all the world like he’s ready to haul Derek out and make quick work of his swim trunks. Seriously, if not for the water, Derek’s pretty sure that he’d be asked to go home and take a shower. The way Stiles makes him feel is just indecent.

It’s been about an hour of playing helicopter with Ben and snagging frequent peeks at Stiles as he bustles around the deck, when the baby decides he needs a break. Through some minor miracle, he’s actually exhausted enough to pass out on Derek’s chest, leaving him free and unhindered for Stiles Watching. Stiles, knowing he has a captive audience of one, suddenly finds the need to bend over about thirty times a minute. When Erica shows up, pushing the limits of the dress code to the max with a red, lacey bra peeking out through the top of her white shirt, she takes one look between them and then bursts into delighted laughter. The raucous exclamation actually draws the attention of many of the guests, leaving Stiles free to send a quick wink Derek’s way. The heat of being on the receiving end of that wink burns through Derek’s chest, crackling along under his sternum in a way that makes it hard to catch a breath.

Completely unaware of the way his older brother is falling apart, Ben snuffles in his sleep and nuzzles his face into Derek’s shoulder. Derek takes a second to make sure he’s comfortable and secure, and when he looks back up, Stiles is headed straight for him.

“Mr. Hale,” Stiles says when he arrives, his voice a mixture of courteous and coy. “Can I get you anything?”

Could he ever. Derek’s throat feels raw and dry, and he’s glad he can use the baby as an excuse for being unable to talk above a whisper. “Lemonade, please,” he manages to force out, flushing as Stiles stares unabashedly.

He’s back with the lemonade in a flash, filled with ice and blended just the way Derek likes, even though he’s never made him one before. When he rests it on the table, it wobbles uncertainly. Derek reaches out quickly, out of reflex, and notices that there’s a small note under the coaster. Stiles catches his eye and winks for a second time, smiling as Derek flushes.

He waits for Stiles to be engaged with another customer before he peels the note open slowly, trying to convince himself that his fingers are shaking because of the cool condensation dripping down the side of his glass.

Stiles’ handwriting is small, messy, and rushed. It’s perfect. Perfectly Stiles.

Derek, it reads. Getting moved from the pool to one of the libraries for filing. Pretty sure they think I’m not fit for public consumption ;) Meet me at the clearing at 4:00.

There’s no signature, no hint of Stiles’ feelings or that he knows Derek as anything more than a friend. Still, Derek clings to the small winky-face and the suggestion to meet up as if he’s drowning. As if Stiles’ words are the only thing that can keep him from sinking. He thinks of his sister’s blank stare, his mother’s disappointment, and his father’s misplaced attempts at comfort and realizes that maybe they are.

Ben is settled in for his afternoon nap and Derek is ready for two hours of uninterrupted alone-time when Laura comes charging through the door. After the initial blast of irritation – seriously, why the hell didn’t he go to French camp? At least he could have had a decent fucking wank while everyone else was off shopping or drinking or whatever – he notices that she’s visibly upset. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and she’s shaking with barely contained anger.

For a second he forgets that they’re even fighting, and he pushes his bowl of pretzels to the ground as he jumps up to comfort her. Laura must feel the same way, because she doesn’t hesitate to bury her head in his shoulder – at least for about ten seconds.

“I thought you were at the pool all morning?” she asks as she pulls away. She looks genuinely confused, and Derek’s actually a little worried. He hasn’t even taken a shower yet, so he definitely reeks of chlorine.

“Uhh,” he starts, but Laura doesn’t even give him time to answer.

“Well,” she pushes, “where were you?” Her tone brings all the memories of the previous night rushing back, making Derek immediately defensive.

“I was at the pool.” He stalks back over to the sofa, cursing his stupid instincts and wishing he hadn’t even gotten up to help her in the first place.

Laura cocks her head to the side, and Derek can tell she’s trying to catch him in a lie. She might think she’s subtle, but Alpha-training or not, Derek knows her better than she thinks. Even if she wants to pretend otherwise, he was he best friend – her only friend – until she starting hanging out with Sebastian and company last summer. Still, he has no idea why she’s so suspicious. Why wouldn’t he be at the pool? There’s nothing else to do at this stupid resort and she must know that he had wanted to see –

“Stiles,” he growls. “You’re the one who got him reassigned.”

Laura holds her chin up, defiant, but Derek is through arguing with her. He’s through arguing with everyone. He grabs his water bottle from the coffee table and brushes past Laura without another word.

Before he can escape down the hall, she grabs his arm and spins him around. When he meets her eyes they’re cold; there’s no trace of vulnerability left. “Would you grow the fuck up?”

“Me? You think I should grow up?” That’s rich. Laura acts like an entitled asshole and he gets the flack.

“Yeah, you.” Laura lets go of his arm in favor of poking him in the chest like a cheesy goddamn villain in a kids’ movie. “You’ve been sulking around, acting like the whole world is against you, when we’re only trying to protect you. Everyone knows that Stilinski kid is bad news, and for some insane reason you won’t listen. I don’t know if this is supposed to be some little teenage rebellion, but –”

“Jesus, Laura, would you listen to yourself?” He smacks her finger away from his chest. “Teenage rebellion? You’re eleven months older than me. Plus, you don’t know a single fucking thing about Stiles and I’m perfectly capable of figuring out if he’s “bad news” all by myself. You’re not my mother, and you’re not my Alpha, so keep out of my business.”

“It always comes back to the Alpha-thing,” Laura growls. “Sebastian said that you –”

“No, that is always what it comes back to,” Derek argues. “The Sebastian thing. I don’t ever know if you’re saying what you’re thinking, or if you’re just regurgitating some bullshit that Sebastian fed you.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty, Derek.” Laura’s full-on shouting now, and Derek can hear Ben rustling around in his crib. “You didn’t give a shit about humans before you got this awkward boner for Stilinski, and I get that you’re lonely, but –”

“Fuck you,” Derek says, low and venomous, just as Ben starts to wail. “You woke the baby, so you can go see to him. I’m going out.” He turns toward the front door and walks away without waiting for a reply.

Since his mother has forbidden leaving the resort, there aren’t many ways for Derek to blow off steam. He’s too embarrassed to just go hang out by the pool without the excuse of his little brother, and he wants to avoid running into any of his family members at all costs. He ends up in the movie cabin where all the eight-year-olds hang out, watching some animated movie about a werewolf-turned superhero. It’s actually not half-bad, and at least the room is air-conditioned.

Still, by the time he’s ready to go meet up with Stiles, he’s got himself worked up all over again. He keeps ruminating on Laura’s jibe about his sudden interest in human rights. After all, it’s not like she was wrong. It’s not that he grew up hating humans, he was just mostly apathetic. He remembers how upset he was when he parents told him he’d be spending the summer here and is ashamed of himself. His problems are nothing compared to Stiles’, and it just pisses him off that Laura knows right where to jab for maximum effect. Stiles’ friends were right to be pissed at him; it’s probably only a matter of time until Stiles realizes how shitty he is and wants to get the hell away.

He has almost convinced himself to turn around and head back to his room when Stiles appears. He’s sitting against a tree, twiddling with his phone, and when he hears Derek’s footsteps he looks up with a blinding grin. It’s not sexy or flirty, it’s just genuine. He looks genuinely happy to see him, and that makes Derek’s heart squeeze. Fuck Laura, and Sebastian, and his parents too, if they wanted to put an end to this.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Stiles calls as he brushes the leaves from the seat of his pants.

Derek tries to will away his frown. When he was younger his mother used to rub her thumb along the crease of skin between his eyes, and tell him that his face was going stick in a scowl if he wasn’t careful. “Sorry, I had this thing with my sister.”

Stiles smiles again, but this time Derek can tell he’s teasing him. “A thing? Ominous.”

“A fight-thing,” Derek mutters, unsure of how much detail Stiles wants. He glances up, and Stiles seems interested, so he goes on. “We just don’t agree on anything anymore. I-I’m pretty sure she’s starting to hate me.”

“Hey.” Stiles reaches out and pulls Derek down to sit. He doesn’t let go of his fingers when they hit the ground, and Derek concentrates on keeping his breathing even. He’s not even sure he can finish this conversation while in constant contact with Stiles.

Stiles leans over and bumps their shoulders together. “Listen, I don’t have a sister, but I do have a Scott, and in junior high he made out with Lydia in secret behind the Lacrosse bleachers, and if my thirteen-year-old self could forgive him for that, then I’m pretty sure that you and your sister can work through whatever this is.”

Derek is too busy trying to tamper down a flare of jealousy – over a casual comment about something that happened years ago, no less. Fuck, how is this ever going to work out, if he acts like such an idiot over something so insignificant – to respond, so Stiles continues on. “Plus, I know for a fact that your sister doesn’t hate you.”

“Huh?” And Derek is going to have to add eloquence to the list of reasons why Stiles should want to date him.

“Your sister’s Laura, right?” Stiles pauses just long enough for Derek to nod. “Well, I have it on excellent pool-gossip authority that she does not hate you. Not even a little.”

“Pool gossip authority?”

“Yeah. Melanie, one of the weres who works at the other pool. Green eyes, hair like this.” He mimes an impressive expanse of hair above his own rumpled head. “She came over today with this huge story about how Laura Hale ripped her mate,” – Stiles hesitates over the word, and Derek tries to pretend that it doesn’t hurt that he can’t even say it – “a new one. Apparently the fight started over something to do with her brother. Something they wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

“I’m assuming,” Stiles goes on, when Derek still doesn’t answer, “that the something else was me.”

“I don’t get why she would do that,” Derek mutters. “Not when she doesn’t want us…” He looks up at Stiles, embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t have a problem with this.”

Derek shifts, so that he can look at Stiles properly. “It doesn’t bother you? That everyone has a problem with this?”

“People are not going to work through a lifetime of issues in a couple of days,” Stiles says. “You’re going to have to give them some time.” He slips his phone into his pocket and scoots a little closer. “In the meantime, you might have to deal with some bullshit.”

“Like you getting reassigned,” Derek says bitterly. “Pretty sure it was my sister who made that happen.”

“Hey,” – Stiles shrugs slowly, and Derek gets distracted by the movement of his clavicle – “she did me a favor. Air conditioned library trumps watching everybody else swim while I serve drinks I’m not allowed to have.”

Derek smiles, but he’s still not sure why Stiles thinks this is worth it. Why he is worth it. Lydia’s words – let him have his fun with the pretty little Hale – rise to his mind, unbidden, but he pushes them away.

Stiles must notice, because before Derek realizes what’s happening, Stiles’ hand is on his face. “Stop overthinking it,” he says. “This is supposed to be fun.”

This is supposed to be everything, Derek thinks, but he leans into the touch nonetheless.

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asks, and Derek’s head is a little fuzzy, both with the prospect of kissing Stiles and the smell of lust that’s permeating the clearing.

“Yes,” he rasps. “You pretty much have a blanket yes.”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow, and the gesture hits Derek in the gut like a punch.

“For kissing,” Derek says, feeling like an absolute moron, but not wanting Stiles to misunderstand. “A blanket yes for kissing.”

“Well,” Stiles says with a smirk, leaning in to press his lips against Derek’s. “It’s a good thing I love kissing.”

In the week that follows their meeting in the clearing, Derek only sees Stiles twice. Once for an agonizing hour at the toddler reading group, where he had to watch Stiles entertain little kids while wanting nothing more than to drag him behind the ancient stacks, and then for a heart-pounding three minutes as Stiles dragged him behind an empty storage cabin on his way home from work. It’s torture, being able to smell Stiles across the well-manicured lawns, but unable to actually see him. It’s cruel and unfair and if he has to put up with six more weeks of this he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

Basically, it’s significantly more difficult to see Stiles while he’s in library, which is what Derek assumes Laura was aiming for. He still has to bring Ben to the pool every morning, and three afternoons a week are taken up by Little League. Add the fact that he has mandatory family time and he’s desperate enough to escape the resort that he agrees to go with his dad on his mushroom expeditions, and he barely has time to breathe.

But what’s worse than the faint-whiffs of Stiles that catch him off-guard as he’s just trying to enjoy five full minutes outside without anyone bothering him, or his self-imposed mushroom exile, or getting pawed at by his mother’s inappropriate middle-aged friends, is the influx of young werewolves who keep showing up at the pool. At his pool. His quiet (well, except for Erica), secluded, far-away-from-other-teenagers pool.

It’s starts innocuously enough, with some girl he’s never seen before coming over to coo over Ben. She asks to pick him up and Derek obliges, but they don’t talk any more than that. She lingers for a few minutes before politely taking her leave. Then, just as he’s ready to go back to the cabin, a group of them show up, all tittering, smiling, and staring. Derek gets the hell out of there and hopes that things will clear up by the next day.

They don’t. Instead, they get much worse.

By the third morning, Derek knows exactly what’s going on: Laura. It’s not “pool overcrowding” or “a need for a change of scenery”, and it’s not that hard to figure out, at least once the tall, skinny, brown-haired dudes start showing up with their easy smiles and an eerie knowledge of his favorite authors. His sister, colossal idiot that she is, thinks that if she throws enough people at him, then maybe one will stick. She would love that, he’s sure, taking credit for his happiness and proving once and for all that Stiles can’t possibly be his mate. What she doesn’t realize is that it isn’t helpful. It’s annoying and condescending and Derek hates it. Unfortunately, what he hates even more is that he’s already in so much shit with his mother that he can’t afford to do what he wants and tell the lot of them to go fuck themselves. Instead, he has to stick it out for the hour and a half that Ben wants to splash around and listen to their inane conversations and blatant attempts at flirting.

It’s the end of the week, and Derek is counting down the minutes until he can enjoy forty-eight hours of uninterrupted reading, x-box, and snacking time (with maybe a trip or two to the computer lounge to try to work out a way to see Stiles for more than three minutes) when something one of his annoying hangers-on actually registers.

“What did you say?” he interrupts, and immediately the circle dies down. This is the first time he’s actually engaged of his own free will, and the girl with bright red curls – Sam, he thinks – flushes deeply. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

Colin, one of the Stiles look-alikes pipes up for her. “She said that she –” he says, narrowing his eyes at Erica from across the pool, “looks particularly trashy today.”

“That’s not what I –” Sam starts to say, but Colin waves away her explanations.

“It’s close enough,” he says. “Besides, it’s true.” He smirks, and Derek wants nothing more than to reach over and strangle him; the smug smile puts strain on his already tenuous control. The worst part is that Derek knows Erica can hear them. He also knows that Colin knows that she can hear, and that that fact probably makes this even more enjoyable for him. He’s a mean, entitled asshole and even if Derek can’t make him stay away, he can certainly make him shut up.

“Back off of Erica,” he snarls. Ben picks up on his change in mood and whips his head around, eyes glowing yellow and fangs popped.

If the group was surprised at his sudden interaction, this display stuns them into absolute silence. Colin, however, is quick to recover. “Hey man,” he says, raising his hands as if in surrender. “I didn’t know she was your friend.” As if that’s an apology. As if what he said would be okay if Erica weren’t his friend. Still, it’s probably the best he’s going to get without causing a scene.

“Besides,” Colin continues before Derek can reply, “the real trash has already left.”

Colin must take Derek’s momentary look of confusion as a sign to continue, because he barrels on, unaware that every second that passes puts Derek that much closer to completely losing it.

“I’m assuming you saw Stilinski.” It’s not really a question, so Colin doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he leans back and flicks his designer sunglasses into his carefully rumpled hair. “My sister knows one of the girls who interviewed for a job here this summer.” He pauses, making sure that he has the attention of everyone in the group. Derek stares on, unable to move or comment, horrifically torn between wanting to hear whatever crap is going to come out of Colin’s mouth and wishing the little bastard would choke on his tongue.

Colin takes a quick sip of his drink, just to draw out the suspense.

“Well, what is it,” Sam asks, finally cracking.

“He fucked Washburn.” Colin slurps the last of his drink loudly, peering around the circle, reveling in the stunned expressions.

“No way,” one of the other skinny dudes breathes. “Not possible.”

“I’m just telling you what Maggie heard,” Colin replies. “I mean think about it. He’s a human, the only one who’s ever worked here. And I mean, anyone’s who’s been within ten feet of him knows what he gets up to when he leaves the resort.”

“I can see it.” Colin’s cousin and pack-mate Amber looks thoughtful. “I mean, have you seen him?”

The rest of the girls shriek in delighted horror at the very implication, while Colin makes a low sound of disgust.

“Thinking of slumming it with Stilinski?” He pulls his glasses back down to his face and stretches out primly on his reclining chair. “I mean, I know we can’t catch anything, but even thinking about the diseases that guy is carrying around is enough – ”

Derek scrapes his own chair across the pool deck, upending a drink in the process. He mutters a quick sorry to no one in particular, then takes off without a word of goodbye. He can tell by Ben’s unease that he’s not safe to stay here, though he’s not sure whether he’s more likely to shift or vomit at this point. He notices Erica trying to catch his eye from across the pool, but he’s not in the mood to talk. He just needs to get out. He just needs to get away.

When he gets back to the cabin, his mood hasn’t improved at all. If anything, it’s worse. So when he walks inside to find that his mom and sisters have gone to Sebastian’s parents’ place for lunch, he just feels an exhausting sense of relief. He hands off Ben to his father with a grunt, and sends up a silent thank-you when he doesn’t press for details. Then he stalks off to his room, and instead of X-Box, Stephen King, and raspberry sorbet, he pulls down the blinds, throws himself into bed, and tries to think of anything but what he learned at the pool.

He’s been napping long enough that when he hears the distinctive tap against his door, he jolts awake in a nervous sweat.

“You don’t have to do the signature knock when it’s just you home,” he grumbles from under a mound of pillows. Obviously he doesn’t have to do the signature knock at all, considering he’s the father of a pack of werewolves, but trying to decipher why his father does the things he does is far beyond Derek’s capabilities.

“May I come in?”

It’s the way he says it – softly, with a slight pause of hesitation – that makes Derek feel guilty about snapping. Even though he doesn’t want to talk about this – any of this – with his family, his dad is an infinitely better option than his mother. “I guess,” he says, dragging himself into a sitting position.

His dad takes a seat at the ancient desk that’s across from Derek’s bed. Everything, including the chair, is piled high with games, books, and freshly folded laundry, so it takes a second for him to clear a space. “Took a while to get Ben down,” he says when he finally has enough space to safely roll the squeaky chair a few inches.

Derek grunts again, but his father is undeterred. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Not really.” Derek knows he sounds like the sullen teenager Laura accused him of being, but at this point he doesn’t really care. Everyone is just going to think what they want anyway.

“Would I be correct in assuming that it has something to do with Mr. Stilinski?”

“Stiles,” Derek spits, angry all over again. He hates the way his father says Mr. Stilinski, like Stiles is some fucking waiter or concierge. He remembers how thrilled his father had been when Laura met Sebastian last summer. He’d been over the top and embarrassing and insisted on making him meatloaf, and Derek can’t believe he’s actually jealous of that, but he is. He can’t imagine Stiles at their dining room table, eating meatloaf with a bunch of people who think of him as utterly insignificant. The anger burns through him, and he doesn’t even notice that his dad has moved until he feels the dip in his bed.

“Stiles,” he says apologetically. “Does this have something to do with Stiles?”

Derek lets his head fall against the wall and avoids looking at his father. “Why do you even care?”

“I was nineteen when I met your mother,” his dad replies. Derek’s eyes shoot up, because this is not the direction he thought this conversation was headed.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I know. We all know…you’ve only told the story like thirty times.”

His dad smiles, but it’s not his usual toothy affair – it’s subdued. Sad, even. “I wasn’t as young as Laura,” – he reaches out to put a hand on Derek’s knee – “or you.”

Derek’s breath catches and the thought that maybe, just maybe there’s the slightest chance that his dad might think this is real makes his chest squeeze with the dangerous weight of hope.

“I was young enough, and foolish enough to think that meeting your mate was easy. That you found them and everything just clicked into place.”

Derek frowns, and tries to figure out where his dad could be going with this. His parents’ bonding story – like almost every one he’s heard – is perfect. They met when his father was an intern at Hale Corp who had organized a camping and tree-planting trip for the summer group. His mother, who had just stepped into her first official position with the company, was ordered to attend, and she ended up being the only one there. There was a campfire, an embarrassing song, and honestly a bunch of other sickeningly romantic stuff that Derek didn’t care to think too much about, considering. His parents get this faraway look when they think about the night, and he’s never heard either of them mention anything that could be remotely relatable to his situation with Stiles.

“I don’t know if you remember your Nana and Papa,” his father says after a pause. If anything, this just confuses Derek more. His father’s not nearly as good a storyteller as he thinks he is, but this is a bit much, even for him. None of these pieces seem to fit together, and it’s certainly not making Derek feel any better. Unless, maybe, his dad’s goal is just to confuse him enough that he can’t think about his own problems anymore.

“Uhh, not really.” His father’s parents were in their forties before they found each other, and had only managed to have one child. They had passed away, within months of each other, before Derek turned three.

“They didn’t really fit into this world,” he dad says with a wave around the room and another sad smile.

Again, Derek isn’t really surprised. His dad doesn’t fit into this world; he just has to deal with it as Talia Hale’s mate.

“So they weren’t the country club type,” Derek says. “I don’t really see what that has to do with what’s going on right now.”

“There were some people,” his father says, and he’s as serious as Derek’s ever seen him. To tell the truth, it’s freaking him out a little. “There were some very influential people who didn’t think that your mother and I were a good match.”

“Someone wanted to ignore the mate bond?” The possibility seems ridiculous; Derek’s never even heard of such a thing before. Plus, his parents are perfect together. His mom can be a little too stoic and his dad’s all kinds of crazy, but it works. They work. That’s what being a mate means.

“They were…doubtful that it was a true bond.”

A true bond? The very notion is nonsensical. You’re either mates or you’re not; there’s no mistaking the feeling of finding your mate, or at least that’s what Derek has always believed. It’s bullshit, and the fact that these stupid designer-wearing, golf-loving, schmoozy assholes thought that his dad was beneath them makes Derek hate this place even more.

“So what happened?” Derek asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. He once saw a reporter make a condescending remark to his father at a charity function and Talia barely let him escape with his limbs intact.

“Your mother was as willful back then as she is now.” His dad sighs, and Derek feels a rush of affection. He’s still not sure that the situation compares, but at least his dad is trying. It means more than he thought it would.

His father stands and grabs a small stack of books that Derek hadn’t seen him bring in. “Anyway,” he says, thrusting the books in Derek’s direction. “Here’s the real reason I came by. I know the library closes in a few minutes, but I figured you could drop these off for me.” He grins and Derek can feel his cheeks flush. “I hate using the little drop-box.”

Derek doesn’t comment on the lie, he just takes the stack of books from his father and heads for the door. “Thanks, Dad,” he says, smiling for the first time since he got home.

His dad beams and busies himself with the strap of his horrendous bucket hat. “Anytime, kid.”

Stiles is just getting ready to close up when Derek shows up at the library door, out of breath and desperately hoping that Stiles can’t see his nervous sweat.

“I’m sorry we’re – Derek!” His mouth curls into a slow smile, and Derek feels all of his worries from earlier in the day vanish. It’s sudden, but freeing. He can almost see them floating away, untethered from a mind that just minutes ago seemed full enough to burst. He’s unburdened. Stiles’ smile can unburden him, it can soothe those pockets of anxiety and fear and self-doubt as if they never existed.

“I was hoping I could return these,” Derek says, managing to keep his face from flushing. It’s getting better, talking to Stiles. It’s getting a little more believable, each time, that this boy – this beautiful, caustic, human boy – wants to hear what he has to say.

Stiles bumps the door open with his ass, then pushes it closed with his foot once Derek has followed him into the dim light of the deserted library. “’Horticulture and you: An Optimist’s Guide to Gardening’. Huh.” He takes a second to look up at Derek and smirk. Didn’t take you for –”

“A gardener?” Derek supplies.

“An optimist,” Stiles corrects. He places the books on the front desk, then takes a step closer to Derek, pressing against him once his back hits the ancient panel board. He smiles, and his lips brush softly against Derek’s. “You actually do a pretty good job of making things grow.”

Derek snorts against Stiles’ lips as he finally presses forward. “That was awful,” he says with a shiver, as Stiles brings his fingers up to rest just below his hairline.

“I speak the truth,” Stiles says, brushing his lips across Derek’s jaw and down his throat. Derek can barely breathe he’s so turned on.

He curls his fingers around the side of the small book trolley besides him, mumbling a soft, “shit, Stiles.”

Another minute – maybe ten, Derek can’t think straight while this is happening – and Stiles pulls away. He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t ask Derek if he’s changed his mind, he just kisses his cheek softly before pulling away.

“I really do need to lock up,” he says, looking apologetic.

“Right, of course!” Derek fumbles with the books that he dropped off, but Stiles waves him away, saying he’ll file them on Monday. “So you’re not working over the weekend?”

Stiles laughs at the obvious disappointment in Derek’s voice. “Even us lowly working class get a weekend sometimes.” He fiddles with his phone, probably remembering that Derek doesn’t have access to one. “I know your mom freaked or whatever after the party, but I was hoping there was some way I could see you?”

“I seriously doubt it.” The lightness that Stiles inspired starts to dissipate. “My mother won’t let me out of her sight on a weekend until I move out.” He thinks about her frequent flyer miles and propensity to pop up when it’s least expected. “Probably even then.”

Stiles gnaws on the string of his hoodie – something that Derek should find disgusting rather than enchanting. “What if, uh, there was parental supervision?”

“Like, your parents?”

“Parent,” Stiles corrects. “It’s just me and my dad.”

Stiles’ scent bursts with sadness for an instant, and Derek just wants to pull him back over. He wants to bury himself in Stiles, to learn all the things that make him hurt, and try to make them better. That kind of intimacy goes beyond what they were doing a second ago, and is infinitely more terrifying. It makes the thought of having sex seem almost easy in comparison. He wonders if Stiles ever gets the same urge, or if he’d just send Derek away if he had any inkling of his true feelings.

“I can ask,” Derek says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “The computer lab is open late tonight, so I can let you know as soon as I get an answer.”

“No pressure,” Stiles says easily, but he reaches over and squeezes Derek’s hand. “I don’t want to cause any trouble between you and your family.”

“They’re the ones causing trouble,” Derek says. He scowls when Stiles laughs.

“You might want to work on that attitude,” he says, leaning in for one last kiss. “I have a lot invested in you being the charming young werewolf we both know you can be.”

He leans in, and just the sensation of his hot breath on Derek’s ear is enough to make his thoughts fuzzy. Enough to nearly drive him mad with wanting. “My dad gets called away from work most nights,” he whispers, before pulling away.

Derek groans, and as his head falls back against the wall, he can’t help but grin at Stiles’ laughter.

Part III:

Ben is awake and out back with their dad by the time Derek wanders back home. He can hear the soft sound of the Ben’s feet against the soft grass, and his father’s quiet laugh whenever the baby falls to the ground. The house is otherwise empty, and it doesn’t look like there’s anything started for dinner. There are baby toys and books littering every square inch of the family room, a stack of notebooks and an array of pens spread out over the dining room table, and dishes from last night still sitting in the sink. There’s usually housekeeping that comes in to take care of the mess, but since his mom insists that cleaning up after oneself is “character-building”, Derek figures it can’t hurt to tidy up himself.

Last night’s dishes are drip-drying on the counter, ground beef is sizzling in a frying pan, and Derek is just finishing his run-through with the Swiffer, when the rest of the family piles in. He tries not to grimace at the juice dripping out of Julie’s upside-down cup – seriously, what is the point of ever cleaning with a toddler around? – as his mother moves in to kiss his cheek.

“Derek,” she says, her cheek dimpling with a full smile. “This is not what you needed to do with your Friday night.”

Derek smiles back, but before he can say anything, Laura walks forward and punches him in the arm. “Suck up,” she sing-songs while shucking off her cardigan and throwing it over the back of the couch. She laughs when Derek flings it at the back of her head, and he can almost feel his mother watching them approvingly. He’s annoyed, both at Laura for being Laura, and at himself for forgetting that he’s supposed to be pissed at her, but he tries his best to stay calm. There’s no way his mother is going to hear him out if he’s not in complete control.

“I, uh, actually wanted to ask you something.” He wraps his hands around the back of a chair, pulling it out of the way as Julie barrels by in her quest to spread juice across the entire kitchen. His mom doesn’t say anything, just takes a seat across from him, but he can hear Laura skid to a stop at the end of the hall. He ignores her, grits his teeth, and forces a slow breath out his nose.

“Stiles invited me to his house,” he blurts out in a rush. “And you said that I needed your permission to leave the resort, so I was hoping…I mean, this is me, asking for that. For your permission. To go.”

He can hear Laura take a deep intake of breath at the end of the hall, but his mother answers quickly enough that it just gets exhaled in a triumphant puff. “I don’t think that would be wise,” she says, gesturing at the chair. Derek tries to summon the appropriate rage, but he figures that acting out will only hurt his chances of seeing Stiles at all over the next six weeks, so he drops into the chair without a word.

“The last time I let you go out for the evening, you betrayed my trust,” she says softly, holding up her hand before Derek can protest. “However, if Mr. Stilinski – ” Derek is too stunned by what he’s hearing to even correct his mother – “would like to come here for dinner, then that’s perfectly acceptable.”

Derek’s too happy to even care about Laura’s slammed door, or the puddle of juice he steps in on the way back to the stove. All he can think of, as he adds the spices to the beef, is that things are finally starting to look up.

It actually takes Laura a lot longer than he thought it would to come and give him “the talk”. He’s not sure if it’s because she’s sick of all the fighting they’ve already done this summer, or if she just had to hash the whole issue out with Sebastian beforehand. She barely picked at her supper, and was gone as soon as her spot was cleared. He hadn’t worried about it – he was too busy second-guessing his decision to even invite Stiles over, and then trying to tamper down the idiotic-giddy feeling that bubbled up as soon as Stiles accepted the invitation.

He’s still riding enough of a high that when she comes into his room, uninvited as usual, he just rolls over and says, “I know you don’t want him here, but he’s coming anyway.”

Instead of arguing, she just climbs up on his bed, and plops her head down on his shoulder to peer down at his book. It’s a familiar gesture, reminiscent of all the summers before this one, when they could actually tolerate each other’s presence for more than thirty seconds. “People are starting to talk,” she says quietly. Her shoulders are tense and he can’t help but feel guilty that she’s so uncomfortable.

“Since when do you care so much about what people think?” He snaps his book shut and throws it on the desk. “Seriously, Laur, fuck them.” He closes his eyes and pictures Laura as she was two summers ago, with her dark hair long and tangled, her new tattoo hidden beneath a wad of gauze that was fooling no one the next morning, and a shit-eating grin on her face. That Laura didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought. That Laura would have told the whole damn club to go fuck themselves without a second thought. It was infuriating, Derek thought, watching someone outgrow you.

“I know it shouldn’t matter, Der, but it does.” She digs her foot into the blankets and sighs. “It just does.”

“Did you know that none of them wanted mom and dad to be together?” He resists the urge to tack on an “either”, knowing that no matter how sorry Laura is, she still won’t accept that Derek’s relationship with Stiles is even remotely the same as the one their parents share.

“Stiles isn’t just a little eccentric. He’s a human. He’s an entirely different species from you. He has different physiology, and different values, and he’s just…different.”

Derek thinks of Stiles’ soft skin, the fragile bones that sit just under the surface. He thinks of his sharp tongue and stupid sense of humor. Whatever Laura – or anyone else – thinks, Derek knows that Stiles is more than his biology would suggest; he’s fierce and strong and a match for almost any werewolf he’s ever met. “It’s not like he’s a fucking orangutan,” says Derek. “You sound like one of those right-wing nutballs, who’d just as soon have a dozen humans penned in their backyard.”

Laura pushes herself off the bed, pushing her neatly styled hair behind an ear. A delicate diamond earing flashes in the sun seeping in through Derek’s window. “I know you don’t believe me, but I actually care about human rights, and not just because of some weird infatuation.”

There are a hundred things Derek wants to say, none of them polite, but he just grabs his book and waits for Laura to let herself out. She seems disappointed that he doesn’t engage, but he doesn’t care. His every conversation with her these days is a new lesson in disappointment.

By the time Stiles is supposed to arrive, Derek has worked himself into a panic. His dad is cooking meatloaf – meatloaf! – and he wonders how he could have been superbly, monumentally stupid enough to wish for that very thing the day before. Their whole kitchen is hot and steamy, and the babies are running around screaming like banshees. Laura, under strict orders from their mother, is sitting primly on the sofa with Sebastian, steadfastly keeping her mouth shut. Derek can’t decide which of those things is worse.

What the fuck was he thinking? Stiles is in only child. An only child with a father who works strange hours. He’s used to being alone. Alone, as in the state of being where people don’t interrogate you over too-rare meatloaf. Julie is going through this stage where she likes to ask people awkward potty-related questions, and what if one of them tries to tell Stiles what he smells like? Sebastian keeps glaring over at Derek when Talia’s not looking, and he knows it’ll be impossible for his father to go the entire meal without telling Stiles some inane fact about mushrooms. Jesus, Derek just wants to die now.

Things seem to be getting worse instead of better, when Derek first picks up the sharp tang of Stiles’ scent. He freezes, then, instinctually, looks to his sister for help. She continues to ignore him, but a small touch of his shoulder by his mother gives him the confidence he needs to move forward. He jogs to the front door, hoping to catch Stiles far enough away that they can have a minute or two to themselves.

He makes it to Stiles before he’s even out of his car. He looks good – a little more clean-cut than usual, with a little less hair product – but also…nervous. He’s sweaty, even though last night’s rain broke the suffocating humidity that had been hanging, thick and sticky, over the area for the past week, and he’s staring at his phone as though it holds the most intricate secrets of the universe. He startles, jamming his hand against the horn, when Derek taps on the window.

“Dah – Derek!” he says, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Derek grins, and his own nerves settle at the sight of Stiles so obviously anxious. “Nervous?” he asks.

“Uh, obviously.” Stiles rolls his eyes as he climbs out of the jeep. “Your mother is Talia Hale. Your sister has crazy murderess eyebrows. Your dad, well, I don’t actually know that much about your dad except for the fact that he is presumably both an optimist and a gardener.” He leans over to quickly brush his lips against Derek’s. “And well, them liking me is already out of the question, so…”

“They’ll like you,” Derek says, feeling considerably better just from one quick kiss. It’s not really a lie; Laura has been a major asshole about this, but Ben and Julie like anyone who will act as a receptacle for their drool, and his parents aren’t that bad. He stops, and Stiles skids to a less-than-graceful stop beside him. “You want them to like you?” He never seemed to seek anyone’s approval at the pool; in fact, he seemed to flagrantly flaunt his complete disregard for anyone’s good opinion.

For someone so pale, Stiles’ blush is much less pronounced than Derek’s splotchy patches, but it doesn’t really matter – he doesn’t need his sight to tell that Stiles is flustered. Stiles mutters another obviously, and Derek tries to keep his pleasure concealed. Stiles wants Derek’s parents to like him. Because he likes Derek. God, if Laura could only read his thoughts, she’d have enough material to hold over him for a lifetime.

“They’re just parents,” Derek says, leading Stiles across the manicured lawns to his family’s cottage. “They’re awkward and embarrassing and if you last longer than fifteen minutes, then I’ll be impressed.

Derek is beyond impressed. Not only does Stiles look impeccable, his manners are impeccable. He’s funny, charming, slightly self-deprecating, and holds Ben and Julie’s attention better than any of those psychedelic learning channel programs. He eats double helpings of the meatloaf and offers to help Talia serve dessert. When David asks the inevitable mushroom question, not only does Stiles have an answer, he gets engaged in a ten minute long conversation about edible mushrooms and how different species affect humans and werewolves differently. It’s amazing. Stiles is amazing. The dinner feels like an out-of-body experience, and Derek can almost forget the fact that this isn’t a typical mate-meeting-the-parents scenario, but for one thing: Sebastian.

Sebastian, who engages David in a discussion of his mother’s political interest in sustainable organic farming. Sebastian, who asks about Stiles’ interest in reading, his excessive delight just shy of condescending. Sebastian, who innocently inquires about Stiles’ plans for the future, not caring that it makes everyone obviously uncomfortable. Sebastian, who keeps dropping hints about how popular Stiles seems to be, how he has a way with people. Even Laura is getting visibly annoyed, but his parents are trying too hard to be nice to Stiles to notice the tension.

It’s not until Derek’s parents are putting the babies to bed that he pushes too far. Stiles is clearing away the dishes – he wouldn’t listen when Derek told him to stop, insisting that he did it all the time at home – and Derek’s expecting the inevitable crack about Stiles’ skills as a busboy, but instead Sebastian stands to help.

When Laura raises an eyebrow, Sebastian just shrugs. “Maria always does this at home,” he says, looking pointedly at Stiles. “But I think I can manage for one meal.” Sebastian doesn’t need to clarify that she’s his human housekeeper; Stiles is smart, and the set of his shoulders proves that he already knows. Instead of engaging he just methodically rinses the plates and puts them in the dishwasher.

“My aunt recommended her for the job,” he continues. “Because she’d worked for her before.” He moves a little closer to Stiles – close enough that Derek has to swallow a growl. Laura looks like she wants to reach out to him, but Derek shrugs past her to go stand by Stiles.

“Is that how you got your job?” Sebastian ask. His voice is soft, but Derek can hear the sharp edge, can sense the thinly veiled hostility. Suddenly, Derek wishes his mother were still here, because if Sebastian asks one more question, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep his temper in check.

“No.” Stiles doesn’t even look at Sebastian when he answers, he just keeps rinsing dishes. Steam billows up from the sink and Derek moves in to gently take a plate from Stiles to put it in the dishwasher.

“Really?” Sebastian clucks his tongue and quickly evades Laura’s outstretched arm. “You must have some resume. Or maybe just excellent people skills? I’ve heard Mr. Washburn has – ”

“That’s enough.” Derek moves forward as he snarls, fully intending to send Sebastian through the opposite wall, but Sebastian snaps back before Derek can reach him.

“Back the hell off,” Laura hisses to Sebastian. She glances over at Derek, but he can’t decipher the warring emotions. He’s sure his mouth is gaping open; he doesn’t spend any more time than he can help around Sebastian, but he’s pretty sure that he and Laura never fight. “Mom and Dad will probably be a while,” she says as she tugs Sebastian toward her room. “Maybe you should walk Stiles back to his car.”

Anger flares, fast and hot, in Derek’s gut. “Why should we have to –”

Stiles runs his fingers against Derek’s wrist, smoothing the dark hairs of his forearm. “It was nice to meet you, Laura,” he says. “I should probably be home soon anyway.”

Derek hesitates, not as willing as Stiles to just let this go, but another quick brush of fingers is all it takes for him to start moving toward the door. Hearing Laura rip Sebastian to shreds on their way to the bedroom makes it a little easier to put one foot in front of the other.

Instead of threading his fingers through Derek’s, Stiles pulls away once they step outside the door. He walks slowly, right beside Derek, and chews errantly at one of his nails. Derek is torn between the urge to apologize and to drag him back to the house so that Sebastian can apologize, but instead of doing either he just plods along quietly, waiting for Stiles to tell him that he doesn’t want any part of this anymore.

They’re out of the residential area, sheltered by the copse of trees opposite the parking lots, before Stiles finally speaks.

“I had a really good time,” he says quietly. He looks up at Derek, eyes wide.

“I – what?”

Derek must look as completely flabbergasted as he feels, because Stiles cracks a wide smile. “Your parents, they aren’t freaks. And your siblings? Adorable. Well, except for Laura – still not convinced she isn’t a murderess.”

“But Sebastian –“

“Grade-A dick, for sure,” says Stiles. He finally reaches out and grabs Derek’s hand. “But I stopped caring what assholes like him think a long time ago.”

“I hate it,” says Derek. “When they treat you like that, I hate it.”

Stiles doesn’t reply. Instead, he pulls Derek forward, until they thunk against the ancient metal of his jeep. Derek’s half surprised the thing doesn’t clatter to the ground under their combined weight.

“I didn’t do it, you know.” Stiles catches his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Didn’t what?” Derek tries to catch up, wondering if Stiles’ scent will always make him this stupid. He’d gladly take the stupidity, if it meant that he could keep Stiles.

“I didn’t fuck Washburn for the job.”

“I, uh – ” I didn’t think you did is what Derek should say. It’s what he wants to say, but even though Stiles won’t be able to tell, automatic honesty is something that’s developed over his sixteen years of life. It’s not that easy to change. “That’s…good?”

“Not that sex is something to be ashamed of.” Stiles juts his chin out, and though the thought of Stiles with someone else in that way – in any way – makes Derek feel a conflicting stomach-turning helplessness and white-hot jealousy, he just vigorously nods his head. Stiles pulls Derek closer, close enough that he can feel the strange, stuttered rhythm of his heart. “I just wanted you to know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek says, and that is the truth. “It wouldn’t have mattered either way.” Derek knows that Stiles has been with others, can feel it in his sure, practiced kisses, but he also thinks that maybe, even for Stiles, that this is different. That this is something more.

Stiles smiles, and tilts his head so that Derek can brush his lips against the smooth, pale skin. “I had a really good time,” he repeats.

When Derek gets back to the cottage, Laura is sitting out on the front porch, her eyes puffy and red. Her shoulders are slumped forward as if they can barely support the weight of her head, and her hair is tightly wound around her index finger. “Mom wants you,” she says morosely as Derek climbs the rickety old steps.

“Thanks,” says Derek. He pauses as he swings the front door open and adds, “for everything.”

His mother is waiting for him in his room. “Stiles is lovely,” she says as he takes a seat on his bed. “Your father and I are very happy that he was able to come over.”

Derek senses a but. His mother moves over to sit beside him, and he fights the urge to pull away; whatever she’s going to say, he knows he needs to hear her out.

“We just want you to be careful,” she says.

Ah, the be careful speech. Not the take-things-slowly or the get-to-know-each-other speech that they gave Laura last summer when she came home at all hours of the morning smelling like the “slow down” speech was miles behind her. Nope, apparently there’s no point to even give Derek that talk. Instead, Derek’s poor, fragile heart needs to be sheltered, because there’s no way that this could be real.

He can feel the prick of his nails against his palms, and it’s so frustrating because he knows that his mother knows how upset he is. He understands, in that instant, what Stiles meant when he said he wouldn’t want to be a werewolf. How comforting it must be to be able to keep your emotions hidden, to keep your secrets to yourself. All he can do is stare resolutely at the wall and refuse to meet his mother’s eyes.

“Derek, I know that you want this to be significant,” she says. Her voice is gentle, and that makes it worse. He’d almost rather she hated Stiles, because then he could blame her pity on some misplaced prejudice, rather than a genuine concern for his wellbeing. “I’m not trying to diminish your feelings, but you just need to remember that human social behaviors are different from ours. It’s quite unlikely that a teenaged boy is interested in something permanent.”

There are so many things Derek wants to say: that he doesn’t care if this is permanent, but that’s an obvious lie; that’s it’s none of her business, but that will just prove her point for her; or that she didn’t like it when people doubted her mate bond, but she’ll shut down that train of thinking fast. Really, what he wishes he could say is that he knows that Stiles is his mate, that he can feel it, even more strongly than he can feel the bonds of his pack or the pull of the moon. But he can’t, and not just because his mother might be skeptical or Laura might be annoyed; he can’t say it because he knows Stiles does not, and will never, believe or accept it.

“Stiles is welcome at any time,” she says quietly. She places a hand at the back of his neck, knowing, the way she always knows, that he needs a little extra support right now.

“You don’t care if someone sees him coming here?”

Talia’s nose wrinkles delicately. “As I said before, Stiles is a lovely boy.” She pulls him up so that they’re facing each other. Some time over the past year or so, he’s grown tall enough that she has to tilt her head to look at him. “I have always been proud of you, Derek,” she says. “And I will always support your choices, even when they’re difficult.”

Derek doesn’t answer, but when she pulls him in for a hug, he doesn’t resist.

The next few weeks are bliss. Derek makes an appearance at every library event, and Julie and Ben spend each story hour crawling all over Stiles and forcing him to read their favorite books. Once Stiles learns the ins-and-outs of Mrs. Gailbreth, the ancient librarian, and her schedule, Derek spends hours pressed up against the worn stacks, panting short breaths into Stiles’ shoulder and hoping to hell no one walks too close to the library. Between the musty old-book smell and the fact that Mrs. Gailbreth was literally a teenager before his grandparents were born, he’s not that worried about getting caught. Though it is hard to worry about anything when Stiles’ teeth scrape against his neck and his usually incessant chatter is abandoned for short, breathy moans.

Stiles comes to the cottage twice more, and even gets to see the inside of his room (not that they could do anything with his parents lurking in the kitchen). He seems to think that Derek’s stacks of books are cool, and they spend an entire evening stuffing their faces with jumbo marshmallows and trash-talking each other while playing Laura’s ancient copy of GoldenEye.

Sebastian stays far away from the house, which means that Derek doesn’t see a lot of his sister. She’s nearly always gone by the time he gets up for breakfast and doesn’t get home until he’s already in bed. They got stuck making dinner together a few nights after Stiles’ first visit, and while Laura kept half-starting sentences, they managed to stand next to each other for over an hour and barely say a dozen words. Still, the hordes of werewolf groupies stop hanging around at the pool, and since he and Stiles have managed to be fairly discreet, Derek can only assume that he has Laura to thank.

Though he wonders, as his father sets up the Adirondack chairs for Stiles’ first Hale-Family-Fire, if she’d be interested in his thanks at all. For the first time that Derek can remember, Laura is pulling out of the campfire. She’s gone with Sebastian’s family to some charity gala, and while his dad wouldn’t usually dare roast S’mores without her, Derek suspects that this is his way of trying to make Stiles feel welcome without having to tiptoe around Sebastian and his totally unwarranted hatred. Sure, his parents were a little more politically conservative than Derek’s, but they were all supporters of Talia’s campaign and social reforms, many of which included platforms geared toward human rights. Whatever his reason, Derek finds it harder and harder to dwell, because it really doesn’t seem to be affecting Stiles in the least. He’s as happy as Derek has ever seen him, and though he still shows up sometimes with bloodshot eyes or dark circles that hint at a night of no sleep, he doesn’t seem to be partying himself into oblivion.

In fact, the buzzed, aloof Stiles from Lydia’s party seems like a completely different person than his Stiles, who is inside mixing up hot cocoa with Julie, nearly vibrating with excitement. He can see him through the window, pretending to drink from a wooden spoon that Julie’s holding up to his lips. His sister’s delighted squeal echoes across the garden and Derek’s chest burns at the sight. There are still moments where he can’t believe that this is happening.

A familiar unbuckling sound distracts him from Stiles’ antics, and he turns around to find his father taking out his battered guitar.

“What is that doing out here?” he asks, casting a suspicious glare at the instrument.

His father grins and plucks at a few strings to make sure that it’s in tune. “Stiles insisted.”

“Of course he did,” Derek mutters darkly.

“What’s with crabby wolf?” Stiles, who has clearly caught the conversation, comes out of the house cackling, his two little minions trailing behind.

“Crabby wolf! Crabby wolf!” Julie yells, practically hanging off Stiles’ side. She’s taken to mimicking nearly everything he does, and she thinks his less-than-endearing nicknames for Derek are the highest form of comedy. He’s pretty sure that even Ben looked at him and said “cabby” this morning.

“It’s a good thing I like your scowl,” says Stiles, and he leans in to peck Derek on the cheek. Julie of course, lpuckers up her lips and refuses to take another step until Stiles bends down low enough for her to kiss his cheek. When Derek does the same, she completely ignores him in favor of the package of hot dogs her father has just taken out of a cooler.

When Derek looks back up Stiles is shaking with silent laughter. Still, he magnanimously lets Stiles take his hand as they head toward the seats. “Just for that,” Derek says, “you will be hearing nothing from me tonight.”

Stiles pouts, but David interjects quickly. “You either sing or you don’t eat.” He then proceeds to take out a huge Reese’s chocolate peanut butter bar.

Talia picks that exact moment to come into the yard. “Oh, Derek, it’s your favorite,” she says, and the lot of them dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“I hate all of you,” Derek huffs.

They just laugh harder.

Once he can finally breathe properly again, Stiles turns to face Derek’s mother. He dips his head slightly – a sign of respect that Derek is surprised he remembers – and scratches the back of his head nervously. The change in mood is palpable – Stiles is sweating enough for even the kids to pick up on it – but Talia smiles encouragingly.

“Um, Mrs, uh…Alpha Hale – ”

“Talia,” she corrects gently.

“Talia,” says Stiles. “I, uh…” He scratches his head again, and Derek wants to reach out and grab his hand, show some sign of support for whatever is going on here, but Stiles is so twitchy that he thinks it’ll probably just make things worse.

“I really like your son,” Stiles blurts in a rush. “And well, this is first time that that has…happened. To me.”

Derek’s dad looks fond, his mother looks grudgingly impressed, and he want to die. Obviously, Stiles is confessing something major here and it’s amazing and perfect and more than he ever thought would happen, but why does it have to happen in front of his parents?

“So since this is a new kind of deal for me, my dad would really like to meet Derek.” The words fall out of Stiles’ mouth in an unintelligible mumble, but to Derek they sound as a clear as a bell.

Stiles’ father wants to meet him. Derek doesn’t know much about John Stilinski – he works as a sort of policeman for one of the most crime-ridden human sectors of the county; he maybe has a crush on Scott’s mom, but thinks that Stiles might find that weird (he doesn’t); and he has a “built-in bullshit detector” that can rival werewolf senses – but that doesn’t mean he isn’t terrified at the very idea of him. When a wolf meets his or her mate, it’s a cause for celebration. There is no high stakes meet the parents night. Why do humans do this? It’s torturous just thinking about it, and his mother hasn’t even said yes. If this is how Stiles felt before coming to his house, Derek is surprised he even showed up. He would have taken his car and not stopped until he hit the State line.

When he’s finally able to look up Stiles is handing Talia a business card.

“That’s his cell,” Stiles says, looking more and more like he’s going to pass out. “He’s expecting your call.”

Talia glances over the paper before slipping it into her pocket. “I’ll call to ask him what night would be best for Derek to visit.”

Stiles slumps into his chair, and Julie is at his legs in an instant, shouting “Stiles go BOOM!” Stiles laughs weakly and accepts a bottle of water from David’s outstretched hand.

“Drink up, Stiles,” David says. “Derek likes an accompaniment when he gets down.”

Gets down? Stiles mouths at Derek when David turns to pick up his guitar. Derek just shrugs and smiles. Maybe, if it’s anything like this, meeting Stiles’ father won’t be so bad.

Talia actually does call Stiles’ dad, despite Derek’s vehement protests, and they decide that Derek will visit the following weekend. John – at least from what Derek can tell by eavesdropping on the conversation – is nothing like his son. He’s gruff, almost to the point of terseness, and doesn’t say one word more than he needs to. He’s upfront about the state of their neighborhood and the possible backlash of having Talia Hale’s son in his house, so they agree to have Stiles pick Derek up at the resort rather than getting a town car to drop him off. Derek doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the vibe he gets from just listening to a short, professional call doesn’t make him any less terrified.

He’s so obviously nervous that even Laura tries to help. Her don’t worry, Marion and Dex are very intimidating, but they welcomed me into the family right away. Of course they welcomed here into the family right away! In their opinion, Sebastian hit the mating jackpot. To them, being one of Talia Hale’s offspring was something to be coveted. Stiles and his father live in one of the poorest human sectors in the state. Mr. Stilinski probably thinks he’s an entitled little shithead – he probably is an entitled little shithead. He has everything he could ever want, and he gave his parents the silent treatment for a week because he didn’t even want to come to this place. The same place where Stiles allows people to talk down him, to pretend that they’re somehow better than him, just so that he can help his Dad with their exorbitant mortgage.

He’s shit. He’s worse than shit. He’s pretty sure Stiles is going to dump him. He probably should dump him. If Derek was a better person, he would probably just call it off now, before Stiles got hurt – really hurt – because of him. Still, that would be the kind paternalistic, inconsiderate, shithead move that Stiles would really hate.

Jesus, he can’t even angst without being a dick.

This date is going to be the end of him.

He’s so tense the night before that his mother takes him out for a run. At first he’s embarrassed; she hasn’t had to do this for Laura for years, and he wonders if his control will always be this tenuous. He wonders, with a flare of resentment, if he’ll ever be as good as his sister. Still, he’s glad that he doesn’t turn her down, because it’s exactly what he needs. As a wolf he can exist as a purely physical being. As a wolf he feel unencumbered. He feels free. He feels absolutely, blissfully at peace.

When Saturday night finally rolls around, Derek banishes his family from the house a half an hour before Stiles is set to arrive. There’s some kind of stupid Halloween in August going on, so his parents dress up the kids and pack some of their weird organic snack foods and disappear in a flurry of tulle.

Laura lingers for a few minutes longer, and when she passes Derek in the hallway, she keeps giving him this doe-eyed, doleful look, and edging forward as if she’s going to hug him.

“I swear, Laura,” he grits out as he examines his hair in the hall mirror for the tenth time, “if the words be careful leave your lips, I will end you.”

Laura, in a fit of well-timed beneficence, does not use the opportunity to prove to Derek how thoroughly she could wipe the floor with him if she so desired. Instead, she just rolls her eyes and punches him in the arm. “Don’t think you can shower your shame away,” she says. “You may as well hang a huge sign over your head saying Hey Mom, we boned!”

He physically removes her from the house, just so that he won’t have to hear her stupid, cackling laughter for one more second.

“His Father is going to be home!” he yells at Laura’s retreating back.

Stiles, of course, chooses that moment to walk up the path. “I can create a diversion, if you want to have your way with me,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Derek scowls and kicks at a loose stone. “Laugh it up,” he mutters. “As if your dad needs another reason to hate me.”

Stiles scrunches his nose adorably. “What’s his first reason?”

“Pretty sure the fact that I’m a werewolf is enough.”

Stiles snorts. “Uh, pretty sure you couldn’t be more wrong about that if you tried. Anyway, my dad pretty much loves you more than me. All he’s talked about all summer is what a ‘good influence’ you are.”

Derek can feel the tips of his ears reddening. He turns his head, but he knows it won’t do any good: Stiles is too observant for his own damn good.

“I’m not trying to do anything,” says Derek. “I mean, I don’t want you to stop doing things.” Lie. “I mean, not if you want to do them.” Half-truth. “I don’t want to change you.” True.

“What I do and who I am are very different things.” Stiles waits, jingling his keys, while Derek grabs his jacket and a package of cookies (baked by his father, not by him) for John.

Stiles scowls at the cookies. “That’s just bribery,” he says.

“Definitely,” agrees Derek. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

This time it’s Stiles who flushes.

Stiles’ father – Sherriff Stilisnki, he insists on, not John – meets them at the door. He takes the cookies with a begrudging thanks and turns on his heel toward the kitchen.

Help me, Derek tries to communicate with his eyes, but Stiles just shoos him in the right direction, looking a little less confident himself.

Things don’t really improve from there. Derek is trying so hard to think of all the things he could do wrong, that he completely zones out and misses nearly every question John – Sherriff Stilinski – asks him. Every time he says, I’m sorry, could you repeat that? the lines around the Sherriff’s mouth get a little tighter. The food – homemade pizza that Stiles prepared and actually looks like it should be delicious – goes down in revolting pasty lumps.

Stiles keeps trying to save the conversation with random facts and inane chatter, but his dad just punctuates the glares he seems to have saved for Derek with brief flashes of fondness and exasperation that Derek completely understands. Stiles makes him feel much the same way. He’d bring that up to the Sheriff, if he thought that it wouldn’t earn him a wolfsbane bullet. He thanks his lucky stars that his mother knows where he went tonight; he’s pretty sure that’s the only reason he won’t end up in the Stilinskis’ back dumpster.

The second that everyone has cleared his plate, Derek checks out to go to the bathroom. He’s splashing water on his face, trying his best not to hyperventilate in front of the toothpaste-splattered mirror, when Stiles rounds on his father.

“Seriously, Dad, are you trying to give him a heart attack?”

There’s no answer, but Derek can visualize the Sherriff’s facial expression – impressive, considering he’s known him for all of forty-five minutes.

“So last weekend, when I was not at Katelyn’s party that got busted, and you came back all Derek-this, Derek-that was that just for shits? Was it some sort of false sense of security so you could bring him here and torture him?”

“I’m hardly the first father to intimidate a son’s boyfriend.”

“This crossed intimidation three slices ago!” Derek can picture Stiles, gesturing madly, his hair starting to stick up. “This is borderline harassment.”

“Stiles, you spend a lot of time with Derek,” John says. “I just need to make sure that you’re going to be okay. Keeping you safe is my only priority in all this.”

“I told you Dad,” Stiles says, “Derek’s not like that. That possessive he’s-my-one-true-mate garbage, you don’t have to worry about it. He understands what this is.”

Stiles’ father just hums in response – an insignificant little sound – but Derek feels like the floor is about to collapse beneath him. Mate garbage echoes in his mind, as does every be careful and humans are different that he’s heard from his family over the past six weeks. And it’s not like he can be upset with Stiles – Stiles told him that he didn’t want that kind of commitment. He told him that it was stupid.

Funny, knowing that this was coming doesn’t soothe the burn that scorches the back of Derek’s throat.

He’s so stunned that he completely loses track of the conversation in the kitchen. It isn’t until Stiles softly knocks on the bathroom door that Derek jolts back to awareness. He pushes the door open, trying his best to look composed. He supposes that he should be thankful for the “resting murder face” Stiles always accuses him of having.

It must work, because Stiles is completely oblivious. He just beams at Derek, laughing a little when he says, “you must have heard that entire conversation, huh?”

Derek doesn’t bother to lie; it would just look suspicious.

“Well, you must have heard me bullying my dad into being nice to you.”

Derek just nods, because he’s not entirely sure what would come out of his mouth if he opened it. Stiles knows that he heard the entire conversation, and it doesn’t even dawn on him that Derek would be upset. Because, as he told his father, Stiles believes that Derek understands that their relationship has a shelf life. That it’s a summer fling, or whatever it is that humans do. And he believes that because Derek has been lying to him. He’s been lying to Stiles, and he’s been lying to himself, this whole summer. He’s told himself that he could treat this like a human relationship, when that isn’t even close to the truth. He’s been telling himself that the two of them aren’t so different, that they would show everyone how easy it is for a werewolf and a human to be together.

He’s been a colossal idiot, because Stiles is his mate. He doesn’t know how he ever thought he could pretend otherwise. He adores everything about Stiles. Things that drive him fucking insane from anyone else just make him smile when they come from Stiles. He wants to be close to him constantly. The day, the week, fuck, his entire life seems better when Stiles is around. The very thought of Stiles being with someone else makes him want to attack. He wants Stiles to be his, just as he wants to belong to Stiles. He supposes that may seem possessive, from a human’s point of view, but to him it feels natural. It feels right.

Basically, everything he feels is everything Stiles doesn’t want, and he needs to tell him, because Stiles will never feel the same.

He tells himself that if he can make it through the rest of this dinner alive, then he’ll tell Stiles when they get back to the resort. He can’t tell him here – as embarrassing as it is to admit, even to himself – he’s going to need his pack close to help him deal with the fallout.

When he gets back to the kitchen, the mood has changed considerably. Stiles’ little rant has made his father at least a little empathetic, and he actually tries engaging Derek in conversation. Twenty minutes ago Derek would have been thrilled, but now he just settles for blandly polite. He was raised not to be rude, but it’s not like he’s ever going to see the guy again.

The last crumbs of dessert are just being scraped from everyone’s plate when a shrill beeping noise rises up from the Sherriff’s coat. It’s a pager – from work¬ – Stiles mouths from across the table, and apparently it’s an emergency.

“Get Derek home by his curfew,” the Sherriff says before disappearing out the door. His disapproving eyebrows are the last thing Derek sees before his beat-up grey car roars out of the driveway, blue lights flashing.

“That was for my benefit,” Stiles assures him once his father’s car has disappeared from view. “He thinks I enjoying ‘flouting authority’.”

“Can’t imagine it.”

Stiles laughs openly at Derek and hooks his foot around the leg of Derek’s chair. Derek tries to force out the words he knows he has to say, but it’s like his lungs are filled with cement. Being here, surrounded by Stiles’ scent, feeling like he belongs in this secret, private place, like he’s a part of Stiles’ pack, is overwhelming. He can’t just leave. He wants to see the place where Stiles grew up. If this is all going to end soon he doesn’t want this opportunity to just pass him by. He can’t let that happen.

“So,” Stiles says, tapping a quick beat against the table. Suddenly the air is thick with the scent of his anxiety, and Derek wonders if he’s somehow noticed that something is wrong.

He takes a deep breath, then lets his words out in a rush. “Do you, uh, wanna go upstairs?”

He must take Derek’s stunned surprised for hesitancy, because he immediately starts backpedaling. “No, no, no,” he says. “We could just go – I mean if you wanted to, but – I just.”

Derek stands and sticks out his hand, and Stiles grabs on to the opportunity to stop talking. He threads his long fingers through Derek’s and leads him gently up the stairs.

“I feel like I’m in a regency-era romance,” says Stiles, as a floorboard creaks under his feet.

“Pretty sure this is the plot to a regency-era romance,” Derek says. “The Werewolf and the Human: Love at first Bite.”

“The Werewolf and the Human?” Stiles snorts. “No wonder your sister always wants me to tell her stories – you’re like a creative black hole. No, our romance deserves a better title than that.”

“Like?”

“Like – ” Stiles waves his arms in a huge sweeping motion, “ – forbidden moon.”

Derek laughs, mostly at Stiles antics, but the sound curdles in his throat as he recalls the warning that Lydia gave him that night he snuck off the resort. What if she was right? What if this really is fun for Stiles because it’s dangerous. What if it’s the forbidden aspect that makes Derek at all appealing?

“Hey,” Stiles says, snapping him out of his reverie. “I’m not going to dump you because you make poor creative choices.”

No, Derek wants to say, you’re going to “dump” me because me wanting to belong with you is a repulsive thought. Instead he just rolls his eyes and says, “like you’re any better.”

Stiles is still protesting as he knocks his room door open with his hip.

When they step in, Stiles’ complaints fall to white noise. The room is just has he expected it to be. Not tidy, but neat enough that Derek knows Stiles tried to clean up for him. There’s a small stack of well-worn comics near the bed, and the hanging above a battered wooden desk is littered with brightly colored post-its. There are pieces of string separating the jumble of post-its into distinct groupings, and Derek walks closer for a better look.

He reaches out to touch a post-it. June 13th, Ottawa, Canada, it reads. “What is it?”

Stiles stares at the bulletin board, unwilling – or unable? – to meet Derek’s eyes. “Protests,” Stiles says. “Some sit-ins. Meetings. Important papers. Some missing persons reports. It’s all related to – ”

“The human rights movement,” Derek says. “I had no idea that you –”

“I didn’t know if you’d…want to?” Stiles says. He runs a hand through his messy hair, and picks up a pair of glasses that Derek has never seen before.

Derek looks around, taking in these parts of Stiles that he had no idea even existed. He hates that this is something Stiles felt that he couldn’t share. He hates that he’s never seen those glasses. He hates that there are stupid t-shirts in those drawers that he will probably never see. “I want to know everything about you,” Derek says, agonized.

Stiles doesn’t answer, just makes a low-needy sound, and pulls Derek against him. The kiss is hot, messy, and deep, and Derek doesn’t want it any other way. He maneuvers Stiles toward the bed, nodding when Stiles takes a breath to mutter a quick, you sure?

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles moans as they fall together. “Just wait – wait, gimme one second.”

Derek pulls away reluctantly; if he’s only going to get this one chance, he wants to let Stiles have any part of him that he wants. Any part that he’ll take.

“I – I need to tell you something,” Stiles pants. Derek nuzzles against his throat, and Stiles collapses onto his chest.

“I just want you to know,” he says, looking straight at Derek. “And this has nothing to do with what’s going on right now, and I don’t want to pressure you, but I need to tell you.”

Derek’s heart is beating so quickly that he’s sure Stiles can feel it against his chest. “Okay,” he says slowly.

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” Stiles confesses. “And if you want to stop and go downstairs and watch shitty movies all night, then I’m game, but I – ”

“Stop,” Derek says, and Stiles immediately tenses above him. “You don’t need to explain,” Derek says, and while a part of him – a primal, central, significant part of him – is screaming just tell him!, Derek just pulls Stiles in for a slow kiss. “I understand.”

Derek thought he would feel different, after. He thought that something would shift, that he would feel solid, or more mature, or complete, or some shit. Instead, he just feels warm. Warm, and a little sore.

He’s happy, but he always is, when he’s with Stiles. They set an alarm to go off half an hour before Derek’s curfew, but Derek couldn’t sleep. Not with Stiles curled into his side like this. Not if this might be the only time this happens.

When it finally does blare to life, Stiles jolts awake, nearly taking out one of Derek’s eyes in the process. It’s hilarious and exactly what Derek would expect, and it makes him feel like crying.

Thankfully, he manages to hold it in until he’s back at the resort. He parts from Stiles with a perfect, lingering kiss, but as soon as the jeep is out of sight, he collapses onto the cool ground; the tiny pebbles bite in his knees, but the pain barely registers. There are no tears – Derek can’t remember the last time he actually cried – but his body shakes with huge, shuddering movements that make his teeth chatter and his fingers shift into sharp claws.

“Derek? Derek!”

He doesn’t even notice Laura’s presence until she shifts. She grabs his shoulders, digging her fingers just into the skin, and when Derek snaps his head up her golden eyes are wide with concern.

“Derek, you’ve got to tell me what happened. All I can smell is –” Her face darkens. ”Did he hurt you?” She snarls, deep and low, and Derek would be impressed if he was in a better state of mind; she sounds like an alpha. “I’ll kill him.”

“No,” Derek says, forcing air out of his lungs. His teeth clack, but he knows if he doesn’t answer Laura will probably take off after Stiles’ car. “It wasn’t like that, it was good. It was great. It’s just –” His voice chokes off again and in an instant Laura is on the ground with her arms wrapped around him.

“Breathe,” she says, taking deep breaths herself. “Just breathe with me.”

When he’s calmed down enough that she can let go, she holds out a hand to pull him to his feet. He notices, now that he’s calmed down a little, that she looks different. She looks normal, like his sister. Her hair is messy and pulled together in a loose ponytail, her eyes are free of mascara, and she’s wearing ripped jeans with the “Save the Rainforest” t-shirt their father gave them all for Christmas last year. Derek hid his in the bottom of his drawer, only to be taken out on Earth day, when all of them are expected to wear it.

She brushes her hands against her pants and then looks up at him, concerned but curious. “Can you wait here for a second? I’ve gotta run back to the cottage.”

“Please don’t get –”

“I’m just going to write a note,” she says, and she’s telling the truth. “They’re gone to sleep anyway.”

Derek nods. “Meet me at the cliffs.”

The cliffs are technically not part of the resort (and thus break Talia’s rule about not leaving without her permission), but it’s close enough that Derek doesn’t think anyone would care. Laura gets there a few minutes after he does, and she stays silent while he tells her – well, everything. He talks about meeting Stiles, then the party and Lydia’s comments. He includes all the conversations about mates and how conflicted he feels about the whole thing. He ends with the hushed conversation between Stiles and his father and an abridged version of what happened after. It’s probably the longest monologue of his life, and it’s definitely the longest Laura has ever gone without interrupting someone.

Even when he’s finished, the only thing she says is a soft, “Well, fuck.”

Derek barks out a harsh laugh. “Fuck is right.” He looks down at the cliffs below and tries to recapture the feeling he used to get here as a kid watching the waves crash against the weathered rock: like nothing could touch him. “I’m going to have to tell him,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “And then he’s going to leave.”

Laura waits until she’s sure he’s finished before speaking up. “What if you didn’t tell him?”

Derek’s head snaps up. He’s not sure he heard her correctly. For all her flaws, Laura is unflinchingly honest, even for a werewolf. And since werewolves can’t lie, keeping secrets is regarded as pretty much the same thing. She would never keep anything from Sebastian, especially something of this magnitude.

“So you think I should try to keep up a relationship that’s based on a lie.”

“But what if it’s not a lie?” Laura scoots to the side so that she’s facing Derek, rather than sitting next to him. “What if what you and Stiles are feeling is the same thing, just with different terminology?” When Derek doesn’t answer, she continues.

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading over the summer,” she says. “Human folklore and the idea of soul mates, along with some papers about werewolf and human sexuality. A lot of the research I’ve found is contradictory to what’s considered the cultural norm.” She brushes a piece of hair back, looking a little sheepish under Derek’s scrutiny. “We were fighting so much, and I figured that anything that had you so worked up had to be real. Then, once I actually started looking into the mate bond, I found a lot of inconsistencies.”

“Inconsistences,” Derek repeats, feeling dazed.

“Yeah. Like, don’t you find it strange that almost every adult you know is mated? Whether it happened early or later in life, I can probably only name like three people I’ve even heard of who have gone unmated. And most humans get married, eventually.”

“But the divorce rate? The mating bond?” Derek pulls out facts from his grade six health class, desperate to hold on to something familiar. He can’t bear to let himself hope.

“Sociological phenomenon,” Laura says, shrugging. “Did you know that a few hundred years ago almost no human couples got divorced? Or that one in twenty werewolves admit to having considered an affair?”

“But the bond,” Derek repeats. “Even you and Sebastian…”

“That’s the part that kept tripping me up,” says Laura. “I mean, I’ve felt it, so I can’t very well deny its existence. I’m not even saying that I don’t believe in mates, I’m just saying that it might not be as cut and dry as everyone makes it out. I mean, werewolves can literally smell pheromones. Those chemical makers that signal out someone as a potential partner – mate – aren’t as immediately obvious to humans.”

“So you’re saying that werewolves are basically love-at-first-sighters and humans have to slog through the slow build?”

“Basically,” Laura says, smiling. “I probably wouldn’t have phrased exactly like Stiles Stilinski, but then again, I’m not in love with him.”

Derek flips her off, but he feels lighter. Happier. Could it really be as simple as Laura is making it seem? “That’s probably the most subversive thing I’ve heard you say in years,” he says, smiling.

Laura digs the rubber toe of her sneaker into the dirt, pushing pebbles off the edge of the cliff. “Well, you haven’t really been that interested in hearing what I have to say for a long time.”

Derek opens his mouth to argue, but it’s true. It’s true that there’s been a distance since Laura met Sebastian last summer, but Derek hasn’t done anything to close it. In fact, he’s probably been instrumental in keeping it open. He hasn’t tried to get to know Sebastian – has openly hated him, actually – while Laura spent what seems like a huge chunk of her summer trying to understand what he’s going through.

“I know that you hate a lot of things about this lifestyle,” she continues. “But sometimes you’ve got to play their stupid games. Sometimes I’m standing around with mom with my toes cramped into expensive shoes and listening to the same stupid stories I’ve heard at least two other functions and I want to fucking scream with boredom. But it’s part of being an Alpha, and it’s part of being political, and if I want to really make a difference about the things I care about, then it’s something I have to do.” She pauses, then looks back at the ground. “I just wish you didn’t hate me for it.”

“I don’t.” Derek pulls her toward him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

They stay like that for a few seconds, until Laura backs away, punching him as she moves. “You should talk to Stiles,” she says. “Make him hear you out, and talk about what’s bothering you. If you don’t, then you’re going to spend the rest of the year in the dark reading weird, emo poetry and Dad’s going to try to release your feng shui or some shit with disgusting kale smoothies.”

Derek laughs for real at that – scarily accurate – assessment, and lets his sister pull him to his feet. He’s going to talk to Stiles, as soon as his shift is over tomorrow. They both deserve honesty, and Derek, for the first time, thinks that things are probably going to work out.

Part IV:

Derek barely sleeps that night. He spends hours mulling over what Laura told him, then hours after that planning what he’s going to say to Stiles. The horrible sense of dread that he had carried with him after leaving Stiles’ house was slowly lifting, being replaced by a tentative, blooming hope. He replays the events of the previous night – soft touches, burning kisses, whispered confessions – over in his mind, convincing himself that he’s doing the right thing. That Stiles will listen to what he has to say.

When the day finally breaks, Derek is still awake. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through another ten hours without seeing Stiles, so he decides to go see him before work. Their conversation can wait until later, until they’re alone, but the urge to see him – to touch him – is like a physical force, propelling Derek out of bed. He pitters around the kitchen for an hour or so; he cooks and omelet, then does some of the dishes that are left over from the night before. Once he’s finished up he can hear Ben rustling around in his parents’ room, so he slips through the front door before he gets volunteered for morning duty. He wanders through the grounds, listening intently for the telltale clunk of Stiles’ jeep.

He wonders, as he walks toward the parking lot, where the jeep came from. It’s old and rusted and Stiles rubs the consoles soothingly when it makes any particularly ominous rumbles, and it’s clear that it’s important to him. It means something beyond being his first car, and Derek wants to know the history there. He wants to know everything, or at least anything Stiles is willing to share.

Just as he picks up the low rumble of the jeep’s engine, he gets cornered by Susannah Smith, one of the moms who helps organize the club’s little league. He nods, accepting her ideas for the end-of-year tournament easily, all while wishing she would just hurry up and stop talking. He politely turns down an invitation for brunch, making up some excuse about hanging out with his dad – none of the women here really get Derek’s dad, so it always manages to shut them up – and hurries toward the parking lot. He’s already lost a few precious minutes that he could have spent making out against the jeep’s faded door – now he’ll be lucky just to walk next to Stiles until they part ways at the library.

He jogs through the woods instead of winding his way down the path to the parking lot, but pauses when he hears something unexpected: voices, and the telltale thump of Stiles’ heartbeat. Someone’s talking to Stiles, and he’s not happy about it. He picks up the pace, and skids out of the woods onto the lumpy pavement to find Stiles leaning against his jeep, boxed in by two werewolves who are a few years older than Derek.

At first glance he looks casual, leaning against the blue paint with his hip jutted, arms crossed. But Derek – and the other weres for that matter – can smell his anxiety, high and sharp and bitter.

“I think maybe it’s time for you to go back where you came from.” One of the weres – Blake, Derek thinks his name is – roughly jabs Stiles’ shoulder with the palm of his hand, and a snarl erupts from Derek’s chest, announcing his presence.

“Derek,” says Stiles, taking the momentary distraction as the perfect opportunity to twist free. He jogs over to Derek, pressing his hand softly against the curve of Derek’s waist, which is hidden from view. “Hey.”

Derek mutters a quick hey before turning to face Blake and his friend.

“So it’s true?” Blake says, a sneer twisting his bland features into something grotesque. “Derek Hale, slumming it with the human slut?”

“Watch yourself,” Derek snarls. Stiles is suspiciously silent beside him, so Derek offers his hand. He can hear the soft intake of breath beside him, and his chest warms as Stiles’ fingers tangle into his.

“No, Hale.” Blake’s eyes flash and Derek can feel the urge to shift thrumming beneath his skin. “You better watch yourself. This little bitch –” Derek snarls again and Blake grins maliciously, his canines glinting in the morning sun “ – needs to learn his place.”

“His place is with me,” Derek grits out, fighting to keep his own teeth from lengthening. The urge to protect his mate is powerful – stronger than his anger, or frustration, or any of the things that have pulled him into shifting in the past. “And if you touch him, then – ”

“Then what?” Blake’s friend laughs and the two of them move a little closer.

“You’re not the only one with a powerful family name, Hale,” he says. His eyes glint as he pops out his claws.

Derek moves so that Stiles is behind him, but he knows it’s not going to do any good. Blake and his friend are bigger than him, older than him, and have significantly better control than him. Derek’s never been in a fight in his life, unless you count tussles with Laura, and he’s certainly never won any of those. He needs to do something, and fast, before this turns bloody. And there’s really only one thing he can do – really only one thing he can say – to make them stop.

“Stiles,” he says, praying that he’ll understanding. That he’ll let Derek explain.

“I won’t run,” Stiles mutters back. “So don’t even ask.”

Derek probably would, if he thought it would work, but not even the fastest human could outrun a werewolf. Derek shakes his head, and turns to look at Stiles. “Please,” he says, “just trust me.”

“He’s my mate,” Derek says as he turns back to face the other weres. “Stiles is my mate, and if you hurt him, I’ll have you prosecuted to the full extent of the law.” On average, a were who assaults a mated wolf gets a much harsher penalty than if the victim is unmated.

“Bullshit,” Blake says, but his friend reaches out to pull him back. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Stiles Stilinski is my mate,” Derek repeats, slowly.

“You’re not lying.” Blake’s lip curls once more. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Hale?”

Nothing, Derek wants to spit. He wants to rage, to scream, to force them to understand how utterly, absolutely wrong they are, but all he can focus on is the frenzied beat of Stiles’ heart. He sounds worse now than he did a few minutes ago, and Derek feels a bit dizzy. Stiles has to hear him out. “Just leave,” he says, waving his hand.

Thankfully, they listen, and disappear into the trees, muttering darkly. Derek’s sure that this conversation will be spread across the resort in no time. He turns to Stiles, so that he can explain, and finds him nearly vibrating with rage. His eyes are brimming with unshed tears, and the force of his glare is strong enough to send Derek staggering back a few steps.

“You lied to me,” he hisses. He turns to walk back to toward the jeep, but Derek grabs his wrist.

“Stiles, wait!”

Stiles wrenches his wrist out of Derek’s grip, spitting, “Don’t touch me!” with enough venom to make Derek flinch.

“Stiles, please,” he pleads. “Please, just hear me out. It’s not what you think.”

“Will you answer two questions for me?”

“Yes!” Derek feels like he’s about to vomit. His whole body is cold and he can hear the whoosh of blood as it pounds through his temples.

“Honestly?” Stiles narrows his eyes.

“I swear.”

“Do you think that I’m your mate?”

“Yes,” Derek says miserably. “But –”

Stiles glares again, holding up a hand. “And how long have you felt that way?”

Derek thinks back to the day he met Stiles. He thinks about how out of sorts he felt after meeting him the woods, how he immediately wanted to protect him at the pool. He thinks about the compulsion to spend time with him, the way he wanted to rip into the girl who was kissing him at that party. Then he thinks of Laura’s research about pheromones and instant attraction and what it means to be a mate. “I don’t know,” Derek admits. “I guess I was drawn to you right away.”

Stiles runs his hands through his hair, and he looks about five seconds away from a mental breakdown. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly. He kicks at a pile of dirt, sending rocks flying everywhere. “Fuck!”

When he rounds on Derek again the tears are flowing freely. “You didn’t even know me,” he says, his voice cracking. “I can’t believe that this was all about some stupid, archaic… I hope you don’t think this means I belong to you.”

“That’s not what a mate bond is.” Derek doesn’t know where Stiles got the idea that being mated was like being enslaved. “The bond is about love, it’s about belonging to each other.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Stiles snarls, wolf-like himself. “I can’t believe you lied to me,” he says, sounding broken. Derek tries to open his mouth, tries to tell him something – anything – to make him understand, but nothing comes out. “I thought you were different.”

Just as he swings himself into the jeep, Derek reaches out, grabbing onto the window. “Stiles, please,” he says, “just listen.”

“I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say,” Stiles says.

“That’s a lie.” Derek clings to that small stutter of Stiles’ heart like a lifeline. Maybe he’s just upset right now, maybe Derek just has to give him a little space, let him breathe a little.

“Stop doing that,” Stiles screams. “Just because you can hear a physiological reaction, or smell some stupid chemosignals that tell you I’d make a good fucking bonding partner doesn’t mean you know anything about me. It doesn’t mean shit.” He jams his keys in the ignition and roars out of the parking lot before Derek has the chance to say another word.

This time, Derek can’t control the shift. The need to escape overtakes him, and he’s suddenly on four legs instead of two. It takes every ounce of willpower he has to not follow Stiles’ jeep, but he manages. He runs for the cottage, to the safety and comfort of his pack.

When he arrives, his mother is waiting for him. She’s also shifted, and she greets him at the door with a soft whine. He collapses just inside the door, and immediately Julie and Ben rush over, their eyes golden and their arms stretched out for hugs. His father remains unshifted, as he’s in the middle of getting the kids their breakfast, but he does give Derek a sympathetic look over a stack of homemade waffles. Derek whines, and Talia shoos the babies away with her muzzle, giving Derek his space. He plods to his bedroom, nosing the door open and springing onto the bed. After a minute Laura comes in, and when he doesn’t snap or snarl, she jumps up on the bed beside him, turns in a circle, and curls up on his pillow.

She lets him sleep, and he lets the steady beat of her heart soothe his pain.

His mother lets him wallow for two days. He spends most of that time shifted, since it’s easier to resist the temptation to email Stiles as a wolf. Laura blows off a pretty important social obligation to spend time with him, and that makes him feel even worse. He’s been a shitty brother this summer, and he’s glad that Laura’s taking the high road here; going through this alone would be torture.

He finds out from eavesdropping on a telephone conversation that Stiles quit his job. He’s frantic, thinking about how he’s going to earn the kind of money he made here, what he’s going to do to pay for his medications – the reason his heartbeat sounds so strange, Derek now knows – or if he’s going to get caught up in the kind of shit that’s ensnares a lot of teenaged human boys. He goes as far as to ask his mother to talk to Washburn about getting Stiles to reconsider, but she’s never been one to question a person’s decisions.

It had only taken Blake and his asshole friend a few hours to spread everything that had happened around the resort, and Mr. Washburn had called to make sure that Stiles hadn’t made any “inappropriate advances” or “misrepresented the resort” in any way. Even his misery hadn’t made Derek any less indignant on Stiles’ behalf; he had snarled through the entire conversation and then stormed out of the cottage immediately, just hoping to run into someone who would say something. He spent those first few days itching for a fight, and as much as he hated himself for the way things had worked out, he still hated the people around him more. A small comfort.

Once his mother orders him out of bed, and back to his regular duties, he uses his first free five minutes to head straight to the computer lab. Unfortunately, when he gets there, Connie, the high-school student who mans the sign-in sheet, stutters her way through a half-assed apology about how he can’t come in. When he storms home, he finds his mother waiting for him with another apology and a pained expression on her face.

And it’s not even like he doesn’t get where she’s coming from: he knows he’s acting insane. But he just doesn’t want to leave things like this. He heard Stiles lie when he said he didn’t want to hear from him. That has to mean something. So, when Talia leaves to go to a luncheon with her tennis friends and his father brings Ben and Julie to a Teddy Bear picnic with some crazy werewolf entertainer, he steals the card Stiles had given his mother with the Sherriff’s number printed on the front and sequesters himself in the bathroom, trying to work up the courage to call.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time. If not for the fact that he knows that Julie and Ben can only make it an hour without descending into absolute chaos, he would probably stay in the bathroom for the entire afternoon.

When he finally does manage, with shaking fingers, to dial, he hangs up immediately. It takes him a minute, but he convinces himself that he at least needs to try one more time. He talks himself through an imaginary conversation, staring into the bathroom mirror like the jackass he is, and wishes that Stiles could see him now. There’s no way that he could think that he was dangerous or manipulative; it’s impossible to fear anything from a dude who gives himself bathroom-mirror pep talks.

Two rings go through, and Derek’s glad for the fairly short distance between him and the toilet, as he’s pretty sure he’s going to vomit. He stomach rolls dangerously and he’s about to hang up again when the call finally connects.

“Stilinski,” says the voice on the other line.

“Sherriff Stilisnki,” Derek says, barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry to call, but –”

“Derek?” the Sherriff says, effectively cutting him off. “Derek Hale? Is this about Stiles?”

“Yes?” Derek hesitates, trying to scramble for something to say. He remembers, vividly, how terrifying the man was in person, but somehow he seems even worse on the phone. Or maybe it’s just his humiliation compounding his discomfort.

“Son,” says the Sherriff, and now he sounds much more sympathetic than he ever did in person. That’s how he knows, before the Sherriff even finishes his sentence that this is hopeless. Stiles and his father planned this conversation. They knew that Derek would try something like this.

The Sherriff sighs, and for a second, they sound enough alike that he can pretend that it’s Stiles at the end of the line. “Stiles told me you were a good kid, and I respect the hell out of your mother, but if you try to contact my son again then I will report you to the appropriate authorities. You understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Derek wants to die. His face burns, and the cool glass of the toilet does little to soothe it. “I’m sorry.” And he is. He’s sorry that it’s come to this. He’s sorry that he just can’t let it go.

“I’m sorry too, Derek,” Sherriff Stilinski answers and then disconnects the call.

Going back to the pool just dredges up memories that Derek would rather avoid, but since his choices are either manning the fuck up or spending his morning surrounded by the Prep Parade, his decision basically makes itself. Plus, at least his regular pool has Erica.

“Nope,” she says as soon as she sees him. She’s holding a tray of drinks and daring him to argue.

He scowls, but the effect is ruined by Ben’s huge shrieks of joy. For some reason the little traitor loves Erica almost as much as he did Stiles.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he grumbles, trying to wrestle Ben out of Erica’s arms before he rips her necklace clean off.

“Nope, but you were going to.” Erica sidesteps around him to deliver a drink to a couple Derek doesn’t recognize. When she comes back, she’s slipping a tip into the padding of her bra. “Derek, I just don’t want to get into the middle of it.”

“The middle? You’re supposed to be my friend.”

Her eyes, huge and rimmed in liquid liner, are not unsympathetic. “I am. And as your friend I’m telling you: you don’t want to know.”

Derek’s stomach turns, thinking about the myriad possibilities behind that revelation. Did Stiles move on immediately? Did he even care about Derek at all? The last time Derek saw Stiles he smelled like his. Like pack and mate and their combined scents. Who does he smell like now?

“See,” Erica said, patting his shoulder. “That’s why you have to let it go. You can’t control that instinct to claim, and Stiles wants no part of it.”

Stiles’ name sends a jolt of pain through Derek’s chest, made worse by Ben’s frantic exclamations of ‘tiles? ‘tiles? that draw the attention of other pool-goers. The words sting, but Derek knows that there’s no point in lashing out at Erica. Especially because she’s exactly right.

“I just miss him.” Erica leans in and rests her head on his shoulder for a second. “Yeah,” she says softly, “I know.” Then someone calls for a drink and she’s off across the pool deck. Derek sinks slowly into the water with Ben, and tries to concentrate on anything but the memory of Stiles Stilinski.

Keeping busy doesn’t really make Derek feel better, but it does keep him from moping around the house. The last week of summer is always busy at the resort, and while his mom and sister are attending cocktail hours, luncheons, and parties, he’s helping his father finish up his mushroom research, helping Susannah plan the big Little League game, and volunteering for the End of Summer Bash. The party is a pretty big deal, especially to any of the new weres. The entire resort, including the staff, gets to participate. Washburn brings in freelancers so that none of the employees has to serve, and each werewolf family is in charge of one division. It’s kind of lame, but his dad always gets excited about picking a theme, which has always been the Hales’ responsibility, and Derek feels like this is a good year to throw all of his energy into prep.

This year they’re going with a Hawaiian theme, to honor the Kahuanui pack. They’re a large pack, and new to the resort. Derek has spent the last few days with them, asking a bunch of questions about traditional foods and decorations, and then relaying the information to various subcommittees. The Kahuanui pack is taking care of entertainment, and Derek has seen the acts – which are really impressive –numerous times. He’s actually spent quite a lot of time with the Alpha-in-Training, Keahu, who’s going to be performing a traditional musical number. He’s young – just a few years older than Derek – and attractive; he’s everything Derek should want in a mate. However, since he’s not a gangly, sarcastic human with trust issues, Derek doesn’t want anything beyond the quiet conversations they’ve been sharing.

Never let it be said that Derek isn’t a masochist.

He’s trying to decide what to do with a huge crate of watermelons that was delivered today when he smells something he never thought he’d smell again: Stiles. At first, he thinks he’s imagining things, that his constant thoughts of Stiles are actually giving him olfactory hallucinations. But if that were the case, then he’s pretty sure the scent wouldn’t be one of fear. Fear and blood. His heartbeat rockets, and he takes off without a second thought in the direction of the scent.

He flies across the mostly-empty pathways, past the pools and mess hall, past the library and toward the place he last saw Stiles: the parking lot.

His mind races with unlimited possibilities: Stiles came back to see him and was attacked; some werewolf extremist wanted to show him a lesson, so he dragged him back to the resort, kicking and screaming; or someone heard that he was Derek Hale’s mate and he’s here now as some kind of ransom. He expects to see Stiles bruised and battered, and his terror propels him forward with no thought as to what he’s actually going to do when he arrives.

Of course, because Stiles is Stiles, the situation Derek barrels into is not one of the ones he was expecting.

When he skids into the parking lot, he finds Stiles, rapping his hand against the side of his jeep, mumbling to himself. He’s bleeding from a gash on his thigh and his heart is hammering uncontrollably, but he seems otherwise unharmed. He’s so preoccupied by his one-man conversation that he doesn’t even notice that Derek is there until he coughs awkwardly.

“Derek?” When Stiles spins around to see him he looks surprised, then momentarily relieved, and then pissed. “What the hell are you doing?”

Derek looks down to find that in his panic he hasn’t let go of the piece of fruit he’d been examining. “I,” he says, rolling it between his two hands. “I have a watermelon.”

“I’ll take pointless segues for four hundred, Alex,” mutters Stiles.

“I smelt your blood.” Derek says.

“And there’s creepy confessions for six.”

Derek nearly drops the watermelon. He’s thought of seeing Stiles again about a thousand times. In none of those scenarios was he holding a watermelon and acting like the kind of creepy stalker Stiles had accused him of being. He forces himself to stop, take a deep breath, and then speak like he has some semblance of rational thought. “Stiles, what are you doing here?”

“I came for your mother,” Stiles says. His knuckles are white and he’s tapping his foot against the pavement in a steady beat. “I – I need help.” His hand goes unconsciously to his injured leg.

Derek nods downward, thinking that maybe the fewer words he speaks, the harder it will be to ruin this tentative truce. “What happened?”

“I – It was…” Stiles huffs, running a hand through his hair as he starts to pace again. “I just need the Alpha,” he says. “Just get out of my way so that I can go find her.” He storms down the path toward Derek’s cottage, unaware the Talia won’t be there for at least another three hours.

“Stiles, wait!” He jogs to catch up with him, careful not to reach out or touch him in any way. “She’s not home. She’s at a book club meeting with a bunch of her friends. Won’t be home for hours.”

“Seriously? Argh!” Stiles full-on pulls at his hair this time, chewing his lip so hard that he breaks the skin. “Derek, if this is some kind of bullshit lie, then I swear –”

“Fuck you,” Derek spits, and when Stiles’ head snaps up, he’s not any more surprised than Derek at the sudden outburst. Still, Stiles look of indignation makes something snap in Derek. “Seriously, fuck you,” he repeats. “You tell me not to contact you, your dad threatens to call the cops if I so much as breathe in your direction, but yet you can waltz onto my resort like it’s not ripping me apart to have you here.”

“Your resort?” Stiles scoffs. “So what, because you’re a Hale you fucking own the place now? Contrary to what you think, Derek, this has nothing to do with you. I need, this is important, and I need help.” His voice cracks, and even though he’s pissed and confused and hurt, Derek still can’t rid himself of the urge to reach out to offer Stiles some comfort.

“Then let me help you! I get that you hate me or whatever, but you have to know how I feel. Just please, let me help you.”

“I don’t hate you,” Stiles mumbles, and when he looks at Derek his eyes are bright. “I just can’t trust you.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better. No relationship can survive without trust. “But I haven’t done anything. Stiles, please.” Derek steps forward, but the watermelon provides a sufficient barrier between them. “I can barely breathe when I think of never seeing you again, I just –”

“You said you wanted to help,” Stiles says, and his voice steadier now. “So please just leave us out of this and bring me to your mother.”

Derek listens. He doesn’t try to talk to Stiles at all, just plods through the woods, awkwardly balancing a watermelon in his hands. He doesn’t want to deal with the fallout of bringing Stiles back to the cottage, so instead he sneaks him into the back of the supply room, where he had been organizing party decorations. Stiles has only gotten more nervous since he arrived, his heartbeat giving away what he won’t freely admit, so Derek wastes no time in recruiting his mother.

If she’s surprised to see Stiles hunkered down in the back of a supply room full of sweat and blood, she does a damn good job of hiding it.

“Alpha Hale,” Stiles says, springing to his feet when she enters the room. “I came here to ask for your help.”

She nods, gesturing for Stiles to continue. Derek has to hand it to his mom, she can emanate I’ll respect your request as an Alpha but I’d really like to fuck you up for hurting my son pretty well. Stiles looks terrified, but he still manages to speak up.

What he says is enough to shock even Talia.

“Bitten by a rogue alpha?” Laura is sitting on the edge of Derek’s bed with two long braids popping out from beneath her blue beanie.

Derek nods slowly. He’s been thinking of nothing but Stiles since he hurried off the resort with Talia over two hours ago.

“And he just trapped him in his basement?”

Derek nods again.

“With stolen Mountain Ash.”

A third nod.

“Well, I’ll say one thing for Stilinski: he’s got balls of steel.”

Derek thinks of how afraid Stiles had looked in the parking lot. How desperate. “Scott’s his best friend,” he says. “He’d do anything for him.”

Laura’s stretches out, pushing her foot against his. “I’m sorry that you had to go through all that a second time.”

Derek lets his head fall back against the wall as he replays watching Stiles walk away from the resort for a second time. Stiles had barely looked at him once Talia arrived; the only word he’d spoken was a soft thank-you right before they left, as Stiles looked over his shoulder before disappearing out of the supply room door. Somehow it was even worse, watching Stiles walk away again. This time when he left, Derek knew it was for good.

“What do you think mom’s going to do?” Laura has a lot more practical experience dealing with problems like these. All the training, the schmoozing, the hours spent with their mother, they all lead back to this: learning to think like an Alpha. Because not only will Laura be his Alpha one day, she’s also the most likely candidate for Alpha of Beacon Hills.

“The last recorded bite was four years ago in Rochester, New York,” Laura says. An Alpha who had undergone significant psychological trauma went on a killing spree and ended up leaving one of his victims alive. She turned, and was able to give a positive ID. Took them over a week and two more bodies to find him.”

Derek shudders, thinking of Stiles and his penchant for trouble. He thinks of Stiles, attacked while walking home from school. Stiles, assaulted at the grocery store. Stiles, mauled while filling up that stupid blue jeep.

“What will they do until they find this Alpha?”

“Probably a curfew.” Laura shrugs. “Maybe nothing. Scott was bitten a few days ago and there haven’t been any further attacks in the area, so maybe the Alpha has moved on.”

“Do you think they’re going to get in trouble?” Derek asks. “For hiding it?”

Laura’s expression darkens. “I hope so. Would serve the little shitheads right. What kind of an idiot thinks he can teach a newly turned werewolf control? The same kind who dumps the best thing that ever happened to him, I guess.”

Derek doesn’t argue; at this point, he’s just happy that Laura is on his side. Instead, he just stares at the wall, thinking of all the ways Stiles could be hurt without him ever knowing.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Scott ends up back at their cottage for a few hours while Talia tries to work out a plan with social services. Someone getting bitten is rare enough that there’s no set protocol beyond “submit for training”, but a teenager getting bitten creates its own set of problems. Scott’s a week and half away from returning to school for his senior year, and his mother is insistent that whatever training he needs doesn’t detract from that.

Add in the fact that he’s no longer going to be attending his human high school, be allowed to associated with any of his human friends until he’s mastered control, or have access to the doctors or teachers he’s comfortable with, and the entire situation is one big fucking gong show.

It’s no wonder he’s currently sitting, stiff and straight-backed, in one of their kitchen chairs, refusing to talk to anyone.

Laura and his mother are currently on a teleconference with the heads of several state departments and his father took Ben and Julie to the duck pond so that they wouldn’t try to pick at Scott, which leaves Derek, sitting in his room and trying to work up the courage to go ask about Stiles.

In the end, he figures the best plan of action is to try to act like everything is normal. This is a kid who’s getting thrust into a lifestyle he doesn’t fully understand (or probably even want) while simultaneously being asked to leave everything and everyone he cares for behind. He probably just wants to pig out, play games, and pretend that none of this is even happening.

So Derek creeps out to the kitchen and pulls a bag of Doritos from the pantry. He pops the bag, hoping to draw Scott’s attention. When it doesn’t, he pours the chips into a huge Tupperware dish, clinking the dishes that are lined up on the counter as much as he can.

Still nothing.

Suppressing the urge to sigh, he pulls out a chair across from Scott. He puts the chips on the table and pushes them toward him.

“No thanks.” Apparently Derek’s not worth looking at, but does warrant good manners.

“I – ” Derek’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I’m sorry that you have to be here.”

Scott snorts, then finally glances up at Derek. His eyes flash yellow, but he grips the edge of the table, hard, and they flicker back.

Derek’s impressed. Erica and Boyd are the only bitten wolves he’s ever met, and he’s never really asked Erica about her shifts, but he’s assuming they take some getting used to. He’s been shifting since he was a kid and he still sometimes loses it.

“I’m not going to talk about Stiles,” says Scott.

“I don’t want to talk about Stiles.”

Scott lifts an eyebrow, though Derek’s not sure if it’s because he heard the lie or if Derek’s just that transparent.

“He’s obviously okay,” Derek says, “or your control would be a lot worse.” He shrugs, trying to appear more nonchalant than he feels. “That’s all I care about.”

Not quite a lie, and Scott scrunches his nose trying to decipher whether or not he’s telling the truth. “I hurt him. I should have just left.”

Derek laughs; it’s pretty easy to imagine how that scenario went down. “Stiles isn’t an easy person to say no to.”

Scott looks torn, as if he thinks he’s betraying Stiles just by talking to Derek. He wonders what kinds of things Stiles must be saying about him.

“You really hurt him.” Scott crosses his arms, and gives Derek a weighted look. Interesting. If he had been born a wolf, Scott would definitely have been flagged by his pack as a potential future Alpha.

“I didn’t mean to.” Derek hesitates. “I can’t help my instincts.”

Scott shifts in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” Derek asks. “Your girlfriend, Allison? It feels different?”

“Not really.” Scott pauses, and eyes the Doritos. “I feel the same as I always have, there’s just this sense that I get that things are…right.” He huffs. “Everything is just…so much.”

Derek nods, sympathetic, but he doesn’t really get it. His senses are his senses; maybe if he could exist as a human for a day, he’d understand what a difference it really was. “I wish I could explain to Stiles,” he says.

Scott opens his mouth, then slams it shut. “Yeah, well, love sucks.”

“Allison didn’t take it well?”

“She’s an Argent, so I don’t really think she has the option of taking it well.”

“Fuck,” he says. The Argents head one of the most notorious human radical organizations in the country. Allison’s father must make Sherriff Stilinski look like the freaking Dali Lama. Derek shoves the bowl of chips over, wishing that he could offer something stronger.

He fishes his controller out of his basketball shorts and holds it out to Scott, wrist dangling. “Wanna go blow some shit up?”

Scott takes the controller out of his hand tentatively. He flexes his fingers, looking down as if searching for claws. “As long as it’s not Mario Kart, I should be good,” he says with a grin.

Hanging out with Scott goes pretty well, as long as Derek steers clear of the topic of Stiles. No matter how many easy smiles he offers up, Scott remains fiercely loyal to his friend. When Talia comes to collect him he promises to let Derek know what the council decides. Derek doesn’t have many friends, so even if the subject of Stiles is taboo, he figures that getting to hang out with Scott would be nice on its own.

His mother notices – of course she does, she notices everything – how subdued he becomes after Scott leaves. Laura has been selected to act as a mentor to Scott, to introduce him into werewolf life. She’s going to stay at his house, and accompany him on his daily activities. She volunteered for the position, but it’s still a huge honor; it’s a huge responsibility to care for a newly turned wolf. Still, the council decided it would be easier for Scott to connect with someone his own age, and Laura was approved almost right away.

Derek, nearly frantic with worry, had barely managed to catch her before she was driven away in their mother’s car.

I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this opportunity, she’d said, as soon as Derek skidded to a stop in front of her. She’d just stood there, arms crossed, daring Derek to argue with her.

And it’s not that he doesn’t trust her, but…she’s Laura. He’s pretty sure that if she gets any opportunity at all to knock Stiles flat on his face, she’s going to take it. He’d reminded her that hurting Stiles would only make Scott lose control, and she’d waved his concerns away with a flick of her hand, saying she’d see him back at home.

His mother approaches him as he’s making breakfast the morning after Laura leaves. The kids are snuggled in bed with his father, and he’s got a craving for chocolate chip pancakes. He’s just pouring up a glass of milk, ready to dig in, when she comes into the kitchen.

“Pancake?” Derek asks, holding out a plate. He expects her to turn it down – she’s neither a breakfast nor a chocolate person – but she takes the pancake with a smile. Once he loads up his own plate, heaping piles of syrup and all, she reaches out to take his hand.

“I know this summer has been hard for you, sweetheart.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just shovels more pancakes into his mouth. His mother, used to his silence, continues.

“What with Laura, then Stiles, and being confined to the resort.”

Derek drinks his milk, unsure of what he’s supposed to add to this conversation. Heart-to-hearts with his mother always feel like she expects them to be some profoundly deep learning experience, and he’s too afraid of saying the wrong thing to say anything at all. This is why Laura is Alpha-in-Training; Derek likes to stick to the shadows.

“But some good things happened as well. You and Laura managed to work through your troubles, stronger for them, I suspect. And you seem to enjoy spending time with Erica.”

Oh, God. If this becomes about Derek and Erica, he is checking out of the conversation immediately.

“Calm down,” Talia says, laughing delicately around a mouthful of pancake. “I just want to let you know that I’m suspending your prison sentence.” She smiles again, softly this time. “There’s only a week left before you start your senior year, and you should enjoy it.”

She pushes out of her chair and walks over until she’s standing behind him. She puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly. “Stiles made a very stupid choice,” she says. She then leans down and kisses the top of his head before leaving to go wake up the rest of the family.

Derek spends the next few days bouncing back and forth between planning the Summer Bush and hanging out with Erica. They chat at the pool, as always, but Derek starts going back to have lunch with her. She does most of the talking – and does scathing impressions of some of the worst the resort has to offer – so it’s pretty much win-win for Derek. They meet up with Boyd at a bowling alley one night, and Derek has a surprising amount of fun.

Boyd, the only person on Earth who manages to pull of “effortlessly cool bowling champion” talks even less than Derek, but with Erica as a mediator they manage to have a pretty good time. It’s nice, to hang out with people who aren’t Hales, and Derek finds himself hoping that the friendship will last once school starts up again. Beacon Hills is about an hour away, but Derek doesn’t think it’ll be a big deal to get one of the extra cars on the weekend.

He doesn’t ask about Stiles again, and Erica doesn’t offer up any details. In fact, his name doesn’t get mentioned at all until Erica invites Derek to another party.

“It’s a beach party this time, Derek,” she says, trying hard to convince him. His initial not in a thousand years doesn’t seem to be deterring her at all. “It’s a more intimate affair. Out in the open, with pockets of solitude. You could walk along the beach, looking angsty and lovelorn. No one will talk to you and you can scowl at all the happy couples across the fire as the waves crash behind you. It’ll be perfect.”

He knows that she’s just trying to make him feel better, but it’s probably a pretty accurate picture of how the night will go down. He really doesn’t want to go, but it’s the last night he has to spend with Erica away from the resort, so he kind of feels like he has to.

“Will he be there?” He’s not sure, when he asks, what he’s hoping the answer will be.

“He hasn’t really been out a whole lot since…you know.”

Derek nods. He supposes he should feel better, thinking that Stiles is stuck at home, rather than pressing girls against walls at parties, but he doesn’t. If not now, it’ll happen a month from now, or two. The next person he kisses won’t be Derek, and that’s all that really matters, not the timeline.

So Derek agrees, and spends the next day and a half feeling stretched out and prickly, unsure of what he’s really worried about.

Erica’s right about one thing: being outside is vastly preferable to being jammed inside that huge concrete warehouse. There are probably only about a hundred people on the beach – all human, except Erica, Boyd, and their friend Isaac – and nobody really gives Derek a second glance. He’s content to hang back and just watch the party unfold as Erica drags Boyd off to chat and get drinks, until he legitimately looks across the fire and sees someone he recognizes: Laura.

His heartbeat skyrockets, tipping her off that he’s here. She glances over, eyes wide, and then flicks her head to the left. Derek follows her gaze straight to…Stiles.

Stiles, who, true to his nature, notices Laura’s change in demeanor immediately, and starts looking around.

Derek cannot believe this is happening. And now that it is, Derek has decided that he did not want Stiles to be here. He can’t possibly stay and watch him hook up with someone else, but he also doesn’t want to slink away like he’s done something wrong just by existing.

There’s not even time for him blend into the crowd before Stiles catches his eye. His head snaps back, and he just stops and stares for a few seconds. Derek doesn’t know if he should wave, or smile, or just turn around and leave, but Laura ends up making the decision for him. She grabs Stiles by the back of his red hoodie, and pulls him around until he’s facing her. Derek tries to listen to what they’re saying, but between the music, the distance, and the people who are shouting all around, he can’t pick out a single word.

Whatever it is, it must be effective, because Stiles stalks away in the opposite direction, and Laura sends Derek a warning glare across the fire.

Eleven months, Derek projects at her, you’re eleven months older than me.

Still, she most likely just saved him from a third horrible, heart-breaking encounter, so he probably owes her one.

The party makes it impossible for Derek to keep tabs on Stiles. He can’t hear, smell, or see him, and since there aren’t so many people here that someone could completely disappear, Derek assumes that Stiles doesn’t really want to talk to him. Not wanting to embarrass himself – or force Erica to go home – he tries to have a decent time. He gets a drink – coke, since he doesn’t want his mother to murder him – and settles around the fire next to Isaac, who actually makes pretty good company.

Isaac, much like Erica and Boyd, was bitten in the last wave of sanctioned voluntary bites. He’s skittish and soft-spoken, but his hair curls around his ears adorably and his pale skin looks flawless under the flickering light of the fire. He’s more open with his affections, less reserved than a born wolf, and Derek wishes that he felt something. He wishes, as Isaac tentatively reaches out to brush his hand along Derek’s arm, that he could erase the memory of Stiles’ wide, amber eyes staring at him in disbelief.

If Laura’s right about her “connection vs. mates” theory, then why can’t he have some sort of spark with Isaac? Even if it’s not the all-encompassing need he felt with Stiles, he just wants to know that this hole in his chest will eventually close.

He’s just starting to pull away from Isaac’s outstretched hand, hoping to let him down gently, when he gets the distinct sensation that he’s being watched. He glances around surreptitiously and spots Stiles standing across the beach, holding a beer in one hand, and chewing furiously on a frayed string of his hoodie.

He’s glaring in Derek and Isaac’s direction, and Derek felts a rush of anger. Because fuck Stiles. Seriously, fuck him. Derek has felt flayed, wrung out and empty, all because Stiles thinks he’s a possessive asshole by nature of his birth. Meanwhile, he gets to glare daggers at someone Derek barely knows, just because there’s some slight hand-to-arm contact. Derek shifts, and Isaac mistakes it for an invitation to move closer. Stiles, when he makes eye contact with Derek, throws his beer to the ground and stalks away by himself, leaving Derek to gape senselessly after him.

Pissed as he is, the memory of Scott’s bite is fresh in his mind, and Derek pulls away from Isaac with a muttered apology so that he can follow Stiles down the beach. It takes a few minutes for him to catch up, and when he does, Stiles just greets him with a savage, “What?”

“What?” says Derek, dumbfounded. “Your best friend was bitten by a feral wolf less than a week ago. Do you really think it’s a good idea to wander off alone into the night?”

“Can’t say I was enjoying myself that much.” Stiles rummages around in his pockets, looking for something, but his hands come up empty. “You should head back though, seemed like you were having a great time.” He turns again, though to go where, Derek isn’t really sure.

In the face of Stiles’ anger, Derek deflates. He just feels tired. He’s so sick of being confused and Stiles’ actions are all so very, very confusing. So he doesn’t yell, or scream, or grab Stiles to pull him back. Instead, he just falls to the sand and kicks his legs out in front of him. He’s the very embodiment of every Angsty White Poet stereotype that Erica has thought to taunt him with, and he sends thanks out into the universe for keeping her clear of this conversation.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this,” Derek says softly. The hiss of the waves almost drowns out the words, and he’s genuinely surprised when Stiles answers.

“I seem to break all my rules when it comes to you.” He squats down in the sand beside Derek, but keeps his eyes trained out on the water.

Derek takes a deep breath full of the soupy, salty air. If Stiles is going to give him this opportunity, then he’s going to use it to finally explain himself. “I’m sorry for the way you found out,” he says, “but I’m not going to apologize for my feelings. I don’t know why you’re so afraid, but –”

“My mother was a werewolf,” interrupts Stiles. He turns to face a dumbfounded Derek.

“You know those rumors about me fucking Washburn? Aside from being insulting, they’re also disgusting: he’s my Great-Uncle.”

“Your Great-Uncle,” Derek repeats. People tell stories, obviously, and there are some seedy movies, but human-werewolf relationships just don’t happen. There’s backlash and mistrust, and well, Derek and Stiles are kind of living proof of how hard it is to make something work. They have gone through a lot of shit, and they’re just two teenagers isolated in the middle of nowhere. He can’t imagine a scenario where, nearly twenty years ago, an adult human and werewolf had a baby without any negative repercussions.

“Yup. My mother had a mate, and he was…nasty.” Stiles stops to take a deep breath. “Abusive, controlling, manipulative. You think of a horrible adjective and he was the living embodiment. My mom tried to get help, but you know how werewolves are: they recommended counseling, or a couples getaway, or just ‘sucking it up’.” Stiles laughs bitterly.

“My mom saw a therapist and he accused her of having some weird psychological disorder where people try to purposefully reject their mate bond. Anyway, she finally couldn’t handle it anymore, and she snapped. She ran, halfway across the country, until my dad caught her stealing food from the dumpster of a 24-hour donut shop.”

Derek tries to imagine himself in a similar scenario and comes up short. At least now he knows why Stiles is formidable: his mother had to have been strong, to sever ties with her pack and set out on her own.

“What happened?” he asks, even though the end of the story is pretty obvious.

“They fell in love.” Stiles actually looks happy, when he thinks about it. “They chose to love each other, and it worked so much better that way. Her mate came back, tried to force her to leave with him, but she wouldn’t go. Her family disowned her – they’d rather her be beaten and belittled than ignore the bond – but she didn’t care.”

“Stiles, you have to know –”

“I know,” he says, quickly cutting Derek off. “I’ve just spent my whole life hating what happened to my mother and vowing that it would never happen to me. I was so relieved to have been born a human, because I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this, then you came along and I – fuck Derek, I was terrified. I am terrified.”

“Stiles I would never,” Derek says. “I can’t even imagine –”

“I know.” Stiles picks up a handful of sand then lets it slowly trickle downward through his fingers. “I’ve talked to Scott a lot, and…well, and Laura.” Stiles looks up at him and smiles. “She’s actually kind of brilliant. Terrifying, but brilliant.”

“She is,” Derek agrees.

“She warned me to stay away from you, you know.” Stiles fiddles with a cracked seashell, cutting long sweeping lines through the sand. “Said I wasn’t allowed to jerk you around until I figured my shit out.”

“Is that what this is? Figuring your shit out?”

Stiles looks up, and it almost hurts, how perfect Derek thinks he is.

“It’s just hard,” he admits. “And it’ll just get harder.”

“I think,” Derek says slowly, trying to beat down the hope that’s unfurling, heavy and hot in his chest, “that it all comes down to trust. The terminology shouldn’t matter. What matters is the effort, the respect. What matters is trust.”

“I trust you.” Stiles voice is small and vulnerable, but it warms Derek more effectively than the blazing fire. “At least I could – I mean, I want to.”

That’s all Derek really needs. If Stiles can trust him not to be possessive, and to love him for who he is, rather than because the bond tells him to, then he can trust Stiles to stay. They can work through their issues, together, and no matter how painful, that sounds infinitely better than being apart.

“I can work with that,” Derek says, smiling now. “Trust needs to be earned.”

Stiles moves closer, placing his hand on Derek’s arm, in the exact place Isaac had claimed just a few minutes before. Unlike then, the touch feels natural – it feels right. “Can I kiss you?” Stiles says softly, and Derek feels dizzy with a sense of anticipation and déjà vu.

“Yes,” he answers, pulling Stiles in close. “You have a blanket yes.”

Derek’s not sure if Stiles gave his mother an explanation, or if she had been aware of the secret this whole time, but she accepts Stiles back into the house as if he’d never left. Julie and Ben forget that they even have a brother when they see him, and aside from a whispered warning and a punch that was a little too hard, Laura let him leave the party with Derek, unscathed.

When they walk into the main hall of the Summer Bash together, hands linked, there are definitely a lot of looks. A few comments, too, but they’re redirected when Erica makes her appearance in a slinky red dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. Stiles bursts out laughing when he sees her, and Derek just shakes his head, thankful that she was here to help him through the summer.

The next morning Derek leaves for Beacon Hills. He has plans to see Stiles on the weekends, and his mother has even offered up the use of the guesthouse, just as she did for Laura and Sebastian.

Their relationship is going to be a battle – on both sides – and Derek understands that. It’s just, when Stiles leans in to brush his lips gently against Derek’s neck, or laughs so loud that Derek can see every single one of his teeth, or has an hour-long conversation with David about reproductive cycles of pea plants, he can’t bring himself to care.

He trusts that things will work out.

Notes:

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