Chapter Text
February 2012
Stiles first thought is that everything hurts. He blinks slowly, adjusting to the light shining through the window and groans as he attempts to lift his head. His head is throbbing and good God, why does his ass feel like it’s currently on fire? While he’s no stranger to experimenting, he’s always used the proper supplies to ensure that the ache he’s currently feeling would be kept at a minimum but whatever happened last night was not as planned out as his usual alone times.
His feet hit the hard cold stone of the floor, preparing for the pain that he knows standing will bring, but the cold shocks him. His bedroom is carpeted so where the hell is he? He takes a look around and feels his heart drop into his stomach. The open floor plan means Stiles stares into the kitchen, can see his half-empty cup of tea he remembers making and starting to drink at the beginning of the sad attempt at a pack meeting. He remembers Scott getting frustrated with Derek and storming out, Allison and Isaac following quickly behind him. He remembers Erica and Boyd walking out too, heads hung low and promises of coming back in the morning muttered. Cora, Lydia, and the twins hadn’t shown up at all. The details become fuzzy at that point, and he struggles to remember why he didn’t just leave with Scott.
His fingers start trembling, anxiety quickly bubbling in his throat. Stiles has made tremendous progress since the Nogitsune was removed from his body, but it doesn’t take much to send him back to memories of the possession. Fuzzy, hard to recall memories? Not remembering what the hell he did last night? Top of the fucking list.
Before he can work himself into a full panic attack, suddenly there’s a warm hand wrapping around his torso, his very naked torso might he add. The arm is covered in familiar dark black hair, and he doubts anyone else would be in this bed with him anyways. Derek’s claws lightly press into his hip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough pressure to ground him. Last night comes flooding back, the memories still hazy on the edges in an unsettling way, but enough to calm his panic for the moment. Until he sees the full night in his head, starts putting all the pieces together.
“Derek?” His breath hitches as Derek retracts his claws and presses his soft fingers into a scattering of bruises on his hip. He watches the black tendrils travel up his hand, taking the pain away and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He waits for Derek’s volatile reaction, the one he knows is coming. Derek hates Stiles, tolerates him for Scott. He doesn’t want to know what Derek is thinking. But it’s never that simple.
“We’ll talk about this later.” Because of course his response is short, controlled. Derek doesn’t freak out about anything, even when he wakes up with a naked guy in his bed. Even when that guy is 17-year-old Stiles Stilinski. “Where all do you hurt?” The question catches Stiles off guard and when he turns, Derek is staring at the bed intently. He has a look of despair on his face and he realizes Derek is remembering the night before at the same time he is. Which means they both were under the influence of something. What that is he’s not sure yet. He doesn’t exactly remember snorting any substance or lighting up last night after the pack had left.
He gives a dry, humorless laugh. “Kind of everywhere. A few places more than others but overall feels like I’ve been hit by a train.” Or severely and thoroughly fucked by an Alpha werewolf, but he doesn’t dare voice that thought aloud. Though it looks like Derek can read his thoughts; the tips of his ears become a bright red and he turns his face out of Stiles' view. The shame rolling off him hits Stiles hard. His vision becomes blurry, tears forming and spilling over, trailing down his face. He tries to rub them away, furiously scrubbing at his eyes to the point of pain until Derek’s hands are there on his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face and holding them firmly to the bed.
“This is why we need to put off this conversation.” Derek takes a deep breath and lets go, trusting Stiles to handle himself now. He easily rolls off the other side of the bed and grabs his discarded sweats from where they lay near the couch, dressing quickly and continuing into the kitchen. Stiles stares at him dumbly, blinking a few more tears away and then gathering the strength to get dressed himself. He finds his underwear torn in half and tosses it in the trash, slipping on his jeans when he finds them close to where Derek had picked up his own pants. His shirt, the stupid red Marvel graphic tee he’d gotten at the mall on his last trip with his dad before junior year started, is also ripped. It’s just a shirt but tears burn at the corner of his eyes again and he tries to shake it off. “Here.” Derek is suddenly in front of him, handing him a shirt from his dresser. It’s just a basic, soft blue henley but Stiles slips it on quickly, feeling self-conscious standing next to Derek and his abs. The shirt smells like Derek and it’s weird realizing that the smell calms him down. This spurs Stiles to jump into action and to get the fuck out of dodge.
“I need to go home; my dad’s probably worried sick and starting to gather the troops.” He blurts. Unlikely, as the Sherriff thought Stiles was spending the night at the McCall’s residence. He knows Derek can tell he’s lying, but the wolf doesn’t call him on it. Stiles finds his phone and keys next to his tea from last night and turns to the door. His shoes are where he took them off when he was the first to arrive last night and he slips them on easily, not caring to find his socks. He’s pulling the door open when Derek speaks again, not threatening but assertive. It’s enough to stop Stiles in his tracks.
“We’re going to have to talk about it, just not now. I just need to figure out what the hell happened first.” Stiles doesn’t turn to look back at him, just gives a small nod and slides the door shut behind him.
Out of range of Derek’s enhanced senses, he lets himself reflect on the night before as he drives. The feel of Derek’s hot mouth on his throat, his chest, his mouth. The way his solid frame felt behind Stiles as he stripped him down, as he begged Derek for everything. Begged Derek to stop the ache, fill the need. It was a fire burning him alive from the inside out and Derek’s fingers were the ice cooling him down with each touch. Derek had felt it too, had growled in his ear about all the things he was going to do to him, how his body was made for Derek and only Derek . He makes it to his driveway before he finally lets the tears fall. Sobs wreck his body, and he just lets it out, knowing he’s out of earshot of any nosy wolves. The crying doesn’t help the pain in his body, but it brings a whole new type of pain, the ache in his heart sharp and heavy.
Stiles' first time, with the person who he had fantasized about for the last year since meeting no less, was on paper exactly what Stiles had dreamed of. But in reality it was a nightmare. Because the last clear memory he has of the night before was of Derek yelling at Stiles to get the fuck out of his loft because he was just human and not a part of his pack; and he’s not sure how that turned into Derek bending him over his bed and fucking him six ways to Sunday. But he doesn’t have a great feeling about it and he knows Derek doesn’t either. No matter how much he’s enjoying the memories, neither he nor Derek consciously consented to what happened, he knows that much.
He spends an hour in the shower, scrubbing his skin practically raw. Washing away the tears as they fall and disgustingly, the dried cum he notices between his thighs and in his ass. Apparently condoms were also not involved, but at least Derek can’t give him anything. After he feels thoroughly cleaned and all cried out, he assesses the damage to his body. Besides him being unable to sit directly on his ass, the damages aren’t as bad as he expected for how bad he felt waking up. There are bruises on both of his hips in the shape of Derek’s fingers, some slight burning in his hamstrings when he tries to stretch out his legs, but the biggest issue he finds is the bite mark adorning his left shoulder. There are no puncture wounds, but the bruising is a clear bite, fangs and all. He hisses as he presses on it and decides to not be that stupid again and quickly redresses into a shirt of his own. Looks like he won’t be changing in the locker room for a while.
And he knows he shouldn’t, but he takes the blue tee Derek lent him and tucks it underneath his pillow.
~
The next day he hangs out with Scott, Issac, Allison, and Lydia. While Allison has accepted being a part of Derek’s pack, she asked Scott specifically to help with figuring out the whole new werewolf thing. Stiles doesn’t blame her for ignoring Derek and being resentful, even if she swears she’s not. Especially since they had told her the truth about her mom and she ignored Scott up until she was dying in his arms. Stiles was not present, was actually trying not to die from the after effects of the Nogitsune himself, but from what he’s been told Derek showed up at the last moment and gave her the bite, unsure if it would even work but willing to try, due to Scott and Isaac both begging. It was an adjustment to say the least and he’s surprised her existential crisis only lasted a week honestly.
They’re in the preserve, Stiles and Lydia sitting in the back of Stiles jeep and watching the wolves run around. Literally. It’s ridiculous after what they’ve been through, but he’s looking forward to a little normalcy and stability in his life, even if that means watching his friends running around with their claws out while he sits gossiping with Lydia like two girlfriends. “You think that they’re all boning now that Kira’s gone?” He throws out, casting a glance to gauge Lydia’s reaction. She merely shrugs and continues to file her nails.
“Of course they are.” She states, as if it’s that obvious. And huh, confirmation just feels weird. He pulls out a Twizzler and starts to chew on it, eating more out of boredom than hunger.
“Everybody in this pack is pairing off, it’s getting gross at this point. At what point does it become incesty? Because it feels like we’re getting there.” He huffs, gesturing with his hand and a half eaten Twizzler. He pulls out his phone, again, and checks it to find nothing. The same as it has been since leaving Derek’s. He knows Derek is giving him space and he appreciates it but at the same time he’s feeling lonely. Which is asinine because they didn’t talk every day before and he’s used to pining for Derek, he’s had months of practice. He’s never felt farther from him and it’s an unsettling feeling.
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Neither Scott, Aiden, or Ethan were turned by Derek. And it’s not like anyone is getting married or having babies. Just having fun, like you should be.” At this she looks at him pointedly. He stares back and tries not to let last night replay in his head, because that was his idea of fun, minus the nonconsent aspect. But he can’t tell anyone what happened, not even Lydia.
“I’m flattered Lyds but I kind of moved past you, shocking though it may be.” He knows it’s not what she means but he prefers to deflect, it’s his instinct.
“Cute you thought I was talking about myself but no. I was thinking more of a certain brooding alpha instead.” She says this with a straight face, looking uninterested in the conversation. Sophomore year Stiles would have died to be this close to Lydia but currently this Stiles almost wishes they weren’t such good friends. Because Lydia doesn’t just let things go.
“Danny would kill me if I hit on Ethan, and I don’t really think he’s all that brooding, or my type to be honest.” He shrugs. It’s a shitty response, especially considering neither twin are alphas anymore. There is only one alpha left in Beacon Hills, at least as far as they’re aware.
“Stiles, we are surrounded by werewolves with keen sense of smell, one who now includes my best friend who tells me everything. You know which current alpha I’m talking about.”
Stiles sighs. “He’s not interested.” And he lets himself check his phone one more time before turning it off and laying it on the floor of the jeep. He stands up and stretches, cracking his fingers before grabbing his lacrosse stick and calling out to the wolves. “Yo, who wants to test some reflexes by playing goalie?”
~
He hasn’t seen Derek for a week, which he’s not complaining. Whatever crush he was harboring on the Alpha feels soured, almost wrong. He thinks it may partially be related to the guilt he has around the memories of that night. He can’t think about Derek without thinking of his hands, the hands that felt like heaven on his skin, and then he pops a boner and immediately feels disgusted at his self, and then self-loathes for a good 20 minutes, and the self-loathing eventually reminds him of Derek. It’s a depressing, pitiful cycle.
He spends so much time trying not to think of Derek that when Derek pops through his window ready to talk, he actually jumps out of his chair, scared shitless at the sight of him. He recoils when Derek’s face flashes with hurt but tries to reign it in, though he knows Derek could smell that initial flash of fear. Derek sighs and picks a place on the wall with his eyes and fixates on it, arms crossed over his chest and leaning against Stiles dresser.
“I spoke with Deaton before I came over, just to confirm my suspicions. There was wolfsbane in the tea that night, ground up in the tea mix. A strand commonly used in the partying variety, to help the supernatural get intoxicated.” Stiles makes a face, because last he remembered he was not a were-person and could freely mess with wolfsbane. As he goes to argue, Derek continues. “With you still being a little...vulnerable from the Nogitsune, your spark is susceptible to the more supernatural weapons, such as wolfsbane. That’s what I needed to confirm with Deaton.” He looks finished but something about the last sentence has Stiles tilting his head at him. A cold chill runs down his spine.
“Wait, did you think at first I had done this? Got you fucked up on wolfsbane to seduce you or some shit?” And now he’s standing, marching until he’s in front of Derek with a finger pointed at his chest. Derek is still fixated on the wall, not looking Stiles in the eye. “That’s so fucking low, even for you Derek. I know about Kate, I was there for all of the Jennifer bullshit. I can’t believe you would put me on their level.” He spits out, because how dare Derek use Stiles’ attraction to him as a possible answer. He knows he can smell arousal, all the wolves can, but it’s become almost an unspoken rule to not mention it. They’re all teenagers, arousal is almost a default setting half the time. Derek flashes his eyes toward him, flashing red for the slightest moment. Stiles hates how quickly he submits, barely catching himself before he presents his neck like one of Derek’s betas. Derek doesn’t comment on it, but he doesn’t know if it’s for his sake or Derek’s.
“I don’t know what I thought Stiles; all I know is I woke up with a naked minor in my bed who reeked of me and pain! I woke up to you on the verge of a panic attack and didn’t have much time to sort through clues like Sherlock Holmes.” Huh. A joke, from the Derek Hale. Stiles would laugh but Derek is seething and he feels now might be an inappropriate time. He takes a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. “Whoever did it, there wasn’t enough to kill us. It wasn’t meant to hurt us.” But he shakes his head as he says it.
“So what, someone wanted to get us high enough to rock each other's socks off? What kind of sick joke is that?” Stiles asks bitterly. But Derek just takes a few more deep breaths, all the anger in his body seeming to deflate. His arms fall to his side and he steps away from the dresser, just a step closer to Stiles but not any closer.
“Until we can prove otherwise, I think it was a mistake.” His head jerks up at that, staring at Derek like he’s grown a second head. What the fuck is he talking about? “I don’t think it was intended for us, I think it was an unfortunate accident. And I’m so sorry Stiles...for what happened.”
“You think out of a whole pack meeting, coincidentally me and you are the only ones who got date raped on a drug meant for rave going werewolves?” And now he’s shouting. How could Derek be so calm about this? “We we’re drugged Derek!”
“We were drunk Stiles.” He looks off again, over Stiles' shoulder. His voice drops, almost to a whisper. “And I raped you.” With that, some of Stiles’ anger vanishes as well. Because he knows that tone, knows what Derek is doing. It’s the same tone he had, when they thought Erica was dead and it was all his fault that they had run in the first place. He’s putting all the blame on himself.
“Repeat it again there wolf boy. We, as in both of us, were there and not in the right minds. From my memory, as fuzzy as it is, you didn’t hold me down as I screamed. I asked for it Derek, put some of the blame on me!” Derek looks up and meets his eyes for just a moment. He looks distraught and Stiles’ heart can’t take it. He takes a deep breath and softly adds. “Don’t do this to yourself.” His throat is burning as tears form. He thought he had cried himself out last week, but his body proves him wrong.
“You’re 17 Stiles. I’m 24 years old. I’m your alpha and your spark reacted to me. And I’m sorry Stiles, it never should have happened.” He’s shaking his head, walking backwards toward the window as he speaks, eyes cast down and back to avoiding Stiles’ gaze as it turns icy. Derek’s ever-changing mind is driving him insane.
“Wolfsbane wouldn’t make you suddenly attracted to me out of thin air Derek. You said it yourself that you weren’t my Alpha, that I’m not in your sad excuse for a pack. So don’t use that excuse either, it’s not going to work on me.” He knows it’s wrong of him to say, with how fragile the pack is. But this, this was the exact argument they were having before the wolfsbane had set in. He waits for Derek to sneer, drop his fangs like he does when he gets heated. But it seems there’s no fight left in his body and he just looks dejected. His shoulders slump forward and he sighs. Stiles would take roaring and glowing eyes over this version of Derek any day.
“What do you want from me Stiles?”
“I want you to not shut me out.” I want you to want me. But he leaves that part unsaid, because he knows he’s already been given more than he was ever supposed to get.
“It’s for the best Stiles.” He says and then he’s halfway out the window. He looks ready to run but he hesitates. “And I was wrong before, you’re just as much a part of this pack as Scott is.” And then he’s gone. And Stiles doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel.
~
March 2012
Three weeks later Stiles wakes up with the worst feeling in his stomach. Before he has time to think about it, he’s up and running to the bathroom. He kneels in front of the toilet and throws up all the contents of his stomach, heaves until there’s nothing left but bile. The flu has been running rampant at school and Stiles guesses it’s finally caught up with him. He lays on the bathroom floor for a few minutes until his dad knocks and asks if he’s okay.
“Just the flu I think, keep your distance, I don’t need you getting sick too pops.” But his dad’s giving him that look, and he gets it. But he hates it. “I promise, been sleeping just fine.” He adds for his sake. And it’s true, almost an extra amount it seems these last few weeks. Being possessed takes a lot out of you and he likes to think his body is finally taking its time to recuperate. Well, it was anyways, before the damn flu.
He spends two days in bed with a low-grade fever and body aches; he misses the first pack meeting since the incident though he’s not too mad about it. True to his word, Derek has shut him out completely, what little communication they had before has cut off and Stiles only hears about him through the rest of the pack. He plans to talk to him, when he feels better is what he tells himself.
Except he doesn’t get better, not really. The fever only lasted two days but he’s been throwing up most mornings, with the occasional evening round of nausea, going on for two weeks straight. He’s lost 5 pounds and feels like shit, looks like it too. He learns though that sticking to blander foods helps him keep food down and if his dad notices that his new diet consists mostly of rice and toast, he doesn’t comment on it.
April 2012
On the fourth week his dad takes him to Melissa, because he’s human and modern medicine does in fact work for him and Stiles is tired of arguing with his dad about it. Melissa swabs him for all the current viruses, takes his blood for a few other tests, but everything comes back normal. She goes back over his symptoms twice, looking puzzled. It’s not a comforting look from a medical professional. When the talks of CT scans and further, more expensive workup come up he waves them off and tells his dad they’re leaving. If he’s able to keep food down more often than not and stay hydrated, it’s not worth it to add another hospital bill to the pile on the kitchen table.
After his dad goes to work, Stiles drives himself to Deaton’s. Maybe it’s something related to the wolfsbane, a delayed side effect nobody prepared him for. It’s a long shot, but at least it’s a lead.
Deaton is in a back room but calls for Stiles to come back. The gate is shut, which is normally no issue for human Stiles to push open, but when he goes to touch it, his fingers hit the invisible force field, making him jump back. Now that’s concerning. Deaton comes around the corner and just stares at him, in an unnerving way.
“Never would have taken you as one to ask for the bite Mr. Stilinski.”
“Last I checked, I hadn’t.” He says, with a flick of his wrist to show the proof of no claws. Deaton’s eyebrows scrunch up on his forehead, but he doesn’t say anything. Just opens the gate and leads Stiles back to the exam room reserved for supernatural conversations. “I’m here about the wolfsbane, I know that Derek came to you about it. I think I’m still having effects from it. I’ve been sick for going on four weeks and I would like to figure it out doc.”
“Any effects of the variety you ingested would have vanished within 12 hours of ingestion, have you tried a doctor of human medicine?” He raises an eyebrow at Stiles.
“Unfortunately, that’s why I’m here, no initial findings on that front so I wanted to explore the supernatural discount option.” He tries to make a joke, but Deaton doesn’t laugh. Deaton never laughs at Stiles’ jokes, but it’s whatever. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the man smile.
“I will say the inability to cross the mountain ash is a little concerning. Even though you were affected by the wolfsbane, the mountain ash is a weapon spark’s use often and it shouldn’t be working against you. Do you mind if I do some blood work?” And what’s one more stick for Stiles? As Deaton draws his blood, they go over Stiles’s symptoms and the timeline of events. It’s a repeat of his conversation with Melissa except Deaton tacks on a more uncomfortable line of questioning.
“Derek did not go into details during our conversation, but I need to ask if the two of you slept together.” And it’s just so matter of fact from the veterinarian, but Stiles’s face turns a bright red and he doesn’t have to verbally confirm because Deaton takes it as a yes. He sighs. “I wish that would have been mentioned earlier, though I doubt I could have prevented this outcome.”
“What outcome? And I need it straight, none of your cryptic bullshit this time. I need a direct answer.” Stiles snaps. He shouldn’t take it out on Deaton but he’s just so tired and vomiting nearly every day can make your patience a little thin.
“I have only seen it once, many years ago but I’m certain this is the same situation we are dealing with.” And that is nowhere near direct but the promise of seeing it before is slightly hopeful. “You, Mr. Stilinski, are pregnant.”
And Stiles promptly faints on the exam table.