Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” 
― Kurt Vonnegut

*

At the first sound of gunshots, Stiles had left, run straight into the woods and never looked back. He could feel the ties of his family fraying, one by... well just by one. His mother was already gone, that feeling long since passed through his body like a harsh shudder that didn't give up. But now the feeling of his father's- it left him cold and empty. He had felt his bones shifting, shrinking as he ran, and he fell onto all fours as his bright orange and white coat burst through. He had raced through the trees, only hearing his father's words echo in his ears, "Run, don't look back, be safe, I love you my son." 

He had been eight years old.

Now, at the tender age of 19, he was still running, always- always fucking running. 

Stiles had maybe shifted back- what? Twice?- since he left his home in a rural town of Pennsylvania. Only if necessary, he vowed, and he found himself sticking to it.

Multiple times he had been aimed at by guns from unsuspecting hunters, but one flash from his golden eyes had them screaming and running off. 

His ears twitched, then his eye, but he didn't stop. He could smell food up ahead, a small mouse it seemed, and with the rumbling of his stomach he figured he should stop. When was the last time he had eaten anyways? 

Stiles knew he was too far gone. He knew it especially the last time he shifted, that he had to work for hours just to try and remember how to. And when he was human again, he couldn't form words, only growls that had people giving him odd looks and scampering away from him. That had been 5 years ago. 

He assumed he must be somewhere on the edge of the country now, probably California by the looks and smells. In the north, obviously, from the chilly winds. 

Without a family, on his own for over a decade, Stiles had learned to fend for his life against all others. He wished he could laugh at his life, at how pathetic it really was. And that's how he knew he had gone insane. 

A twig snapping. Light footsteps. An unfamiliar scent. All of these had Stiles' hair standing on end and his eyes narrowed in rapt attention, high on alert.

He swiped at his mouth with his tongue, tasting the remnants of the mouse's blood on his snout. If anything, maybe the sight of the blood would scare away whatever unknown creature was in the area.

A louder thump, like a branch falling from a tree sounded to his left, but before he could look he was tackled against the ground. He was sent rolling through the leaves, yipping in pain from a paw that had snagged on something. He could smell the blood blossoming underneath the pad. 

When he looked up, he shrank back in fear. A giant black dog- wolf- was standing over him, teeth bared in a threatening manner.

Stiles had nothing to live for and was obviously insane, so he growled back, and flashed his own sharp teeth. 

The wolf blinked at him, tilting his head to the side in something close to contemplation. 

Stiles squirmed under his gaze, feeling uncomfortable. He rolled to the side and snapped at the wolf's paw, sinking his canines into the surprisingly soft fur. 

The wolf howled and jumped off, Stiles' jaw coming unhinged with a painful tug. The wolf bolted into the trees, and Stiles stared after in wonder. Had he just scared off a wolf? He was awesome!

But not thirty seconds later, as Stiles was rolling back onto four legs, whining at the pain that sliced up his left front leg as he put pressure on it, did a man emerge from the trees.

He was shirtless, shoe less, and sporting loose black sweatpants that were obviously old. He was holding his wrist and rubbing it back and forth, and Stiles could even see a few pinpricks of blood dripping onto the leaves beneath his feet.

His eyes were locked steadily on Stiles, however, and he backed up into a tree, trying to look small. The man's face screamed 'serial killer' and that probably didn't bode well for a little fox like him, even a werefox like him. 

"You're hurt," the man's voice rasped, and it seemed Stiles wasn't the only one who had trouble speaking after a shift, which, holy shit this guy was a werewolf. 

Stiles just stared back at him, unable to do anything but try to make himself look smaller. 

The werewolf's brows furrowed, and he crouched down to Stiles' level. His eyes illuminated under the half moon, striking off of them in a bright red. "Shift back," he demanded.

Stiles yipped and pawed at the ground, turning his head away.

"I know you can, I know you're a were. Shift. Back." And oh, that was his Alpha voice coming through, because of course Stiles was found by an alpha, double shit.

Stiles had been very young the last time he learned about any other supernatural creatures, but he knew about alphas. His kind didn't have a hierarchy, but there weren't as many foxes as wolves- so his parents told him. After his mother died, his father didn't talk about it at all, and then a year later there was no one to talk to even if he wanted to. Even if he could.

Stiles growled as threateningly as he possibly could manage and flashed his golden eyes, but the werewolf hardly blinked.

In between breaths, Stiles was scooped up into strong arms. He yipped and struggled. He bit at his captor's hands, but the wounds healed over instantly, so he stopped as soon as he realized there was no use. Still, the insane animalistic urge inside of him forced him to do more, so he continued to struggle as the man jogged at a leisurely pace to wherever the fuck. Probably to Stiles' death. Great. 

Stiles never gave up, no sir, if anything he was sure to be an annoying fucker in his last hour of life. He continuously flicked his tail in the guy's face, causing him to growl and swipe at it. But he just laughed the way foxes do, and did it again, still wriggling. 

It seemed like forever that he fought until he heard his footsteps landing on something other than leaves- pavement, huh- and heard the tinkling of a bell above him. He spun around in the werewolf's arms and looked up, seeing a ceiling. How long had it been since he had actually been in a building, he wondered.

"Deaton?"

The wolf grumbled out his words, and Stiles could feel the vibrations through his chest. 

Then he was moving again when a spoken affirmation was heard from another room. 

Stiles yelped as the werewolf's arms were suddenly gone, replaced with cold metal that he fell gracelessly onto. He tried to get a stand on his legs, but fell right back down, a pitying whine escaping him. It seemed his paw was not healing. Motherfucking alpha werewolf using his damn alpha strength to give him an injury not quickly healed. 

"He won't shift back," the werewolf said to the man behind Stiles, whom he assumed was this 'Deaton'."

"Give him time, Derek. Maybe he doesn't want to."

Yeah, Derek, Stiles taunted in his mind, lolling his tongue out.

But as soon as he felt a hand near him, he turned and snapped his jaws. This Deaton didn't seem surprised, just took his hand back quickly and nodded. "It is his choice whether to stay in his animal form. You know this. You can't force the shift on anyone."

A huff, then, "He's hurt."

"I can see that."

Stiles could practically feel Derek's glare from behind him now. "Well?"

Deaton sighed, "I could keep him overnight? I should bandage him, make sure the cut is nothing too damaging. Though, it should have healed by now."

Derek almost sounded sheepish when he confessed, "I accidentally nicked him with a claw."

Deaton nodded, "I assumed. I'll patch him up and call you with the details later."

Stiles assumed Derek nodded or something because the next noise he heard from the werewolf was his footsteps and the slamming of a door, bell tinkling rapidly as it shut.

Deaton rolled his eyes and turned away from Stiles. 

Now was his chance. If Stiles could just-

"He has a thing for dramatic exits. Sorry, this may hurt a pinch."

Before Stiles could even bite the man's arm, a needle was being pressed into the curve of his neck, and he could hear and feel his heartbeat slowing.

"Just relax, I'll take care of you."

Yeah, super reassuring. 

*

When Stiles came to, he realized he was in a different place.

Oh, and he was naked.

Well, he was always naked, technically, but being a fox and naked is one thing.

Being human and naked is another.

He yelped, his legs getting tangled in the blanket and his own tail- what the fuck?-that was draped over him, and fell to the tile floor. He groaned and rolled over, shaking his head. He attempted to stand, but could only get to his knees before feeling immensely weak.

He hissed as he fell back onto his hands, and stared down at the frayed bandage wrapped around his left hand and wrist. He then stared at his fingers, all five of them, and flexed them, testing the joints. Huh. 

Just then, the door to the room he was in- he guessed it was a waiting room, because he was previously lying on a couch that wasn't very comfortable, and honing in his senses he realized he must be at a vet, which also explained the sedatives- opened, carrying in a plea of, "No- Erica, don't!" and a tall blonde in dangerous looking heels.

She grinned wolfishly at him and yelled back through the doorway, "Deaton? Who's the cute naked fox-boy in the sitting room?"

Stiles flinched and backed himself into the furthest corner of the room possible, using the heels of his hands to drag the blanket closer and back around the lower half of his body, curving his tail protectively across his crotch. She took a step into the room, and Stiles flinched again, covering his face with his arms. If he couldn't see her, she wasn't there.

"Mmm, I wouldn't mind a bit of that," she mused, grin wide and menacing. Stiles whimpered and yipped in fear. Was he really going to die in a vet's office, half shifted, naked, his last sight being a scary blonde with an insane bust?

"Erica!"

Wait- he knew that voice.

The alpha's back. Yay.

The girl smirked, but backed out of the room, leaving the door wide open. Stiles stared through it in horror. What was this terrible place? Werewolves everywhere, Jesus. 

True to form, Derek entered the room soon after, looking as murderous as ever. Though Stiles wasn't sure why, he got what he wanted, for Stiles to shift.

The man tossed a pair of sweatpants at him and Stiles stared down at them dumbly. Derek growled, "Put them on."

Stiles looked from the pants to Derek and then back at the clothes. He whined, low in his throat. Now he couldn't even remember how to put on pants? What was his life?

Thankfully- or maybe not- Deaton arrived next, shoving at Derek's shoulder to move him back through the doorway, making the alpha growl. Deaton merely raised a brow at him. 

"Clearly, the fox has not shifted back, even partially, in a very, very long time. He has probably forgotten most motor functions at this point. I will help him. Now- go round up your betas."

Derek left in another dramatic huff that had Stiles almost rolling his eyes, if not for the fear that was coursing through his body.

Deaton looked down at him with kind eyes. "Let's get you clothed, Genim."

Stiles' eyes shot to the man because what the holy hell no one knew his name. 

He smiled, though, and added, "I figured it out. There aren't many werefoxes missing, and your name happened to be on a list I saw not long ago."

Stiles whined. People were looking for him? Even after all this time. He sniffled and buried his nose in the blanket, but was quickly repelled because it smelled like old dog fur and piss, opting to find comfort with his tail instead. The fur was soft- a small comfort.

Deaton took hold of the pants and tossed them onto the couch. "Let's get you sitting up."

He grabbed Stiles from under his arms and lifted- dude, where did all these random strong people keep coming from?- him back onto the couch, blanket still draped across his bottom half. He grabbed the sweats and pulled Stiles' legs through the holes, wriggling them up his body until he was at mid thigh, just past his knees. "You can take it from here, right?"

Stiles hesitated, but nodded slowly, and that was enough for Deaton to nod back at him and turn to give him some privacy. It was odd, getting his fingers to work correctly to grab at the waist, and he nearly feel off the couch again trying to get the back over the swell of his ass but not over his tail. He finally succeeded, lastly tucking himself into the pants. He huffed and tossed the blanket aside, preferring not to smell like dog piss if he could help it.

Deaton turned back around and grinned at him. "Perfect." 

Stiles stared down at himself sheepishly. He took in account his toes, wiggling them, seeming to be attached to boney feet that peeked out from the bottom of the long sweats. There was writing along the side of them, going down the left pant leg, but Stiles had lost the ability to read a long while ago as well, so he just stared down at them in confusion. 

Next was his chest. A line of hair traveled down past the edge of the pants, starting at the bottom of his abs, which, he was happy to see, were pretty well defined. He supposed it was from all of the running, keeping his fox body in shape transferred back well. A worrying sight, however, was seeing his ribs through the pale skin littered with moles. He knew he had been hungry, but not this much. 

His arms were also littered with moles and rather hairy of anyone asked him. His fingers were long and bony, but they functioned, so Stiles counted that as a win. His hands raised to his head and he felt around. Nose: check. Mouth: check. Hair: check. Furry ears: check- Stiles thumbed at his ears, surprised to see they were kept as he shifted as well.  

Stiles looked up at Deaton helplessly.

"I have a solution, don't you worry." Deaton held up a hand, telling Stiles to be patient, before leaving him alone in the room once again. 

Stiles huffed out a sigh. 

He contemplated shifting back and leaving. He was small enough and fast enough, he could dart out before anyone would stop him. He could feel the animal right beneath his skin, whining and scratching to be released, to be normal again. He could feel his eyes glowing, training directly on Deaton when he walked back in, rolling a chair in with him.

"Until you are able to get your basic motor functions back online, you can borrow this wheelchair. You just push at the wheels like this, forward and backward," Deaton demonstrated this for him, "to move around."

The vet pushed the chair right up to the couch and hefted Stiles up once again, and set him gently down in the chair. Stiles curled his tail around in his lap. He didn't want to accidentally roll over it, that would hurt like a bitch he expected. He petted the fur absentmindedly, liking how it calmed him down. He was reminded of his mother's touch, but he shook the ghost away, focusing back on the task at hand.

Stiles raised a hand hesitantly and curved one around the wheel, fingers coming intact with the rubber. He tested the wheel and rolled it forward, swinging his chair to the left, and getting his fingers caught in the metal. He wrenched his hand back, whining, sucking his fingers into his mouth in a instinctual reaction. 

Deaton simply chuckled. "You need to keep your hands further back, and roll both of the wheels at the same time, or you're only going to go in circles."

Stiles nodded. Okay he could do this. He placed the palms on his hands on the tops of both wheels and shoved forward, rolling him just slightly. He beamed anyways, proud of himself. 

Deaton chuckled and took hold of the handles from behind him. "For now, though, I think I can help."

They moved through the doorway and out into the hall. Stiles whined as he took in the- why are there so many fucking werewolves?

There was Derek, and the scary one, Erica. There was also a tall broad shouldered, dark skinned boy. And another boy with curly blond hair. He reminded Stiles of a puppy. Another wolf was on Derek's right, a tall boy with short brown hair, sporting a dopey grin. A girl was to his right, long brown hair and smelling of-

Stiles whined and pushed back against the chair, wishing he could just run. His eyes stared wide and horror stricken at her. Hunter! Hunter! his instincts screamed. Run! 

"Genim!"

Deaton's voice snapped him out of his squirming, and he stared up, terrified, at the man. 

"Allison, could you go and update your father on our.. situation?"

As soon as the girl who smelled like gun and smoke and flowers was out the door, he relaxed back into his seat.

Derek snorted from his lazy sprawl leaning against the front desk. "Good instincts..."

"Hey!" the boy next to him said, glaring at Derek, who just rolled his eyes and stood up straighter. 

"How do you know his name? He told you? And how do you-"

"He didn't tell me. Genim cannot speak, or, well, has forgotten how, I'm afraid."

Stiles wished he could tell him he hated the name Genim, and preferred not to be called it. He glared at Deaton, hoping the thought would be transferred through the gaze. The vet just raised a brow back at him. 

"Well I am not calling him that unfortunate name."

Stiles jumped. He hadn't noticed the strawberry blond enter the room, but now that he had- damn. He could get on that.

He smiled at her, and she gave him a once over and smirked. "Jackson is on his way- family breakfast."

Derek nodded like whatever the goddess was talking about was normal. It probably was.

Speaking of breakfast.

-when did it become morning anyways?

Stiles' stomach made a noise like it had chosen to give up and leave his body for good, and he groaned in pain. 

The curly haired wolf jumped to attention, as if shocked, and grabbed something off the desk. It turned out to be a bag which looked like it was dripping in grease. But the smell, well, Stiles wouldn't complain. 

His tongue lolled out to the side and he yipped, eyes going from the bag to its holder, who looked slightly happy and confused and worried all at the same time. 

"Ugh, I cannot believe I thought he was hot, so not," Erica sneered, and Stiles shrunk back. 

A growl from Derek silenced all of them.

"Isaac, give him some of the bacon, he should be able to stomach that without trouble," Deaton said. 

Isaac came forward once he had a nice handful bacon strips. He held them up for Stiles and he didn't hesitate before snapping his teen over the ends, taking all of them into his mouth at once. 

Isaac blinked, looked down at his hands and then up at Stiles in shock.

"Duuuude," sounded from behind Isaac, and the other tanned boy was gaping at him in wonder and awe. "Nice."

Stiles decided he liked him. And Isaac. Isaac gave him food. The others just glared at him. 

"What now?" asked the girl who had yet to be addressed, towards Deaton. 

"My suggestion is that you take Genim into your pack, familiarize yourself with him, help him adjust to being a human. There are people looking for him back on the east coast- he's been running for far too long, and I'm assured would like to get back to them."

No one looked at Stiles with sympathy, but he didn't mind at all, even liked the lack of pity. He had enough of it after his mother had passed away, he didn't need nor want any more.

"I believe introductions are in order. I am Alan Deaton, I am a veterinarian and the adviser of the Hale pack." He gestured to the rest of them. When no one made a move to speak, he sighed.

He pointed to each accordingly. "Derek Hale is the alpha. His three bitten betas are Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, and Vernon Boyd. Jackson Whittemore is also his beta, though his is not in attendance. Lydia Martin is his human mate, and immune to supernatural entities. Scott McCall was bitten by Derek's uncle Peter, who is also not in attendance. It is a long story, which I will not get into now." He gave Derek a significant look. "The girl who left earlier is Allison Argent, Scott's human mate."

And, okay, maybe Stiles didn't like the guy so much anymore. Even he'd heard of the Argents as a child, in scary stories his parents would tell him around campfires, to make sure he wouldn't stray too far into the woods. Tales of silver men who fight and hunt his kind, and silver women who lead with shouts of anger, and arrows so sharp they could pierce through steel. 

So yeah, not the happiest camper, was Stiles at the moment. He turned his glare onto Deaton to let him know this, who just shrugged. 

"You can say his name as many times as you want, but none of us can pronounce that correctly. We need a name," Derek said, eyes going from Deaton to Stiles and back. 

"Genim," Lydia pronounced, fluently, and perfectly, making Stiles swoon. He'd only ever heard the name nicer when being said by his own mother. "But Derek is correct, the name is atrocious. Last name?"

"Stilinski."

The entire lot rolled their eyes. "You must have had a tough time in kindergarten, dude," Scott said, eyes wide. Stiles shrugged. He had gone by 'Stiles' then so it wasn't that bad. 

Derek grumbled something about 'polish bastards', but then sighed. "Stilinski it is."

Stiles found himself grinning. Aside from the Argent girl, he wasn't too unhappy. Sure, being held here in Fuck-Knows, California practically against his will, unable to change, yet unable to exist as a fully functional human, wasn't the best. But what choice did he have?

As a fox, he was feral, and until he could fully come in contact with his human side once again, he would always be. Even now, he itched to run on all fours through the forest, seeking out a nice mouse for a snack, to tear at with his incisors. 

Deaton ran a hand through his hair, nails catching on the tufts behind his ear, and he arched at the touch, groaning and yipping, tongue lolling out at the pleasure. 

Everyone looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

"I warn you, he is still a fox inside. His instincts will drive him to want to shift back. It is for his best that he does not. He is feral inside, he needs humanity. You all need to show him this. If you do, he should in time revert back into his full human form."

The pack nodded, seemingly agreeing. Stiles suddenly was feeling mighty exposed. He crossed his arms across his chest, rubbing at his shoulders. 

"He can stay in one of the guest rooms in my house. Lydia," Derek said gruffly, "text Jackson, tell him to head over there and make sure the room is clean. Scott, you have your mom's car? You put the chair in the trunk and drive Stilinski to my house. I'd do it, but I have to head back early, let Peter know the situation, lay down boundaries." Scott nodded after a momentary hesitation. "Everyone else, go home. If any of you have clothes that you wouldn't mind parting with to share with Stilinski, it will help to ground him to pack if he smells like pack."

Everyone branched off after that, going home, Stiles assumed. Derek held some deep looks with Deaton, communicating via eyebrows in a way Stiles never quite understood. The alpha left soon after in a flourish, only ruined by the bell tinkling overhead. 

Scott snorted, "He has a thing for dramatic exits. Come on, let's get you home!"

*

Scott's car smelled like Allison, and Stiles didn't like it one bit. He curled in on himself in the passenger seat, feeling awkward that he had a tail in the way. Scott rambled on about the pack, talking about each of the members and little tidbits of information Stiles stored away for later. 

They pulled into a driveway off of the road, and it jostled Stiles around because of the gravel surface. He growled, hands gripping the car upholstery tightly. Scott winced and apologized, saying how he had told Derek he needed to have someone pave the way but the alpha refused. 

Stiles finally saw a house into the distance between the trees and he whined, the sound coming out pitifully. He hadn't lived in a house for years, constantly on the run. He slept in corners of forests, or in street alleys. He hadn't had the luxury of a roof over his head in forever, unless treetops counted. 

Scott parked in the driveway and hopped out before Stiles could even try to unbuckle himself from the strap across his chest, keeping him tied down to the chair. Scott wheeled the chair up to his door and opened it. He grinned at Stiles and easily pressed the button, the seatbelt snapping back into its holder. 

Stiles spun himself around to sit with his legs pointed out of the car, and Scott was able to easily shift him into the wheelchair. 

Stiles practiced with the wheels, getting himself up the slope of the driveway easily enough. He stared at the steeps at the front of the porch, eyes narrowed in a challenge. 

Scott choked out a laugh and lifted the chair up the three small steps by the wheels. Stiles had forgotten about supernatural strength, and huffed, arms crossing across his chest. The wind was biting, and he was easily becoming cold. His tail twitched, brushing against his chest seeking some kind of warmth.

If he were allowed to shift back, he would be much warmer, his fur acting as a coat to block out the cold. But as it was, he was freezing his ass off. 

He wheeled himself up to the door and bumped his knees into it. Scott mumbled, "Impatient," but opened the door, and Stiles keened at the wave of heat that hit him. 

He entered the room and the first thing granted in his sight was a giant staircase. Really? More stairs? He whined, turning to look around. It took him a moment, but he was able to turn himself to the left and moved into what looked like a living area. 

The room was devoid of people, but that was about it. One couch, two chairs, and a loveseat curved in a semicircle that bracketed a flat screen television plastered into the wall. Pillows littered the cushions and the ground. What looked to Stiles like gaming consoles- two of them- sat on the ground with controllers attached. A table was also in the middle of the couches, topped with papers, notebooks, and leftover drinks. 

He turned back around, giggling happily like a child at the rush of the spin, looking into the room opposite. He wheeled himself forward, passing Scott who was watching him in amusement. The werewolf called out to the house, "I'm leaving to pick my mom up from work, see you tomorrow!" Scott twirled the keys around his finger for a minute, listening for a response that never came. He smirked and shook his head. "Later man," he addressed Stiles before leaving. 

Stiles could sniff out food in the other room, and his tongue lolled as he panted, moving faster and then coming to an abrupt stop, rubber wheels screeching against the wooden flooring. 

An older man leaned against a tall, long table surrounded by chairs. His entire being radiated something for Stiles to be worried about, so he stared back with wide, wary eyes. The man grinned. 

"My nephew told me not to bother you, but I had to meet the new pack mate." He tipped his head to the side, eyes calculating. "Are you hungry?"

Just then, Stiles' stomach rumbled again, as if called. The man's grin spread even wider at the sound. "I'll get you something to eat," he purred, pushing off of the table and brushing past Stiles into the kitchen that was attached to the dining area. He stuck out a hand and ran it across Stiles' head as he came by, feeling his ears, and Stiles shuddered. 

"Peter," a growl came from the doorway, and Stiles' head jerked up to find Derek. The alpha's eyes strayed to Stiles momentarily before hardening back on Peter. "I told you to leave Stilinski be."

Peter looked at him innocently. "I was merely making him something more to eat," he said, ducking his head into the fridge, "Now, let's see, what do little foxies eat?"

Derek growled, but dropped it, looking back to Stiles. "Once you are done... eating, I will show you to your room. It is on this floor, so you won't have to navigate the stairs." Stiles nodded, rolling further into the kitchen. He paused before pointing to his chest and moving it up and down.

Derek stared back at him, face blank. 

Peter laughed, noticing the exchange, before explaining, "He wants a shirt, Der. Poor boy, doesn't want to look indecent in someone else's house."

Stiles looked at Peter unimpressed, but he shrugged in response, placing a plate on his lap that held a sandwich. Stiles prodded at it, lifting up the bread to see it was turkey and cheese. He smiled slightly. 

It took some thought, but he gingerly found a way to grip it without squishing the bread too much and bit into it without making a big mess. He never had to think about manners when eating woodland creatures, so this was going to take some getting used to. 

He was licking the pads of his fingers when Derek reappeared, snapping him out of his food stupor by holding out a shirt. Stiles grinned up at him, pulling the fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop! His hands made a grabbing motion, a whine escaping his throat.

Derek swallowed thickly and tossed the shirt at his face. Peter spoke a soft, "Ooh," eyeing Stiles and Derek oddly. Stiles offered the plate back to Peter with both hands, and he took it with a grin. 

Stiles stared down at the shirt and whined. Seriously? Could he do nothing?

Peter made an aborted movement like he was going to help, but instead he walked out, shoving Derek towards Stiles by the shoulder. Derek huffed, but took the shirt back, rolling it up and helping Stiles tug it on. 

The material felt weird against his skin, but he was thankful for the extra warmth as the large shirt and long sleeves embraced him. 

Derek pointed out the doorway. "I'll show you your room?"

Stiles nodded, rolling after Derek. He decided that if anything, he was going to have to learn how to walk. Hopefully it would be less of learning all over again, and more like working the muscle. 

Some nights when he slept, he could still see flashes of images from his childhood. Letters that he knew spelled certain words, running on two legs through the forest, chasing his mother. Talking his father's ear off about that day at school. Maybe he still knew how to do it all, somewhere inside of him.

Derek opened a door and he moved them into a large room. His jaw dropped, astounded. A large bed sat against a wall made up of glass window panes. There was a dresser for clothes and soft carpets. There was a desk in the corner, an small chair tucked under it. The room was pretty bare other than those items, which accentuated how large it was. 

He grinned at Derek, hopefully projecting to him,' thank you.' Derek watched him for a beat, then cleared his throat. "You're going to have to learn how to clothe yourself, I'm not doing it for you every morning. Isaac said he has some old stuff that should fit you. He'll bring it tomorrow."

Stiles nodded, smiling softly. He looked down at his hand, curling it into a fist, thumb jutting up, and held it out. Derek snorted, but there was a small smile on his face, so Stiles figured he wasn't that annoyed by his antics. 

Derek helped him out of the chair and onto the bed, locking the chair in position and showing Stiles how to lock and unlock it so he could move around and in and out of bed on his own. Stiles gave him another thumbs up, then Derek left him alone, leaving the door cracked open just a tad. Stiles was grateful, he didn't want to feel like he was locked in a cage. The gesture to him showed he was free to roam. He curled up into the bed, a small content smile sliding onto his face as he drifted.

*

Time wasn't something Stiles was good at keeping track of. It was more of a relative thing for him. He tracked his time with the Hale pack by events instead. 

The first event was the morning after, waking up and freaking out because he couldn't remember where he was.

He settle a hand- hand?!- over his heart and felt the rapid beat of it thumping, could hear his blood rushing through his ears- his furry ears, what the fuck.

He felt around behind him and- yep, tail.

Okay, Stiles thought, breathe.

A knocking came abruptly against the wood of the door, and his head swung around to stare at it. "Stilinski? Are you okay?"

Derek, his mind supplied. 

Stiles whined, trying to form some kind of words, but couldn't. He nodded, but realized Derek's couldn't see. He huffed, crossing his arms across his chest petulantly. 

As if realizing the predicament himself, Derek added, "Knock one for no, twice for yes. Are you okay?"

Stiles leaned over and knocked on the head board twice. 

He heard an exhale from the other side of the door. "Good. I- breakfast is almost ready, and Isaac will be here soon with clothes. Come on out whenever."

Stiles knocked twice again, and heard Derek's footsteps retreat down the hall. 

A trill of elation ran through him when he noticed the door was still cracked open for him to be able to push his way out, coming to terms with the fact that Derek respected Stiles' space. He smiled to himself. 

It took him a while, shoving the bed sheets away and testing all of his limbs, but he was able to lean all of his weight onto the wheelchair's arm rest so he could slide his feet to rest on the floor and somewhat stand. 

He worried his bottom lip between his teeth before taking his time to scoot around the chair, inch by inch. Then he quickly let go and let gravity take it's tool, twisting his body around swiftly so that he landed awkwardly into the chair. He thanked higher powers that the chair stayed in its locked position so it didn't slide out from underneath him. 

Stiles adjusted his torso, and brought his tail up and around to curl around his midsection. He scrunched up his nose, noticing for the first time how much he stank. He still smelled like the woods, and the old pair of sweatpants he was wearing. Derek's shirt smelled nice, though, so that was a comfort. He buried his nose in the fabric, taking a deep breath, before wheeling forward and nudging the door open with an outstretched leg, toes curling in at a point. 

He followed his nose and scent it caught into the kitchen, and purred in content at the smell of bacon and eggs cooking on the stove. 

But of course the person actually making the food was someone he'd rather stay far, far away from if he had the choice. 

"Hey foxy," Erica purred as he slowly entered into the kitchen, and froze on sight. Stiles swallowed thickly. She held up the pan the bacon was sizzling in and asked, "Want some?"

Erica looked... relaxed. She was no longer in heels- barefooted, in sweats and an old t-shirt. Her hair was up in a lazy bun on the crown of her head, and she wasn't wearing a bright red lipstick that was probably made from the blood of her enemies. 

She looked... simple.

Stiles nodded, smiling slightly. Erica dished him a plate and set it on his lap. He easily dug in. 

Her lip curled in a slightly disgusting manner. "God, we're gonna have to teach you how to use utensils too. I don't even wanna think about giving you these eggs."

Stiles looked up at her, a strip of bacon hanging out of the side of his mouth, with an ashamed expression. He quickly swallowed and held the plate back up to her, getting the hang of having fingers once again from practicing on the wheels of the chair. 

Erica frowned as she took the plate back. "I- sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

Stiles eyed her warily, but before he could react much or somehow formulate an answer, the front door was banging open and Isaac flopped in, Boyd right behind him. 

"Hey there," Boyd rumbled, walking up to Erica and wrapping an arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her temple before pulling back and getting breakfast for himself. 

"Morning Stilinski!" Isaac said to him, averting his gaze from the two awkward creatures dancing around each other in the kitchen. Isaac gave him a smirk like he knew exactly how he felt. 

He held up a full black trash bag and shook it, the plastic ruffling in the motion. "I have clothes! Most of these should fit you. You got breakfast?" Stiles nodded. "Let's look at them then."

Stiles led Isaac back to his room as Isaac told him, "I think the majority of these work. I had to sneak into my old house to get them- I keep all of my stuff here." A pained expression crossed his face, and Stiles wondered if he'd ever get the story behind it. 

Stiles stopped the chair at the foot of the bed, pushing down and locking it into position. He pushed his forearms against the mattress and lifted, flinging himself onto the bed, a line of orange and white flowing behind him. Isaac laughed as Stiles settled onto all fours in a playful position. 

"Later," he said, "Derek will take us out to train most days, and you can join in with the fun stuff, if you want?"

Stiles never knew any other kits when he was growing up. His mother used to shift when he was still small, and they would wrestle around. And even when he grew, they would tug at each other's ears, bite at their tails, just to be teasing. 

Stiles nodded, liking the idea very much. 

Isaac unwrapped the knot tied at the top of the bag and started pulling out clothes. He winced, taking sight of them. "Uh, I hope the style-" Stiles perked up at that, but Isaac wasn't paying attention to him so he huffed; he just wanted them to call him Stiles, makes things easier- "isn't too against you. I was going through a big plaid phase, but I have some cool graphic tees that you might like, an- oh! Ironman!"

Stiles' head shot up, an easy grin playing on his face. Stiles collected Marvel comics like it was his life's goal. Back home he probably had, like... he lost count after a while, but it became a tradition. Any time anyone in the family would go out, if they passed the local comic shop, they had to stop in and find a new one. Stiles read every single comic, especially loving the Avengers and Spiderman. 

"You know about Marvel?" Isaac asked, eyebrows raised. Stiles gave him a dull look, and Isaac blushed. "Sorry, sometimes I- I just don't know how long it's been since you were... home?"

Stiles stared down at his hands. He didn't have enough fingers to count so he held out his hand and took Isaac's, startling the boy. He made Isaac curl all fingers down except for one, and held both of his hands, fingers spread wide, next to it. 

Isaac exhaled. "Eleven years... wow." Stiles nodded, dropping his hands down to his lap to stroke his tail. 

Isaac cleared his throat. "I, uh, my dad was abusive. Derek saved me- gave me the bite. Things happened, I'm sure you'll learn about them eventually, and it was," he laughed darkly, "Really shitty for a while. He's gone now, and Derek lets me stay here while I'm in school." He raised his head. "This is my home now, the pack, everyone. Maybe it can be for you too?"

Stiles reached forward and grabbed Isaac into the first hug he had in... since he left. He shuddered against the werewolf. Isaac was shocked, frozen, but he slowly came back to himself, patting Stiles' back. Stiles nosed into Isaac's neck and took in a deep breath- the scent of pack hit him so fast he almost recoiled, but he smiled, thinking this, this is what I want. 

After a moment, Stiles sat back on his haunches, looking up at Isaac, face flushed, embarrassed. Isaac just grinned. "Don't worry about it," he said.

They continued going through the clothes, eyeballing them and guessing what was the right about size and what was too small. The rejected pile was put back in the bag, Isaac making an offhanded comment about taking them to Goodwill. 

Derek poked his head in as they finished up and smiled slightly, just a twitch of the lips. "Got some clothes that fit?" he asked, like he probably didn't hear the majority of them talking for the past however long. 

Stiles nodded holding up a plaid shirt in each hand. Derek rubbed his forehead. "Lydia is going to have a conniption about fashion choices, isn't she."

Isaac nodded solemnly, but Stiles just furrowed his brow in confusion. Stiles liked the clothes, really, they were nice and looked comfortable. Worn in. 

The two didn't expand on the topic and was easily dropped, so Stiles forgot about it moments later. 

Derek and Isaac left Stiles to his own devices, staring down at the clothes littering his bed. He picked up a shirt that said 'STUD' and then some kind of... muffin below it. Oh! Stud Muffin! Stiles cackled out a laugh, high and squeaky, before twisting himself out of Derek's shirt. He set that off to the side and wondered how he was going to get this new one on. 

(It wasn't until later that Stiles realized he had read the word, and laughed to himself. Because of course a word he would recognize and be able to read after years of not needing the skill would be something like 'stud'.) 

He poked at the holes, figuring out where his arms went and where his head went. Okay, he could do this. It had been a while but this was like second nature to humans. 

He opened the shirt and struggled to get his arms through each of the side sleeves. Once he accomplished that, he worked to get his head in. This was found to be a much harder task considering his arms were trapped together by the clothing confines and he had to wriggle it down to pop his head in. 

He bit into the fabric to pull it further down his body once he got his head in, and slowly but surely it pulled on. 

Once it sat on his body like the other one had, he grinned to himself, happily. 

Because of Deaton's help putting on his pants the previous day, he knew relatively how to put those on. He shimmied out of the ones he wore, yelping when they pushed over the swell of his ass and he fell to the side, onto his tail. He pouted, the pain pulsing like a headache would. 

He kicked the pants off and watched them sail across the room in silent delight.

He looked at the assortment of jeans set out in front of him and wondered if he could wear them with his tail. 

He opted for another pair of sweatpants for the time being, grabbing a dark pair and shifting them on. He remembered how Deaton had slowly slid them up his legs and copied his exact movements, letting the waistband snap right underneath his tail as he tucked himself in. 

Peter ducked his head in then, making Stiles jump and shriek. He covered his mouth with wide eyes, silently apologizing. 

Peter shook his head, smiling softly. "Just letting you know that lunch is about done if you are hungry, and the wolves are going to train right after if you would like to join them, so- huh, you changed."

Stiles grinned triumphantly. He wobbled from lack of balance but was able to perch himself up on his knees and spread his arms wide, like, 'Look!'

Peter snorted and entered the room. He walked right up to Stiles and flicked the little piece of fabric that poked out of the neck hole that was kinda irritating to Stiles. 

"Shirt is on backwards, but other than that, A+."

art by henshufangirl

Stiles frowned, blinking steadily. He craned his neck to look behind him, and sure enough out of the corner of his eye he could see the 'STUD' and muffin emblazoned on the back of the blue shirt. His tail flicked unsteadily and his ears twitched- he never did very well with doing things wrong and it upset him far too easily. 

Stiles huffed, pouting. Peter rolled his eyes. "Fix it and join us, the wolves don't like to wait when they're hungry," he sing-sang as he exited. 

Stiles wrestled with the shirt once more, before twisting it and finally putting it on correctly. It did feel more comfortable this way, and he silently thanked Peter for not just letting it go and him be embarrassed in front of his new friends. (Pack? Friends for now.)

Lunch was uneventful, except for it being the first meal in forever that he had anything to eat besides mice or bacon. He happily munched on his french fries as he stared at the wolves that congregated around the table who oddly enough would rather stand than sit in the chairs.

It made him feel very small. 

*

The training, though? That was fun. 

It wasn't even real training. Stiles wheeled himself out onto the back porch (which was like, way down the hall from his room- how big was this damn house?) and watched the wolves shove at each other, little flicks of their claws and teasing flashing eyes. 

Peter stood leaning outside, bringing in some fresh air. When Stiles eyed him, he shrugged, saying, "I'm too old for training with kids, I'm better than any of them ever will be." He didn't want to pry into that, so he turned away. 

Stiles was hesitant to join in. He didn't know the protocol for these things. He couldn't really stand, so would they all have to be down on all fours to play around with him? Stiles shifted uneasily in his seat. 

Derek seemed to notice this and said, "Stilinski, would you like to join us?"

Stiles bit his lip but nodded. Derek stared for a beat, then, "Shift!" he ordered the others, stripping off his jacket and t-shirt and-

Whoa.

Holy back tattoo.

Stiles swallowed, averting his gaze from Derek to his lap where his fingers twirled between strands of fur. Stiles' gaze shot back up when something wet hit his leg, and he looked up to see Derek in wolf form, nosing at his foot. Stiles smiled, leaping from the chair and landing on all fours. It was awkward, especially because he had to favor his one hand due to the injury still healing. 

The other wolves took to it in stride. In the time Stiles had not been looking, they had all shifted, clothes in piled against the house. 

Stiles was able to register the scent of Scott before he barreled into him, knocking on his back, tongue lolling out playfully. Stiles laughed, high and happy and rolled them over, biting at his ear.

He felt a nip at his own that belonged to Isaac, and Stiles pounced onto him as well. 

Stiles hadn't felt this free in years. Messing around with other animals, teasing each other, tripping over tails and the like. He found himself laughing more often than not. He got along really well with the wolves. 

Even Derek dove in at some point between Erica pinning Stiles' tail to the ground and Boyd tackling her and sending them tumbling. Derek gave Stiles a significant look and took off into the woods, and Stiles followed. 

Soon enough the other wolves caught on and ran with them too, dodging trees and trying to trip the other up. 

A wolf with blue eyes that Stiles hadn't paid any attention to suddenly steamrolled him and started sniffing him. Stiles laughed and rolled out from underneath him. Jackson, his mind supplied as a name. 

When on all fours, Stiles was about as tall as each of the beta wolves, excluding Scott, who was almost as big as Derek was. Derek's wolf was huge, and his shadows almost swallowed Stiles whole at times. 

Stiles easily over took Isaac, but didn't expect him to jump in from behind, throwing them both into the dirt. The wind whooshed out of his lungs, but he still found it easy to laugh, and by the amused expression on Isaac's face, if the wolf could, he would be laughing too. 

*

The rest of the evening was almost like a blur to Stiles. He knew they ate dinner at some point, and he watched the wolves actually train from his chair on the porch. 

It was... honestly peaceful. Staying at the Hale den wasn't as bad as he initially thought it would be. He wondered at first if they were kidnapping him, forcing him to stay somewhere where he didn't want to be. But he found he liked being surrounded by family again. 

Days passed, and they turned to weeks. Stiles slowly adjusted to getting up every morning, eating breakfast with the pack, exploring the endless rooms of the downstairs, hanging out outside, going for runs...

Stiles hardly knew when one day ended and the next began. It was an easy flow.

*

The next day he remembered well was the day Deaton stopped by. 

Stiles had grown bored watching the betas spar with each other and decided to amuse himself with seeing how fast he could roll up and down the hallways. 

A knock sounded on the door as Stiles rolled past it. His hand slapped against the wall to stop his momentum and he backed up, opening the door. 

Deaton stood on the front stoop, smiling. "Hello Gemin, good to see you again. Your hand is healed, I presume?"

Stiles stared down at his left hand where the scratch from before was barely anything now, just a sting when he pushed it too hard. He held up his hand to show the doctor, and Deaton nodded, wordlessly asking if he could come in. 

Stiles rolled back and let him enter, shutting the door. "I came to check your progress with the pack. I take it you haven't regained the ability to speak yet?"

Stiles shook his head, huffing lightly. He had tried, honestly. A few times he wanted to make conversation, comment on something someone said, but all that came out were little yips and barks that he felt ashamed of. 

Deaton nodded, like he expected this. "It will probably be one of the last things you regain control of. You've taken to the chair well, I can tell," he added, gesturing to the skid marks on the floor. Stiles winced- he was going to pay for that later. 

A chuckle came from the vet and Stiles' gaze snapped back to him. "Have you been able to walk on your own, yet?"

Stiles shook his head once again. Every morning he tried to stand, and he had a few times, but anytime an attempt to walk went down, he always fell. 

"So everything is as it was the last time I saw you?"

Stiles went to nod before he shook his head quickly, grinning. He didn't know how to say it, so he just pointed to the words on his shirt that said, 'Beacon Hills Lacrosse'. 

Deaton's brow shot up and he hummed. "You can read, good. Can you write?"

Stiles shrugged. He hadn't tried it. 

Deaton reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He opened it up to a blank text message before handing it over to Stiles. "Tell me something."

Stiles stared at the keys, blinked once, then twice. His hands vibrated and fingers twitched as he pressed down onto the keys, sounding the words out in his head. He handed it back to Deaton a few minutes later. 

"'I hate my name,'" Deaton quoted, smirking slightly. "I'm sure. What do-"

"Alan?" Peter's voice carried over the threshold and before Stiles knew it the pack had gathered around, and- whoa, when did goddess Lydia and 'STAY AWAY BRIGHT FLASHING RED LIGHTS' Allison get here?

Deaton waved his phone up, saying, "Genim knows how to read. And he just told me he hates his name," he relayed back.

Derek looked surprised. "I... didn't know you could write."

Stiles shrugged, because he didn't either.

"And as I was asking before," Deaton starts, giving the wolves a look, "I was going to say, what do you like to be called?"

Stiles beamed and reached out grabby hands for the phone which Deaton handed over. Stiles was good at this, had gone over his name time and time again in his head. It was the only think he really still had left of him. 

He typed it in, slowly and carefully and then handed it back to Deaton, who said, "Stiles."

"What the hell is a 'Stiles'?" intoned Jackson and Lydia perfectly in sync, before giving each other one of those disgustingly in love looks that made Stiles' stomach churn. 

"Easier than Stilinski," Isaac said with a shrug, before giving Stiles' shoulder a squeeze. Stiles grinned up at him and then at the rest of the pack. They all smiled back.

*

Stiles still had trouble communicating. He didn't have the nicest hand writing and when he tried to write, it came out jittery and sloppy because he couldn't get his hands to still. The pencil always slipped out of his grasp, and Jackson was appalled at the thought of getting him an iPad or something, so that he could type instead, saying that he would only drop and break the thing if his hands were so unsteady he couldn't even write.

Stiles didn't like Jackson very much.

No one else really did either, though, so Stiles felt a bit justified in that. Especially after finding out that he had lived across the street from Isaac for years and never reported the abuse he heard from Isaac's father. Isaac had told him it was the best decision really, but Stiles still held a grudge, something he thought Isaac was slightly happy of- deep down. 

Eventually, they did get him an iPad- and a nice case to protect it, everyone promised Jackson. Stiles didn't have a lot to say in most cases, and it took him so long to speak a full thought, much less a long sentence than most people were comfortable waiting for an answer. 

So they could communicate now, and they called him by the right name. 

It was progress. 

Stiles looked it up to see if there were any apps on how to learn to walk, but all that came up were how to tie your shoes and how to walk in high heels.

That was step 2.

Kidding. 

Sort of. 

*

One morning, Stiles woke up, rolled out of bed, was dressed, and sitting in the kitchen eating some pop tarts before he realized his wheel chair was still sitting at the foot of his bed. 

He jumped up, surprised. His feet hit tile floor and he trilled his toes along it, elation spiking his pulse. He let out a breathy laugh and a happy yip. He abandoned his breakfast to take to the stairs, one at a time.

It took him a minute, but he made it to the second floor and he wanted to scream in happiness. 

All of the betas had morning classes that day, so the only ones who were in the house were Peter, Derek, and himself. 

Stiles, grinning, tore open the door to Derek's room and attacked him in a hug.

Derek was still asleep, so it was more like starfishing out on top of him, but still. Derek groaned, head lifting to see who it was and then dropping his head. "Stiles... go away, sleep-"

Derek's eyes widened, and suddenly Stiles was on the floor with Derek standing over him with a shocked look on his face, and-

Derek wore black boxer-briefs really well. 

"Stiles! You're upstairs?" Aw, Derek looked adorable so tired and confused.

Stiles stood up, balancing himself against Derek's beg and grinned, flicking him with his tail. 

Derek smiled, a real honest-to-god smile, and Stiles thought he was going to implode. He felt heat rising to his cheeks, so he tapered it down. 

"That- that's great, we should tell Deaton," Derek said, rushing to his bedside table where his phone lay. Stiles had no issues with watching Derek move around. 

Derek turned and Stiles matched his gaze with an innocent one of his own. Derek's eyes narrowed, but said nothing, silently slipping on a pair of sweatpants. 

Killjoy.

Derek broke the news to Deaton who sounded to Stiles like he had expected this today, and it made Stiles question how much that man actually knew. 

When the pack got home that afternoon after classes, they all, one by one, were shocked to see Stiles balanced perfectly on two feet. Isaac even hugged Stiles, saying how proud he was of his progress. 

Stiles knew Isaac wasn't really a fuzzy guy, so it made the gesture all that more special. 

Allison baked him cupcakes for after dinner, and Stiles slowly began to warm up to her. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. True indeed. 

*

About a week later, everyone sat Stiles down and gave him The Talk. Capitalized and everything. 

Surprising him, he had been there for over a month already, almost two. They figured he'd been brought into the fold far enough and he deserved the whole story. 

Scott had been running and conditioning for the upcoming lacrosse season of his sophomore year of high school, when he was bit without consent. He didn't realize he was a werewolf until Derek sniffed him out and sat him down. Scott blamed Derek for a lot of the trauma he'd gone through. Derek blamed himself too. 

Allison's family were indeed hunters. Her aunt, Kate, had been the one to burn Derek's house and kill his family back six years previous to the start of everything. Derek clammed up at the name, and everyone skipped around the subject. Stiles was curious, but didn't pry. 

Kate shot Derek with wolfsbane, forcing him to get Scott's help. Scott had taken Derek to Deaton's clinic where he would be safe while he went to retrieve the bullet to stop Derek from dying. Kate almost caught onto him, but he managed to get the bullet and save Derek in time. 

Scott and Allison were on thin ice for a while, especially after the alpha attacked them, Lydia, and Jackson at the school one evening, and he refused to give an explanation about what had actually happened. 

Stiles zoned out for a bit, but he came back in as they were talking about how they discovered Peter was the alpha. Peter killed Kate and then Derek killed Peter.

Derek bit Jackson first, the same night, but he didn't automatically become a werewolf. He became the kanima and was being controlled by Matt Dehaler, another high school student. The kanima was the one to cause the multiple deaths that happened that year because of Matt's grudge against Isaac's father and his old 2006 swim team. In the fallout, a large portion of the police department was killed, including the sheriff. Scott's mother discovered about his wolfiness. Derek bit Isaac first, then Erica, then Boyd. Peter used Lydia to bring himself back to life. Lydia saved Jackson with the power of love. Jackson became a werewolf. Sophomore year ended quietly, but not without a bang.

They all hesitated at the next part, so Derek jumped in and explained. "The Alpha Pack followed. They were the last big threat we've faced. Er, next to defeating Gerard Argent when he came back, strengthening himself by killing others in a ritual sacrifice. He had to kill one person for every life he had taken, to gain his own back." Derek shuddered at the reminder, and Stiles nodded, feeling the same way. "The Alpha Pack screwed us up, twisted our memories- we're still trying to piece together what was real and what isn't. The main thing is that we all survived. Jackson came back here for school when he discovered Lydia was his mate. They are gone now, and we only every once and a while have to face threats. The last thing was a rogue that passed through about four months ago."

Stiles sat silent- well, he was always silent, but more quiet and still than normal. 

It was a lot to take in, to look at everyone now and know they aren't the same people they were two-three years ago. 

The next few days were tense as he filtered through all the information given to him. It was hard to look at Jackson and think of him as a raging douchebag who wanted supernatural steroids, but is now someone who snarks but is controlled, always keeping his wolf in check. 

It was difficult to see Erica and to know everyone thought she was dead because of what the alphas had done to them, altering their memories. 

Seeing Peter was just baffling, knowing what a psychopath he had been, and still could be. No wonder he was always giving off a bad vibe- he'd been dead before. 

Allison was someone he couldn't exactly like, but he understood her now. He was furious at hearing everything that she had done to the pack, but he knew how it felt to lose family close to you, so he couldn't be all that angry. Her actions were justified, but not enough to be forgiven outright. 

And Scott... Scott surprised him, almost. They didn't elaborate, but the man had given up on an alpha status. He hadn't wanted to be one, he didn't want to have that kind of control over everyone. Stiles had to admire that. 

Stiles already knew the majority of Isaac's story, but he still was seeing him in a new light as well. Isaac had asked him if he thought any less of him, and Stiles had to hug the wolf so that he could feel better. 

The person who scared him the most was, unsurprisingly, Derek. He avoided the alpha for days, and Derek let him, slipping out of the rooms he wished to enter, never being the one to wake him up or alert him of something. He gave him space, to think.

On the fourth day, Stiles waited until everyone else was out of the house before approaching Derek.

And hugging him.

It was like a dam breaking. Derek collapsed against him, sighing into his shoulder, making Stiles almost lose his footing. Stiles was shocked, but he held firm, hugging Derek and not letting go, even when the burst of his warm breath hit his cheek when Derek encircled his arms around his waist and squeezed back. 

Stiles mouthed, 'I'm sorry' even though Derek couldn't see. Derek must have felt it though, because he nodded, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Stiles' neck. 

"Pack," he murmured, and Stiles believed him. 

*

Things began to flow smoothly after that.

Stiles would automatically join the wolves when they went to train, instead of waiting to be invited. The training help him build up the strength in his legs. Within a week he was running as fast as the wolves and taking them down whenever he had the chance. 

He and Scott grew closer, the boy giving him the 411 on all things Marvel and DC. Stiles much appreciated knowing he had a lot of movies to catch up on. 

He made the pack watch them with him, tail swishing back and forth in excitement as he perched himself onto the couch between Boyd and Isaac, snuggling up to the latter. Isaac slung an arm around his shoulders and Stiles grinned. 

It wasn't until those moments that he really soaked in the fact that he was pack. He wasn't a wolf, but Derek accepted him as one of his betas. And everyone else just fell in line, making Stiles comfortable with how things worked. 

It made him miss his family- his mother and father. 

Some days it was worse than others. He would stay in bed, blanket wrapped all around him. He would recall memories of events held in the woods. Parties. Camping. Bonfires. He would think about his father in his police uniform. He used to wonder every day if he would wake up without a parent some morning. He longed for those days of only worry and zero pain.

He would only see Isaac or Derek on those days. And on the really bad ones, only Isaac. He didn't like telling Derek to leave him alone. He knew the man felt the same as he did, had gone through the same heartbreak, but he couldn't find it in himself to shred the last of his dignity around the alpha. He was ashamed. 

Isaac would wrap himself around Stiles and listen to his whining and yipping and ignore his tears because Stiles wanted him too. Isaac would talk to him, tell him stories about him and his brother Camden. And about how they used to play with 4-year old Jackson, before he found out he was adopted. His mother and father would watch while smiling and chatting with the Whittemores. Stiles liked hearing Isaac's happy moments. 

It was one of those really bad days when Isaac confessed his unrequited crush on Scott, and even he cried that day. Stiles held him through the aftershocks of his sobs. Stiles was too young the last time he was human to know much about love, and he couldn't speak consoling words anyway, so he just stuck his face against Isaac's neck and scented him, hoping the action would console him. 

 There was a long lull after that that was all a blur to Stiles. Hours turned into days, and sometimes he would wander out into the kitchen to eat lunch, to find the microwave telling him it was 2:29 AM. 

The pack worried that something was wrong, if he was progressing backwards, wondered if they had done something wrong. Deaton had quelled their fears, saying it was normal. Stiles just simply wasn't used to time yet. He was only used to the moon being up or the sun being up.

At the same time, Derek began to try some new exercises with the wolves, for them to control the shift easier. Stiles was surprised to find Peter there, even. He never wanted to join in with them, so it was a shock to the rest of the pack as well. Derek took it in stride.

"It was a relaxation exercise that my mom taught me. It's like meditation, only without the excess. You just have to let go of everything and fall into a calm, sedated state."

The pack nodded and Derek sat down in the grass, everyone following the action. Stiles crossed his legs on top of each other and placed his tail in his lap. His ear twitched as Derek spoke again. "Close your eyes."

Stiles did as commanded, letting his lids flutter shut and he let out a relieved sigh, feeling the tension in his face begin to melt as his eyebrows settled, cheekbones falling. "Relax your muscles," came Derek's soothing voice. "Start with your head and move down. Focus on each individual muscle and relax it. Push the animal away with soft pets instead of shouts."

Stiles' arms collapsed into his lap and he let himself slouch. He let out a steady breath as his leg muscles relaxed, falling away from each other so that he sat sprawled in the grass. From the rustling sounds around him, the wolves were all doing the same. 

"And just slowly... let go."

So Stiles did. 

A gasp was heard from the porch and Stiles' eyes flew open, looking for the culprit. Allison's hand covered her mouth, eyes wide in surprise. Lydia just watched him calculatingly. "Good job, foxy," she said after a moment. 

Stiles furrowed his brow in confusion. What on earth was she talking about?

"Stiles, your tail," Isaac whispered from his right, and Stiles' gaze snapped to the werewolf and then down to himself.

His tail was missing, and he could feel nothing behind him as he sat back fully on his haunches. His hands flew to his hair, not feeling fuzzy tall ears, only soft fleshy ones on the sides of his head.

Stiles wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not. 

"You got out of the beta shift," Peter mused, and Stiles stared at him in confusion. "Deaton mentioned that when you first shifted as a human you were as you are now, but the shock of waking up put you on alert, and you shifted into your beta shift. You learned to let the shock go, so you're no longer in fox form."

Was it weird to miss his tail this much? Stiles had plans, okay. Big plans. Like, when he finally roped Derek into liking him, he would tease him with it all the time, like sliding it up his leg when he sat at the dinner table, or on the couch. And he could wrap it around Derek's hips as he thrust in-

Right. Werewolves.

Stiles whined, yipping in understanding. He jabbed his thumb toward the house and made his retreat, passing the girls without a glance, Isaac calling after him, confused. 

"You miss it?" Erica asked him later, after dinner, when they were all circled around the TV. Stiles shrugged, fingers slowly moving over the iPad with practiced ease. 

Kinda. I just didn't realize how much I liked having it. Sort of like a safety blanket.

Erica nodded in understanding, handing the pad back to him, and staying quiet for the rest of the evening, snuggled into Boyd's arm. 

Derek's hand was a warm constant against the back of his neck, thumb rubbing circles into the skin. Stiles melted into the contact, a smile tugging at his lips. 

*

It was weirder, not having as super charged of a hearing without his fox ears. He only could tell when someone was about halfway down the hall from his room rather than all the way down. It made him self-conscious, wary that something would sneak up on him. 

That something was evidently snow.

He'd seen snow most winters as he'd run, but never stopped to admire it or play in it like he used to. He used to love playing hide and go seek with his mortal friends, shifting into a fox so that he could jump into the snow and burrow and be completely covered. He always won. 

It was coming up on holiday break for the pack, so they began to spend more time in the house, studying for exams. Stiles liked to stay in his room and away from everyone, lest he disturb them. He'd accidentally walked into the kitchen while Lydia and Jackson were going over material and was cursed out enough to shame him into his room forever. 

Derek scolded Lydia for doing so, of course, and chose to torture Stiles even more by spending time with him to make up for the pack's absence. 

It was only a week long, but Stiles was beginning to regret Derek even finding him in the woods that first day. 

Derek was just so charming and nice about everything. He made Stiles meals, brought movies to watch with him, even talked and was patient while waiting for Stiles to respond. This just wasn't fair. Derek was being so sweet, opening up his home to Stiles, for him to adjust. Sure he had his moody moments and had snapped at Stiles more times than Stiles would like to remember. But Derek always apologized, whether it be right after or three days later. 

So Stiles was really starting to like Derek and it just was not fair. Because he couldn't even speak. His typing was about six words a minute on a good day. He always had a comment to speak but he never could say them. He wanted to defend Derek whenever he knew something the pack said had struck a chord, but he couldn't and it irked him so. 

Finally, midterms were over and the pack was back to staying at home. Derek extended an invitation to the parents of the pack to stay at the house over the holiday. Melissa McCall accepted. She was a wonderful woman and Stiles got along with her very well, able to match her in attitude. He'd been told that she worked as a nurse at the hospital and was Scott's influence to become a veterinarian. 

Chris Argent also accepted. He put Stiles on edge, and he always stayed as far from him as possible. He smelled more like hunter- enemy- than Allison did, and he didn't like it, not one bit. Derek seemed to avoid him as well, so Stiles took it as not un-normal. 

Peter had a great time with Chris, however. He teased him mercilessly and shot at him hardly veiled comments of the suggestive nature. Stiles wondered what was up with that, considering they made Chris squirm like no other. He didn't want to ask, though, fear of making things awkward. 

He did ask Derek, though. 

art by henshufangirl

Does Peter know Mr. Argent? 

Derek laughed and took the iPad from Stiles, typing back a response.

That was another thing Stiles liked about Derek. He chose to just keep it between the two of them and not shout it out for the whole house to overhear, lest it be a secret neither of the adults wanted spread around. 

They are the same age, went to high school together. I think they might have been 'together' as well at some point, going by the comments Peter is making.

Stiles looked from the words- he'd been practicing reading and could read almost as fluently as he could before, making himself very happy, as well as Deaton, with his progress- to Derek and gave him a confused look, before the meaning dawned on him and he released a little 'ohhh' sound, cheeks pinking. Derek laughed at his reaction. 

Stiles had been working on his speech too. He couldn't say full words yet, but he was getting there. He hummed when asked questions, agreeing or disagreeing. His vocabulary insisted of less yips and barks. He still whined, however he supposed he used to always whine, human or otherwise. 

*

With snow came traditions. And one of them was the snowball tournament. 

Both parents and Peter stayed on the porch, drinking hot chocolate and coffee, opting rather to watch. 

Stiles knew that Melissa and Peter had dated, once, but it was mostly to get to Scott. He wondered of that put any strain on their relationship now, though the three of them seemed to be getting along, conversation flowing easily, so Stiles decided not to delve into the subject too much, lest he come up with some odd answers. 

Isaac had briefed him on the rules of the tournament. It lasted three days: The pack was split into teams, Derek's team always getting the humans, to even out the power imbalance. If you get hit 10 times, you're out. If you're tackled, that's strike one. Three and you're out. If one team won both days, then the third day was a free for all, just for fun. If both teams won once, the last day was a tense showdown. 

Scott said they started this tradition last winter as a bonding experience for the wolves after coming home from college. Seeing how they all acted, Stiles would say it worked rather well. 

Peter was the score keeper. They had to choose someone who wouldn't be biased, and even though Peter loved his nephew, they all knew he would do anything to screw him over. So they figured he was the safest bet. 

Stiles was slightly worried about Derek's team having the advantage. Not because of him being the alpha so much, but because of Lydia and Allison. If Stiles had learned anything over the past few months, it was to not underestimate either girl. Stiles knew both teams were going to be fighting hard to win. Scott had warned them that last year he and Allison had been on separate teams as well. She had used her powers of distraction to bring them down. He said it was mainly his fault they lost the tournament. He vowed to never let himself be distracted again. 

Danny was a new guy at the house, but Stiles warmed up to him easily enough. He went to school out of state, he had told Stiles the first night he arrived. On vacations from school, he stayed at Derek's. Over the summer, he alternated between there and home.

The teams were split accordingly. On Derek's team there was Allison, Lydia, Boyd, and Jackson. On Scott's team there was Stiles, Isaac, Danny, and Erica.

Winner got bragging rights, and that's all that needed to be given for motivation.

Day 1 began, and everyone was hyped up on excitement. They were allotted the first ten minutes for fort building. But when time was called, all hell broke loose.

Danny took one for the team and bolted straight for Derek's fort, breaking it down. He had told them ahead of time that Allison's main strategy involved the fort, and he knew this because he was in Lydia's place last year, because she had gotten sick and couldn't participate. 

Danny was tapped out immediately, because as soon as the fort was down, so was he, as in under the weight of everyone on Derek's team. He stood up and saluted to his team, before making his way to the porch for some hot chocolate of his own. 

Stiles stayed mostly ducked behind the fort, tossing out badly shaped snowballs and hoping they wouldn't hit one of his own. 

He heard a noise of outrage and he peeked his head up to see Lydia stomping off to join both Danny and Isaac, who had been struck out by Boyd, grumbling unhappily. Stiles grinned.

With two down on their side, and only one on Derek's, Stiles made a plan. He beckoned Erica over and pointed to Jackson. The sign was obvious enough- distract him. 

It wasn't all that hard to accomplish, considering the werewolf was busy half-listening to Lydia's angry mumbling. Erica tackled him as Stiles sprung out, pelting Boyd. Scott was at his back, aiming for the other two. 

Stiles was knocked out by Allison when they were down to the three of them to the two of Derek's. Stiles shrugged, walking back to the porch to take a well-deserved rest.

He watched in anticipation as Scott and Erica battled Derek and Allison. His knees jiggled in excitement. 

Derek was out soon, but Allison was holding strong. She had just gotten Erica with her last blow as Scott tackled her, winning the game for his team. 

Stiles shot up, hands pumping into the air in fists, a wide grin breaking across his face. Isaac and Danny high-fived. Erica patted Boyd on the cheek in consolation. Allison gave Scott a congratulatory kiss. 

"Don't get too excited. Tomorrow, you're going down," Derek whispered against the shell of his ear. Stiles had to repress a shudder at the sudden warmth. 

Derek sure kept his word. 

Apparently for Day 2, Derek's team found a new strategy- attack and destroy. 

Stiles bolted and ran for the trees as soon as he realized only less than two minutes had passed and half of his team was down already. He stood perfectly still, holding his breath, eyes squeezed closed. 

"Boo," breathed a familiar voice, and suddenly Stiles was down, snow smushed up the back of his shirt, and a lot of alpha pushing against his front. 

Stiles squirmed, trying to get out from under Derek and not show how pleased he was being under Derek's calculating gaze and crinkles around his eyes from mirth. Fuck. 

"Stiles! You're out," Peter called, and Derek was off Stiles in a heartbeat, pulling him to his feet. Stiles silently exhaled in relief.

"Sorry about that," Derek said, still grinning. Yeah right. 

Stiles glared at him, hoping the message went through loud and clear, as, 'not yet you're not.'

The feeling of Derek pressed against him followed him around for the rest of the day. He ended up jerking off for the first time ever that evening under the warm spray of the shower. He had to bite his fist to stifle the moans that wanted to rip its way out of his throat. He imagined Derek's thick and warm fingers gripping and tugging at his cock instead of his own nimble ones, and he spilled over his hand, hot and fast, panting. 

He stayed in the shower for ten extra minutes, washing the smell of spunk off of him. But even after toweling off and changing into fresh clothes, he still felt dirty, like he'd objectified Derek into something just for his sexual urges. 

It all came to a head the next morning. Stiles swore he could hear the intro for The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly playing somewhere in the wind as the two teams stared off at each other, hands twitching at their sides.

"Kids," Peter grumbled before shouting. "Go!"

It was a mad scramble, and Stiles began tapping into his fox reflexes, determined to win. He dug and started piling snow on top of himself as cover, and moving himself underneath their fort. His eyes glowed their bright golden hue as he told himself to stay still, like he would when hunting for prey.

No one seemed to notice his absence, too enraptured in the game. He could hear shrieks of laughter; snow hitting jackets and people hitting the ground. 

He silently moved through the snow, amazed he was even getting away with this. The noise started to die down from people getting struck out. Stiles didn't want to risk looking to see who was winning. He slowed his movements to almost an abrupt halt as the sound stopped almost entirely.

"Heeeeere, foxy," Derek crooned, making him freeze. "You're somewhere here, I can sense-"

Stiles jumped out then, tackling Derek into the snow, wrestling so that he was straddling his waist. He picked up a mound of snow and smashed it into his face. 

"Checkmate," his voice croaked out, and cheers erupted from behind him. Derek's eyes widened, but he was grinning, breath coming out of his mouth in soft pants. Oh, that mouth.

His grin slowly melted off, however, as they continued to maintain eye contact. Were Derek's eyes always that startling of a mix of colors? "Stiles..." Derek breathed, but he was suddenly gone, pulled up from the ground by Scott and into a bone-crushing hug, soon joined by the rest of the team. Stiles laughed joyfully, feeling lighter than ever. 

He heard Derek get up and dust himself off. He could feel the alpha's gaze on him, but he refused to look, out of shame and embarrassment. Maybe Derek had heard him the night previous? He could probably smell it on him, and just was able to tell. Stiles was never very good at being subtle. 

His heartbeat jolted, but in the excitement so was everyone's, so he figured it wasn't a big deal. 

"Good job, Stiles, nice. Might have to have you on my team next year," Allison hummed, grinning. 

Next year. As in a full year from now. As in, when Stiles will be fully recovered. 

Didn't Deaton say there were people on the east coast looking for him?

Stiles just nodded, not wanting to overwork his voice, which, where did that come from? 

*

Stiles refused to use his voice, wanting not to jinx anything. Someone had called Deaton, apparently, and he came over two days later. 

"Hello, Mr. Stilinski," Deaton greeted when Stiles opened the door. "I've been told you spoke? Getting your vocal chords some work?" Stiles' eyes widening was enough of an answer that he let himself in.

Stiles sighed and followed him to his room where the vet set up shop. "Have you spoken since?" he asked, and Stiles shook his head. 

"You should, I don't think it would hinder you. Plus, it's the last step in healing. By new years, I'm sure we can have you shifting easily without worry."

"What about," Stiles asked slowly, testing the waters, "Those people. Are they still looking for me?"

Deaton looked surprised, but he nodded. "Yes... I actually wanted to-"

"Stiles?" came a voice from the door, and they both looked over to see a sheepish Derek. "Sorry, Deaton, I was just surprised to hear his voice, didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine," Stiles butted in, smiling at Derek. 

He had been- not so much avoiding Derek for the last few days, but he hadn't been actively seeking him out like he normally would. Derek must have noticed, otherwise he wouldn't look as shocked as he did. Stiles swallowed, guilt bubbling in his gut. 

"Thank you, Dr. Deaton," Stiles spoke slowly. 

Seeing it was his cue to leave, Deaton tipped his metaphorical hat and was off, front door shutting behind him. 

Derek hesitated in the doorway, so Stiles patted the bed next to him, ushering him over. Derek took the bait easily, slipping under the blanket for warmth. 

"I-" the alpha hesitated before continuing, "I hope I didn't- I don't want you to feel uncomfortable with the way I-"

Stiles cut him off, raising his hand. "It's okay, Derek," he assured him. 

Stiles could deal with the alpha not reciprocating his feelings. It was obvious at the way he had stared at Stiles, like he was shocked. He didn't know Stiles felt that way about him, and wanted to let him down as nicely as possible. Why couldn't he be a jerk and break his heart like in every typical romance story (that he totally didn't watch on Hallmark while the pack was out)? Maybe then he wouldn't still like him as much. 

Derek hesitated, gazing at Stiles warily. "You sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Damn it Derek. Stiles chuckled, ducking his head. "I'll live," he replied honestly, heart lurching at the thought. 

Derek nodded and patted Stiles' knee, standing. "The pack is going present shopping, you want to come?"

"I-I don't-" Derek cut his protests off with a waved hand. 

"I'll cover you if you see something you want to get."

Stiles looked up at him hopefully. "Really?" he worked the word out of his mouth. 

Derek smiled, but it was forced. "Definitely. Put on some shoes."

Stiles pulled on Boyd's old trainers and jumped out the door, grabbing a hoodie on his way out.

*

He hadn't forgotten what a thrill Christmas shopping was, but he had forgotten about the crowds. Considering he was still not a big fan of enclosed spaces, his claustrophobia began to work itself up. Isaac had to pull him aside numerous times to talk him down from an attack with skilled ease that Stiles didn't like knowing he had. 

"Maybe you shouldn't have come," Derek muttered, running a hand through his hair once they all regrouped, seeing the condition Stiles was in. 

Stiles' stomach dropped. "You don't want me here?" he asked weakly.

"No!" Derek replied hastily, holding his hands up. "No, God, no, Stiles that's not what I meant- gah." Derek stormed away, leaving Stiles staring after him in confusion. 

"And I thought I played hard to get well," Lydia mused, cocking her hip. 

Stiles stared at her in confusion. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, fox boy, let's head back. I'm done with my shopping."

"I'm not," Scott whined, looking down at his empty hands. 

"I'll stick around with Scott, you guys can head back with Stiles?" Isaac suggested.

Stiles shook his head. "No, I wanna- look for something." Derek had given him a credit card when they entered, telling him to get whatever he wanted and to not worry about the price. He only planned on buying a few things anyways. 

"I'll stay too," Danny said, and Isaac beamed. Stiles and Scott both rolled their eyes. 

Erica flipped her hair over one shoulder. "Sure. We'll meet you at home."

Erica, Boyd, Lydia, and Jackson walked off then, to find Derek presumably, while Scott turned towards the others.

"Okay- what do I get Allison?" Everyone groaned and Scott whined helplessly, dragging everyone into Macy's with him.

*

Stiles stepped into Hallmark while Scott was having an emotional breakdown over perfumes. He picked out a packet of generic holiday cards that he planned to write little notes in for everyone. 

He tried to not think of them as goodbye cards, but failed miserably.

His eyes caught something as he swept his gaze over to the corner of the shop. He barked out a short laugh, picking it up and taking it to the till where he paid with Derek's card. Signing for the items was weird, but did it anyways. He was experiencing a lot of firsts because of Derek. He wasn't sure if that was bad or good. 

Holding the bag tightly in one hand, he joined the boys back at Macy's where Scott had moved from scents onto jewelry. His eyes were huge and wide as he stared at a price tag. Stiles laughed, alerting the others of his returned presence, and they joined in, much to a pouting Scott's chagrin. 

*

The week leading up to Christmas was busy with decorations in boxes going from here to there, snowmen being built in the lawn, and tree shopping. 

Stiles chose not to go pick out the tree. He didn't care what it looked like as long as he got to decorate it. He stayed back and wrote his cards instead.

He made each letter precise and neat, making sure he hand didn't shake at all. His eyes constantly strayed to the gift bag hidden underneath the desk in the room, itching to get it out, but he held back. 

The front door banged open as he finished writing Derek's name on the last envelope with a flourish. The hustle and bustle of people let him know they were setting up the tree, so he hid everything away in the desk before going out to join them.

There were two boxes of ornaments laid open next to the tree, propped up in its green stand that Boyd was tightening. Erica shimmied up to him and said, "We took some ornaments from all of our collections and put them together, so there's a bit of everyone on the tree."

"That's nice," Stiles spoke softly, reaching out to caress the pine leaves that were softer than expected. 

Everyone sat around the tree and began looking for their ornaments. Melissa, Chris, and Peter leaned against the kitchen counter, speaking lowly to Derek, who looked back at the pack every once and a while. 

Everyone shared the ornaments, and Stiles helped by stringing the garland around the tree, while Isaac ducked under him and did the lights. There was laughter and warmth from the fireplace. Someone made cocoa and that made the living room smell divine. 

And then there was Derek, who had come in to be a warm constant at the back of Stiles' neck, rubbing soothing circles into the skin as the betas argued over who should put the star on top of the tree. 

"I think Stiles should do it," Chris spoke above the raised voices, surprising all of them. He cleared his throat. "He is the honored guest, after all."

Stiles did his best to not focus on the deliberate word 'guest' as he stood, smiling, and took the gold star. He used the step ladder to reach, raising onto his toes to give him that last inch as he placed it on the top, hooking it up to the lights and watching it come to life along with the other colors surrounding the tree. The glow was suspiciously close to his own eye color as a fox, he realized, stepping down from the ladder.

He took his seat again, next to Derek, and the alpha leaned over to whisper to him, "You know you're more than a guest, right? You're pack. This is your home."

Stiles nodded, because if he had spoken, Derek would have been able to detect the lie. 

Derek seemed happy enough by it however, and leaned back against the foot of the couch, staring up at the tree. Stiles attempted to not stare at Derek, but was almost positive he failed. 

*

Two days before Christmas, the day before Christmas Eve, the doorbell rang.

Everyone gazed at the door in confusion, gazes cast around. There was no one in the group missing, and if they were, they wouldn't ring the bell.

The wolves sniffed the air. "I don't recognize the scent," Scott murmured. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, pushing up from the couch and pausing the late night movie. "I'll get it, wimps."

"Coming!" he shouted as he walked towards the door, hoping they wouldn't be annoyed they had to wait long. He unlocked it and pulled it open. 

It was like everything stopped. The air moving around had paused and Stiles couldn't suck any in. Time had screeched to a halt, and his eyes sprung with tears as they widened.

"Dad?" Stiles choked out before swallowing thickly.

The man behind the door was about as tall as Stiles. His hair had grayed with age and stress, and he wore an old police academy t-shirt that miraculously fit. His pants were dark jeans that looked to have been pulled on, and were a few days worn, going by the smell. It was like he had jumped up and ran here in a hurry. He was even out of breath. 

Stiles huffed in surprised relief and joy, pulling him into the house and into a tight hug. He didn't care any longer, let the tears spring to his eyes and fall, staining his father's shirt. He choked on his sobs, gripping tightly. His dad didn't seem to want to let go any less, embracing him hard. 

"I- I thought you were dead," Stiles cried into his father's neck, scent marking him. Stiles' scent on him had long gone cold, and he had to make better of that. If he searched deeper, he could find the sweet jasmine scent of his mother, and that only made him cry harder. 

"I know, I'm sorry, but I- I lost hope a long time ago that you survived," his father breathed against the nape of his neck. "No one had seen you. I called- asked around, had every deputy in the country looking for you. I thought I'd lost you." too, Stiles heard the unspoken word, and hugged him tighter for it. 

"I never shifted. I stayed in fox form. It was easier to move around. I evaded hunters. All I could think about were- was what you told me. So I ran. I heard the shots, so I thought- I felt the bond-" But it never broke he realized, it hadn't. He thought it had, but no. He could feel it mending then. The frayed edges were growing fresh and new with each second that passed. He breathed, a broken happy laugh, bringing an arm back to wipe his tears, as he stared at his father's face, taking in all the wrinkles and lines that he caused- the stress that he must have caused his father-

"Don't," his dad said, holding up a shaking finger. "All that matters now is that you're safe We're both safe and together. I got a call from Dr. Deaton. He said he was an adviser of the Beacon Hills pack and that their alpha had taken in a werefox. He said the fox had responded to the name Genim so I- I got down here as fast as I could."

"When did he tell you?" Stiles asked, incredulous. 

"Yesterday."

Stiles laughed, hugging his father again, squeezing him for all he's worth. "That sneaky bastard. I knew he was hiding something."

"Greatest Christmas gift ever."

Stiles couldn't agree more. 

*

It took a few more long hugs and a couple more tears for Stiles to remember that they weren't alone. He choked on a laugh and backed out of his father's arms, reluctantly. 

"I think I should introduce you to the pack now," he said on a breathy chuckle. 

Derek stood first, eyes not straying from Stiles until the last minute as he stuck a hand out towards his dad. "Mr. Stilinski, I'm Derek Hale, the alpha."

Stiles' father shook his hand, eyes jerking to Stiles and then back to Derek in some kind of unspoken word that had Derek nodding. "Thank you for helping my son," he said politely.

Derek smiled, lips twitching. "He's a handful, but I- we. We're lucky and happy to have him."

Stiles blushed, and ushered his dad over into the living room, Derek trailing behind. 

"Dad, this is Isaac, my- my best friend," Isaac grinned at Stiles, shaking his dad's hand. Stiles pointed them out as he went along, each of them greeting the man. "That's Scott, Allison, Boyd, Erica, Jackson, Lydia, Danny, Peter- Derek's uncle- Mel-Ms. McCall- Scott's mom- and Mr. Argent- Allison's dad."

"Full house," his dad murmured, and Stiles squeezed his hand, not quite ready to let go yet. 

"They all helped me out. When I first got here, I couldn't even walk, let alone talk. I'm still trying to get my penmanship down," Stiles said, head ducking. His dad ruffled his hair, and Stiles beamed up at him, still in shock that he was here.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Argent cut in, earning a glare from the pack, which he ignored, "I don't mean to interrupt, but are you a fox as well?"

Mr. Stilinski shook his head. "No, my late wife was, and she passed the genes along to Stiles. She let me into the fold before we were married and I became one of the family. She, uh, passed away over a decade ago from cancer. I trained Stiles as best I could, tried to keep him safe, but once the hunters discovered there was only one person left in the bloodline, and he was still young," he shrugged, "I guess they decided it would be best to finish the job. That's why I told Stiles to run. They shot me," Stiles looked shocked at his father, but the man merely went on, "But it was in the shoulder, so I recovered and put them in jail. I've been trying to find Stiles ever since."

Chris nodded. "I heard about that scandal. I don't associate with hunting anymore, after everything." Cue his dad's perplexed look, and Stiles promised him he'd explain everything later. 

"Well," Peter drawled after a beat of silence, "This has all been very exciting, but I'd like to get some rest. Oh, here's an idea. I'll bunk with Chris here while you take my room, Mr. Stilinski."

Mr. Argent opened his mouth to retort, flushed and stuttering, but Mr. Stilinski spoke first. "I think I'll stay with Stiles, tonight, if that's alright. I'm sure there has to be a comfort level and scent marking that has to be done. I've missed out on a lot of years." Stiles suddenly felt guilty, but going by Derek's gaze on him, the alpha knew, and he tried to stamp it down, for his sake. 

Peter huffed. "Fine. Chris, the invitation is still open," he sang as he left the room, going towards the stairwell. Mr. Argent flushed, staring down at his hands. 

"Dad, why don't you, uh, head to bed. I'll come in and say goodnight when I'm off, okay?" Allison asked gently. Her father nodded, running a hand over his face before standing. 

"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Stilinski," he spoke as he passed the man. 

"Likewise." 

Stiles stifled a smile against his father's shoulder, subtly taking in his calm scent. He let his shoulders sag in relief. 

"Stiles," his father said, alerting the boy, "Why don't you head to bed, I'd like to speak to your alpha for a moment, if he doesn't mind."

Your alpha, Jesus those words did bad things to Stiles.

Derek shook his head. "Not at all, sir."

Stiles whined, "Daaad," but the man held up his hand. 

"No, Stiles. Bed. I'll be there in a bit."

Stiles trudged back to his room, almost 97.3% sure his dad was going to give Derek the 'hurt my son I hurt you' boyfriend talk. Which sucked, because Derek didn't even like him back that way. 

The rest of the pack dispersed to their respective rooms, except Stiles noticed Isaac and Danny walking hand in hand. He winked at his best friend who blushed and turned away. Stiles laughed, shutting the door slightly as he took a seat on his bed. 

He really did try not to eavesdrop, but it was far too easy. Plus, he was curious.

There was feet shuffling and chairs being dragged, so he assumed they took a seat at the kitchen table. Stiles imagined his father linking his hands together and leaning over the table in a calculating yet threatening manner, like he had the one time he watched his dad interrogate a man suspected of robbery on Take Your Child to Work Day. That had been a fun day.  

"Derek- it's Derek right?"

"Yes."

"Derek, I want to thank you. I know Stiles is humble and probably already has, and if not he should have-"

"He has."

"Good. What you did was a noble thing. I know how difficult it can be welcoming a stranger into your home, your den. Stiles likes to be nosy, so that must have been extra pressure on you."

"Stiles became a part of our pack, he is no burden."

"I know. I also know my son as a tendency to jump into things. Like a relationship, perhaps?"

Stiles shrieked, smothering the noise in a pillow, wanting to yell at his father. But Derek answered before he could open his mouth. "It's not like that, sir. Stiles- we don't have the same feelings towards each other. We are just friends. We both agreed upon that."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"And there is no pressuring going on here?"

"Not ever." Derek sounded scandalized, and Stiles felt it too. He would never push Derek into something he didn't want. He knew he and his father had been apart for so long, but he hoped his dad had more faith in him than that. 

"Good. Have a good night, Derek."

"You too, sir."

"John."

"Huh?"

"Call me John."

"Then goodnight- John."

Stiles threw himself back onto the bed, but was sure he looked guilty as his father walked in. "You heard all of that, didn't you?"

Stiles nodded. 

"And you already know about the-"

"Yes, Dad," Stiles felt his cheeks burn. "Derek and I already talked about feelings. They're non-reciprocated. We're friends. It's fine."

"Non-reciprocated on which end?"

Stiles snorted, burrowing himself in the covers. "Take a guess."

"It's harder than you think," he heard his dad rumble as he pulled the sheets up and slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed. "Go to sleep, Stiles. I'll still be here in the morning."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I love you."

"Love you too."

*

Christmas Eve ended up not being as awkward as he expected it to be. 

His dad told him that he had been given the entire holiday break off to go pick up his son and to decide what to do from there on out. Stiles didn't like the idea of leaving Beacon Hills, but going home... it's all he's ever wanted to do. 

"You know you're more than a guest, right? You're pack. This is your home."

Derek's words swam around in his head all day as last minute preparations were made. Setting up one more chair at the table was going to make it an even tighter squeeze, but Stiles was sure they could manage. 

"We could always get a kiddy table for you if we don't all fit, Stiles," Jackson sniped

Stiles stuck his tongue out maturely. 

"Mmm, with that attitude, You'll be the one with the kids," Lydia hummed, looking up from her nails to give Jackson a sharp glare. "Don't insult my friends. You make me look bad."

A burst of warmth bubbled up inside of Stiles and he preened, chest puffing out. "Oh my goddess, how shall I ever repay you for your friendship?"

"Diamonds," she replied without blinking, slapping the back of her hand against Stiles' stomach so he slouched again.

Stiles just stared. "Could you maybe... lower the price a bit?"

Scott laughed. Derek set a stack of plates down on the counter and they all jumped at the loud clattering noise they made. "Jackson, set the table," Derek growled before stalking off. 

"What's got him in a mood?" Stiles asked, pouting. Erica laughed as if he had made a hilarious joke.

"I see a little green monster," she sang, dishing out the silverware. God, she looked deadly like that. 

"Where?" Stiles asked, wiping at his nose. Erica scrunched hers up in disgust. 

"Ugh, whatever. Men."

"Your boyfriend is a man, you know."

"Yes, but he's Boyd. He's the exception," she huffed, grinning as said exception entered the room, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

"Stiles," his dad called, which pulled Stiles away and into the living room. His dad was looking up at the tree, staring at the star on top.

"Remember our old Christmases?" Stiles asked softly. 

"Mhmm. Your mother was so stubborn. She would always make sure the train track went around perfectly and was different each year. She spent hours on that thing."

"She would let me set up the houses and people to go around it, our own little town," Stiles recalled, reaching out and touching a snowflake ornament on the branch nearest to him. 

"Putting the star on the top was the most important part to her, tying it all together," his father mused, gripping his shoulder tightly. 

"She videotaped it every year," Stiles added. 

"I miss your mom so much," His father breathed, and Stiles pulled him into a hug, eyes stinging. 

"Me too, Dad, me too."

He caught Derek's gaze over his dad's shoulder and smiled. He mouthed, "We're okay." Derek nodded, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he backed into the kitchen. 

"How about some dinner, eh?" Stiles asked, pulling back after a few minutes. "It's even good turkey, fresh. Healthy. Gotta make sure you start eating right." Stiles slapped his father's stomach with his hand. 

His father glared. "Don't tell me you're going to make me stick to the diet the doctor proscribed."

Stiles raised a brow. "You haven't been?"

His father was smart not to respond, moving into the kitchen instead, asking about the wait for food.

Stiles laughed and shook his head, following the delectable scent and sat down at the table.

*

He was right, it was going to be a tight fit, but they managed to squeeze in everyone at the table, somehow. Melissa was practically pressed against his father's entire right side, but neither of them seemed to mind all that much, striking up an easy conversation over being a single parent and raising supernatural children.

Peter was still bugging Mr. Argent, though the ex-hunter seemed to be falling prey to his words, and Allison and Derek watched them with wary gazes. Stiles just rolled his eyes. Good for Peter, maybe he'll be happy for once instead of creepy.

The dinner was divine. Apparently, Derek broke out some old family recipes and Melissa chipped in to help make the potatoes and help Derek with the turkey.

Conversation flowed easily, jumping from story to story, mostly about last Christmas. Stiles' dad told him about a few of the deputies he remembered his dad working with and how they were doing. One was now married with their second kid on the way. One was now on his way to becoming a priest. Hey, you do what you love.

Stiles' dad had been promoted to sheriff about half a decade ago, and Stiles was pleased to know he did very well with his job.

"Where's Deaton?" Stiles asked abruptly, eyes scanning over the pack.

Scott stabbed at his food. "At home. He has a family- well, a fiancé. I'm not sure about the rest of his family."

"We should have him over for dinner tomorrow night," Stiles suggested, shoving some green beans in his mouth.

Scott shrugged. "I guess? There's kind of a lot of people here already, but we could all just eat around the tree instead. We used to do that at home."

Melissa piped up then. "We did."

"It's just- no one should be alone on Christmas."

Derek reached his hand across to settle it on Stiles', squeezing lightly. "I'll text him after dinner and see what he says." Stiles grinned, happily, and went back to his meal.

*

Once they were all stuffed, they moved to the living room where they put on old Christmas specials playing on ABC. Stiles relaxed back against the arm of the couch, hand buried in Derek's hair where he stroked it between his fingers.

"I missed this," he murmured, head lolling back into the couch cushion. Derek adjusted so that he was settled between Stiles' legs, head falling onto his thigh where Stiles continued to pet him.

"I'm glad you're here," Derek replied honestly, and wasn't that a kick in the heart.

Stiles couldn't stop thinking after that. He had a family again, here, with Derek and his betas, and the pack, the pack that he was in, shit. How was that even possible? He wasn't a wolf. He didn't abide by a hierarchy. He couldn't have an alpha. His parents had always been his "alpha", being the stern ones, the ones who would help him shift, the ones who would train with him, run through the woods with him. Now he had his dad back, his real alpha. He could go home, meet some old friends, maybe find someone to be with that liked him back.

He shouldn't stay.

And yet.

He couldn't ask his father to upend his job, his life back in PA. It wasn't fair. He maybe had a girlfriend- fuck, maybe a new wife for all Stiles knew, though he didn't smell any other woman on him so maybe not. Stiles grew up there, that was his home, where he belonged.

But he also belonged in Beacon Hills.

Stiles tossed and turned that night, glad that his father moved into a spare room instead, so he wouldn't ask what was wrong.

Stiles itched to run, to shift, to bark into the night, for the right answer to come to him.

He was 19 years old, with a second grade education. He needed to get a GED before he could get a job. And what if he wanted a college education foe a better job. Fuck, he needed to alert the government that he was still alive. He had to-

Stiles jumped out of bed and ran to the desk across the room. He shimmied the bag out from underneath it and reached a hand in. Fingers met fur and he grabbed it, hugging the plush toy to his chest.

The orange fur tickled his nose and he took in the smell of mall and old lady workers. He collapsed into the bed and rolled around with it, playing with it as if he were a kit, biting it's ears.

He could feel the animal underneath his skin clawing to get out, but he reined it in. He had to do this, he had to wait.

He had to choose.

Fuck-

What to choose?

*

Stiles fell asleep sometime in the middle of the night and only awoke when a pounding noise ripped its way into his subconscious.

"Come on sleepy head! It's Christmas!" Erica's loud voice pierced his ears and he awoke with a start. He hurriedly shoved the stuffed animal under the pillow and blanket and stood, stretching his muscles.

"'m comin'," he slurred, pulling on some pants over his boxers and tossing a shirt on.

He zombie-walked out of the room, snapped awake by the smell of coffee and chocolate. Erica rolled her eyes when she saw him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into the living room.

"Come on, you're the last one left," he said, sitting him down on the edge of the couch, squishing herself against Boyd.

"Morning," he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Stiles' dad furrowed his brow. "Did you not get any sleep last night?"

Stiles shook his head. "Rough night, I'm fine." He managed a weak smile. "Alright, presents. Whatcha get me?"

Presents were soon distributed. The pack cashed in for a large group present for Stiles, buying him all of his favorite Marvel movies and getting him an actual Spiderman mask.

"Coooool," he dragged out, grinning. "This is awesome, I know what I'm doing for Halloween."

Lydia grinned like it was all her idea, which it probably had been.

Scott gave Allison her gift- a nice leather bound journal with a personal note written on the inside. "You weren't all that horrible at poetry, so I thought maybe you'd like to try again?" Scott said tentatively, rubbing the back of his neck. She kissed all of his doubts away.

Isaac hugged his new jacket to his chest as he said, "Alright, Stiles, whatcha get us?"

Stiles reached around the tree and pulled out the stack of envelopes. "I didn't know what to get you guys, really, so I just bought a bunch of cards and wrote notes in them."

"Handwrote?" Isaac asked, eyes sparkling. Stiles grinned at him and nodded, handing him his. He kept one eye on Isaac as he passed the rest out, watching his reaction, knowing exactly where he was in the note at any given time. He could recite the words back and forth if he had to.

Isaac,
Sorry about my messy scrawl, it might get a little emotional up in here.
You were my acquaintance the moment you fed me bacon. You became my friend when you sat with me and told me about your history. You became my best friend when, even after I didn't really need it anymore, you still stood by my side and held me as I cried. And I held you back when you poured your heart out to me because I knew then that I was your best friend too. Isaac Lahey, I could never forget you. And I will still be your best friend even when you marry Danny and take his name, even though I can't spell it or pronounce it. Though I guess we're even, considering you can't with my first name either. And even after I'm gone, you'll still have a part of me left, like I'll always carry a part of you, in my heart.
Never change, wolfy.
Stiles Stilinski

Isaac launched himself at Stiles unexpectedly, though maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising. The boy sobbed into his shoulder and Stiles held him back, like he had that first time. "Love you, kid," he murmured, pressing a kiss to his curls.

When Isaac pulled back, Stiles could tell he wanted to say something, but he shook his head. "Later," he said, and Isaac nodded, smiling.

Everyone else's letters had their own personal touch to them as well, but Isaac's was by far the hardest to get through. He didn't finish it until the previous night, which was part of the reason why he was tossing and turning.

He risked a glance at Derek who was staring at his letter with a blank expression on his face. Stiles hadn't said much to him in his. But Stiles had learned that when it came to Derek, you didn't need to say much to say a lot.

Derek,
You'll always be my alpha.
Love,
Stiles Stilinski

Derek met his gaze, no giving any indication he understood, but Stiles could see it in his wide, vulnerable eyes, that he did.

Stockings were passed around, jokes about dogs and chocolate were spoken before things were bit into. Stiles sucked on a candy cane, laughing around it as Allison told an old story about her mom that had Chris smiling sadly, Peter patting his knee kindly.

"Are you leaving us?" Derek blurted out. His eyes never left Stiles and now he had everyone's attention, even his father's, who looked oddly surprised.

"I-" Stiles hesitated. "I think I have to," he replied softly.

This caused an uproar to which, surprise, Isaac shouted over everyone, "Shut up!"

A shocked silence overcame the room and Isaac cleared his throat. "Let Stiles speak, he has his own reasons."

Stiles nodded, not making eye contact. "I don't want to," he spoke quietly. "But, I have to go home. Now that I know my dad is still alive, I can go back home with him. We can go back to as it was. I can study, get my GED. Start my life back again. All thanks to you guys. It's a new start."

"We're your new start," Scott said, abruptly, Stiles gaze shooting up to meet his hard one. "None of us want you to go, Stiles."

"I don't belong here," he protested. "My home is on the east coast, with our old house with the rickety stairs and Mom's grave and Dad's job."

No one said anything for a moment. The silence was so startling that Stiles had to leave. "I'm sorry," he said, before bolting for his room.

No one called after him.

*

Murmurs came from the living room, but Stiles tuned them out, hugging the fox to his chest. He wanted to bathe it in his scent so that the pack would have something of him when he leaves. For Isaac, mostly, to let him know he is loved, even if he's not there to show it.

"Stiles," he dad spoke softly from the doorway. "I think we need to talk."

Stiles sat up, tightly holding the stuffed animal. His dad sat next to him. "Is this place your home?" he asked after a beat.

Stiles shrugged. "Derek said it was, but- I'm not pack. I'm not one of the wolves, I can't be in the pack. This can't be my home."

"Do you want it to be?"

Stiles startled, looking up at his dad, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Stiles, that town, it's nothing to me. The only things there are my job and your mother."

"Those are two pretty good reasons," Stiles hissed.

His father shook his head. "No, they are ghosts. I can get a job anywhere. And your mother, we could bring her out here, burry her in the Beacon Hills cemetery. She'd still be close. And even if you don't want to move her, she's still with us. In our hearts."

Stiles swiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. "I'm scared," he breathed.

"Of what?"

"Of losing you! I can't lose you again, Dad. I- I thought you had died. I was prepared to run for the rest of my life and be consumed by the animal inside me because I thought I had nothing left to live for. And what if something like that happens again, huh? What if the hunters find me and want to take me out, and kill. everyone. here. What then? I can't risk it. I- I can't lose them too," his voice wavered and cracked, tears blurring his vision, falling onto the fox.

"Oh, Stiles," His dad said, so tender, and just like his mother. Stiles collapsed into him.

"I can't lose them too, I've- I've already lost Mom, and then you. I've got you back but I can't lose you twice. I can't lose any more people that I love."

"I know, I know. But we're even safer here then back in Pennsylvania. Don't you feel it? The magic? I can and I'm all mortal."

Stiles scoffed, wiping his nose. "I'm afraid one day I'll shift and I won't be able to come back out of it again."

"I don't think that'll be a problem, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles and his father jumped apart to see Deaton at the door, smiling happily, a beautiful woman on his arm.

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked, wiping a sleeve across his face, embarrassed to be caught in such an intimate moment.

"I mean that I think because you have integrated yourself into this pack, you have the same power they do. You can control the shift as easy as they can."

Stiles shut his eyes, concentrating, before gasping and reaching behind him. Fur.

He yipped in happiness, running his hands along his tail, feeling his ears poking out of his dark hair.

"Your mother could never do that," his father thought aloud.

"That's because Stiles was integrated into the wolf territory so suddenly, his body adapted their traits. This is his beta shift, just like the werewolves can become full wolf as Stiles can become full fox, they have a half-shift as well."

Stiles exhaled, feeling the fox-y features melt away between one breath and the other. "That's so cool," he breathed, eyes wide.

"I think this means we can stay," his father said, eyes crinkling in a smile, and Stiles attacked him with another hug, laughing giddily in his ear.

Stiles bolted from the bedroom back into the living room, crushing Isaac in a hug, muttering, "I can stay," over and over again.

The man laughed, holding him at arm's length away, eyebrow raising at the thing smushed underneath Stiles' arm. "What's that?"

Stiles blushed. "Oh." He fluffed the fox back up into its un-smashed shape and handed it to Isaac. "It's yours- for you. And the pack. I got it to- so if I left you would have- never mind," he stuttered.

Isaac laughed again, hugging Stiles. "It's great, thank you." His eyes shined with glee.

*

Dinner that evening was an even more boisterous event. Everyone crowded into the living room, sitting on couches, chairs, pillows on the floor, and anywhere else there was room. Mr. Stilinski talked about plans for moving out here and selling the house. He figured it might be easy to get a job with the police department here, considering how he was a sheriff back home.

Stiles sat between Isaac and Derek, stealing food from both of their plates. Derek would growl, but did nothing to retaliate, so Stiles kept doing it. Isaac rolled his eyes at the two.

Stiles wore his Spiderman mask all the next day, annoying practically anyone who would stop and listen to his chattering.

That was another thing. Stiles couldn't stop taking. He was just so excited to know he was truly pack, and to be a part of it- it was a great feeling.

For the next week, whenever Stiles would get overexcited, the pack would go for a run. Stiles would shift hesitantly at first into his beta form, but was able to adjust back  into it easily that by the third day he was coming alive.

Deaton hypothesized that his ADHD was coming back at an accelerated speed, to make up for the lost years of not being fully human. He said it would last probably a week, maybe two or three at the most, but then return to normal. It just felt like a joy rush to Stiles.

His dad had to go back out to Pennsylvania to pack up the house and get a job transfer, but promised he'd be back by New Years. It was hard watching him go, but Isaac and Scott distracted him with videogames, so it wasn't too bad.

*

The day before New Year's Eve, it happened that Derek was stuck on Stiles Duty. He watched movies with him, talked, and played games. But after they found themselves curled up on the couch, cuddling, Derek dropped the bomb.

"Stiles?" he inquired softly.

"Mhmm?" Stiles hummed back, nuzzling Derek's chest. He felt a shudder run through the man and he grinned happily.

"When we were talking about- uh, affections-"

Stiles groaned and rolled, tilting his head up so that he could look at Derek. "Look, I promise I won't make it weird. I'll work through it, maybe even get over it someday."

Derek winced. "No, Stiles- did you think, that day," he sighed heavily, "Did you think I was telling you I didn't like you?"

Stiles' eyes widened and he rolled off of the couch in shock. He stared at Derek, openmouthed. "That is what you meant, right?" he asked weakly, heart hammering in his chest.

Derek looked at Stiles like he was hopeless, sitting up to perch on the edge of the couch. "Seriously? You thought I knew how you felt so I approached you about it to tell you I didn't feel the same way?"

Stiles winced. "Um, yes?"

"Oh you idiot," Derek groaned, hoisting Stiles up into his lap and kissing him, a hard press against his lips. "Does that seem like I don't like you back?"

"I dunno, better try it again," Stiles slurred, eyes wide in surprise.

Derek ducked back in, kissing the expression off of Stiles' face. He broke off, trailing his nose across Stiles' jaw. "Stiles, you idiot, I could have had this months ago," he breathed, kissing his cheeks before moving back to his lips.

Stiles jumped in with the program, pressing back enthusiastically.

He'd never kissed anyone before, so he wasn't sure how, but Derek was a good teacher and he caught on quick, parting his lips just slightly and letting Derek lead.

Kissing Derek was like a new feeling entirely. Derek's tongue explored his mouth and Stiles sucked back eagerly, wanting to taste all that he could, but his lungs burned. So he pulled apart, gasping for breath. Derek's lips trailed over his neck layering butterfly kisses across the skin.

"Derek," Stiles whined, but Derek didn't listen, too busy with worrying the skin between his lips and a bit of teeth right over his pulse point, which jumped rapidly.

"Taste so good," he hummed, one last lick of the bite before trailing back up to steal Stiles' breath another way.

"I've never done this before," Stiles warned, and Derek backed off slowly.

"We go at your pace, then."

It seemed so simple they way Derek put it. "Are we dating then? Boyfriends, or something?"

Derek chuckled, kissing Stiles' cheek. "Whatever you want to be, any or no title at all. I just want you," the alpha rumbled, and that was good enough for Stiles, pressing back in and kissing him again.

Isaac found them in the same position, swapping lazy kisses on the couch, when he came in an hour later. He ruffled Stiles' hair. "Good job. For a bit there, I was wondering if you were in love with me. Didn't want to have to break your heart."

Stiles shoved his shoulder, causing Isaac to fall back onto the couch, laughing. "Shut up. I'm happy with what I have, thank you."

"And so am I," Isaac replied. "Go back to mashing face, I want to watch TV."

Who was Stiles do deny Isaac something he requested?

Ten minutes later, Isaac was begging for mercy, muttering curses with the words, 'alpha submitting is gross,' or something along those lines. Stiles didn't come up for air long enough to hear it.

*

Epilogue

"Derek," Stiles whined, bouncing on the bed from his position on his knees.

"Stiles," Derek spoke back, eyebrows raised.

"Come one, everyone is gone. Dad's out with Melissa. Peter is with Chris, Allison, and Scott at the movies. Erica and Boyd are- I don't know, but not here. And Isaac is with Danny for a bit longer and we have the whole house to ourselves," he whined. "I wanna make today special."

"And why today?" Derek asked, folding laundry and putting it away in his drawers.

"Becaaaaause," Stiles drawled, "Today is the anniversary of the day I met you and you broke my hand because you were a grouchy wolf, so you totally owe me."

"I did not break your hand," Derek protested, crossing his arms across his chest. His very well built chest, hello.

"Fine, fine, maimed my hand. Either way, you owe me."

Stiles crawled to the edge of the bed and looped his fingers into Derek's belt loops. "Come on, I'm ready."

Derek looked hesitant. "I don't know, Stiles..."

"Do you want me?"

Derek startled. "Of course I do."

"Then take me."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I'm doing laundry," he gestured to the basket in front of himself.

Stiles huffed. "Fine. I'll just jerk myself off then."

Derek dropped the basket on his foot, head whipping around. "You wouldn't," he said, voice bordering on a growl.

Stiles grinned widely. "Oh I think you know I totally would." His hand traveled over the bulge in his jeans as he lowered himself onto the bed.

Derek stared at Stiles before slowly setting the basket down and pushing it away to the corner of the room. Stiles tried and failed to not grin successfully.

Derek backed Stiles into the bed, his large mass covering his. Stiles' grin only widened as he twined his arms up behind Derek's neck, pulling him closer. "You know, I had plans. I used to imagine this moment. A lot."

Derek's breath hitched, but he covered it up by pulling down the collar of Stiles' shirt and sucking a hickey into the skin, making Stiles buck up and groan.

"I-I imagined me on my knees for you." Derek growled, moving up to ravish Stiles' neck. "I pictured you fucking into me from behind, my tail winding around your hips." Derek groaned, and Stiles was beginning to pant in want. "I would thrust back against you, get your whole big cock in me. Couldn't wait to feel you- for you to knot me."

The growl decibel lowered tenfold, and Stiles could see Derek's eyes that were now a bright red, unwavering as the alpha stared down at him.

"You want me to claim you? Right here, now, on our bed?"

Stiles' eyes widened and his face flushed. "I- I mean maybe not now, or today, but sometime! We can work up to it," Stiles said weakly, defensively.

Derek's eyes softened and he leaned down to kiss Stiles, who reciprocated immediately, getting a leg between Derek's and thrusting up- and hello delicious friction.

Derek keened, dropping his head into the crook of Stiles' neck. "One step at a time?" He suggested, one hand snaking down to undo his pants.

Stiles nodded eagerly. "Yeah, yep, sounds good!" His voice ended high, and he looked away, embarrassed. Derek kissed the look off of his face, and Stiles smileded against his lips.

Derek pulled back to get their shirts up and over their heads before ducking back down, having a wide new expanse of skin to kiss and bite upon. Stiles' fingers roamed over Derek's back, tracing the dark inked tattoo where he knew it was.

"Do you think I should get a tattoo?" He asked conversationally.

Derek pulled back with a wet smacking sound to give Stiles an unimpressed look. "Should we really have this conversation now?"

"Yes!" Stiles protested, hands fumbling with his own jeans. "I mean, when we have sex, I'm sure you'll be obsessed with touching it. I'll probably get it on my hip or my side," he mused, watching Derek's eyes darken with lust, pupils dilating. "What should it be? Maybe a wolf, so everyone knows I'm part of your pack. Or maybe a triskele, just like yours-"

Derek had somehow sprung to motion then, practically tearing their pants off to get them both in a solid grip.

Stiles was right, Derek's hands were huge and warm and they felt amazing.  Stiles whined and bucked up at the touch. Derek grinned, eyes flickering from red to hazel as he tried to keep himself contained.

Stiles cupped his cheek, pulling their faces closer so that their breath intermingled. "Don't hold back," he breathed. "I like the wolf in you."

Derek howled, eyes burning bright red and fangs catching the light when he grinned. The image made his pulse jump, but not in fear, of excitement.

"Wanna bite me? Huh? Claim me as yours? Maybe I should get that tattooed on me, your teeth marks."

Said teeth marks made themselves appear against Stiles' shoulder as Derek thrust into the tight grip he had on both of their dicks. Stiles whined and panted, gripping Derek's shoulders for leverage.

He was close, closer than Derek, but he didn't slow himself, hands digging into the hair on Derek's head and pulling, a warning gasp of Derek's name escaping his mouth.

Derek simply increased his speed, sweat and pre-come slicking the way, but Stiles could still feel the burn where the friction was too much.

Stiles' back arched with a shout, come shooting between their bodies, hitting his chest and Derek's.

Stiles pulled away immediately, shimmying down the bed to take Derek's cock into his mouth. The alpha was big and thick, not surprisingly, tip leaking. Stiles licked his lips, bending down to suck the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. He pulled back the foreskin and dipped his tongue into the slit.

"Stiles," Derek growled, a hand fisting in his hair, but Stiles didn't let up, just continued with his licks and sucks and kisses along his dick. Stiles wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't take the whole thing, so he went with enthusiasm as his best bet.

He swallowed as much as he could, tongue worshiping the tangy taste of pre-come and sweat, before pulling off with a wet pop! "Come," Stiles demanded, and Derek did.

Stiles watched the thick white ropes of Derek's release coat his hand as he stroked the orgasm out of him. When Derek was spent, he fell off of Stiles and back onto the bed, boneless.

Stiles brought his hand to his mouth and sucked the come off of his fingers. It was a bitter taste, but it was Derek, so he didn't leave a single drop to go to waste, moaning around the fingers.

Derek whined, tugging Stiles against himself. "I should have guessed you were a cuddler," Stiles huffed, but curled into Derek without protest. "We're a mess, though."

Derek grumbled low in his chest, hand swirling in the mess of come on Stiles' stomach. He drew a triskele with his finger before pulling back to kiss the spot and licking the finger into his mouth. Stiles' dick twitched valiantly, but he knew it was a failed attempt.

"Were you serious? About the tattoo?" Derek asked after a few minutes of silence passed between them.

Stiles shrugged, but nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I think it'd be a good idea, mark myself as yours."

Derek looked Stiles in the eye. "You know it's a permanent deal, right? No refunds or exchanges?"

"Are we talking about the tattoo or us?"

Derek looked surprised at Stiles before smiling slightly. "Both, I guess."

Stiles grinned. "I'm pretty happy with the purchase I've made. Don't think I'm going to take it back."

"Serious?"

"Deadly," Stiles murmured, kissing Derek softly, lips swollen and wet, but it felt so right, curled up with Derek. "I think I love you," he confessed, pulling back just a bit.

"I think I might too," Derek said just as softly, pressing close to kiss him again.

That was enough for Stiles, he decided. Even if nothing changed in the next few years. Even if Derek could never say those three words. Stiles was pretty sure they'd be just fine.

"Hey jerks! Way to stink up the whole house with sex, thanks a lot!"

"You're welcome!" Stiles shouted back to Isaac. He could feel Derek grinning against his chest, pressing a light kiss to the skin above his heart.

Yeah, just fine.