This House Is Falling Apart

by wirewrappedlily

"I'll tell you what, sourwolf: You're not allowed to fall in love with me, but I will fall head-over-heels for you and stay that way for the rest of my life. You're not allowed to fall in love with me, but, break the rule and the penalty will be that you have to keep me. Permanently. Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Sterek First try for me, please be nice T for swearing

DISCLAIMER: Not only do I have no idea what's going on in the canon, this is my first attempt at a fic of this slashing (and, anyone who's read "Stay" knows that my firsts are usually my worsts. I don't watch Teen Wolf. I don't intend to. I just wanna fic it. So, if I'm OOC, be kind about it, and be warned. Also, as always, no beta. Disclaimer out.

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When Stiles was younger, his mom used to take him to a clearing in the woods once a month, dancing and singing with him and running until his legs wouldn't carry him and he had to fall to the grass laughing. It was her answer to giving him pills: her way of letting him burn off the constant buzz of energy, and it worked like a miracle.

It was simple. It was sunshine through tall grass and wildflowers; it was breezes that felt like cool kisses, and it was light in his veins, lifting him to the heavens and above. He still remembers the dreams he'd have on the way home: wolves and angels playing soccer in the sky. He doesn't know what it means, will never understand it no matter how hard he analyzes everything...but after she dies; after the trips to the forest stop and he doesn't dream of anything but being stuck on the ground anymore, Stiles can't bring himself to look at a soccer ball. He goes for lacrosse.

The second day after his mom's funeral, Stiles runs away-only not really.

Stiles is desperate, an ache for the field and the sun to touch him again...he needs to know that feeling peaceful without her won't come from a bottle of pills his doctor's prescribed. He needs it like a gnawing ache in his gut and a tearing at his ribs like his heart is a caged beast trying to escape. He tells his dad that he'll be at Scott's. It takes him hours, walking along the side of the road realizing that, no matter how many times he'd gone there with his mother, he had no idea what route they'd taken; no telling if they'd gone right or left. He thinks of her favourite movie: Inigo Montoya asking his dead father to guide him to the masked man. He asks his mom to lead him to their field. His feet turn themselves off the main road, until he's walking down what was once a road, would be still if it had been used more.

There's a rumble of thunder when he reaches the ashen husk of the Hale house, abandoned and abused.

What wasn't destroyed was crumbling: the screen falling off the door, door hanging off the hinges...it looked monstrous and ugly and if Stiles was any other kid, he'd be petrified. But there's the green of new life squeezing between the cracks, and Stiles has always loved that. Loved that plants could break through concrete by sheer force of will-sheer force of life, vital and sweet; loved it since his mother had told him about it, one of her favourite things, too.

Tired, feet aching and back too weighed down with the supplies he'd packed for his journey, Stiles crept up the crumbling stairs of the porch, not noticing the way the wood refused to give under his heavy-footed weight, the way the plants seemed to wrap around the stairs-to keep the stairs in place.

He touched the frame as he walked through the door, and the house sighed in relief.

Stiles slept there for a time, cocooned in the empty shell of a house whose only glimpse of redemption was taking him in and keeping him safe as it couldn't protect its family. For the first time since his mother got sick, he doesn't dream of pain and anxiousness. He doesn't remember what he dreamt, but he feels like there was no pain at all.

Stiles touched the same place on the doorframe as he went to leave, promising himself he'd come back here-forgetting that he'd set out to find his field-and he was down the porch steps and away before he could notice the faint glow left by his fingers.

Years later, Stiles would see the house again, still in horrible shape, but better-healing slowly-from when he'd left it. He wouldn't remember why, but for some reason this house came to feel like sanctuary in a storm.

The first time he meets the rightful owner of the house, he really isn't scared. Not at all. He can't explain it, refuses to let his hyper-active mind haywire with things that he doesn't want to touch turn to the reason why a big, hulking brood-master would make him feel a little bit grounded.

All he knows is that Derek Hale feels like a shift in the wind or a change in the air. Cool, soothing and electric in the way that a true thunderstorm is the only thing that makes him feel like that. The kind of thunderstorm that leads him out in the rain just to feel like it's washing him away, too. The kind of storm that he lets the ghost of his mom talk to him in.

The kind of storm that lets him let go a little.

He won't hurt Derek. He can't get a handhold in his own head, really; can't properly think, moving talking, existing on instinct. And his instinct, even when threatened to, is to not hurt Derek. He won't cut off his arm; refuses to give up on the hope that-somehow-he can find a way to get him healed.

Derek doesn't like it, but he doesn't have to. Stiles plays it off second-naturedly as being squeamish. When he thinks about it later, he knows that the panic swirling in his heart is because thinking of hurting Derek and of seeing Derek hurt feels like it would if someone put a gun in his hand and asked him to choose between the life of Scott or his dad, or his own.

He knows he's clever enough to find a way out, even then; he'll find a way out of this.

He doesn't question why Derek's ranked so high on his list of priorities all of a sudden when he's the textbook definition of "dick" when he isn't simply being silent and scowl-y.

When he punches Derek in the face to wake him, his hand jolts like he touched a live wire, but it does it painlessly until his knuckles register they've connected. He's lightheaded for a moment, like he's been running for ages, but it passes, and he finds himself having helped Derek up, and now leaning slightly into the solid wall that is Derek's body. He centres himself, finds an inner well of strength he never knew he had, and pushes on.

He dreams of a house and barking laughter; dreams of the sky overhead but close enough to touch. He dreams of being happy, between the earth and the sky-of having both at his fingertips, and a voice that is in no way a sexy potential Vampire Slayer's murmurs to him that he'll be a kite, and they'll be a kite string. He decides that he heard Derek's voice because he'd had it ringing through his head, gruff and angry and stubborn, all day. Because of the stress.

Of course, the voice in the dream wasn't any of those things. It was a caress in and of itself, and it was a call home. It said he was safe, and he always would be, wrapped up in the warmth of that voice.

In class before the Winter Formal, he dreams of a betrayal that he can feel himself, but comes with the urge to protect; the need to shield, like it's someone else's heart that's been torn apart-someone important. There's pain and the scent of ozone burning, like lightning's struck. For some reason, he reaches into the dream, settles himself into the nightmare unfolding around him, and he tries to harness the lightning, to turn it around. He hears a short expletive, and there's a soft chuckle vibrating around him, through him, before he's waking up, disturbed and worried and with the desperate urge to make sure the ones he loves are safe. Scott and his dad are both perfectly unscathed. Stiles feels all day like there's someone he's missing; he puts it down to the ghost of his mom, and stays silent and peaky the whole day. It marks the start of a three-day storm of biblical proportions. It washes him clean, makes him whole again-will until something pierces the skin and the water runs out and he's left empty again. There's got to be a better way than this one. There has to be.

He knows he trusts Derek too much. He has from the get-go, and he always would, he figured. He didn't think about it, just did it. And that was how he came to be treading water in the school's pool for far too long. It isn't easy, but it isn't as difficult as it should be to keep Derek's dead weight and his afloat. The problem is that Derek's all muscle, no fat, and that just makes his body a stone in this water.

Stiles feels like his whole body is screaming for help; begging a god he doesn't believe in before turning to his mother.

It's all so barely there that he knows Derek won't notice, but Stiles can feel the water holding him up; helping when he needs it.

That night it feels like he's been drained dry; he's weak and almost fevered and he knows he's dying, even if this is a dream.

A shadow moves in the darkness, and Stiles can't see right, but an arm wraps around his body, solid like steal and simultaneously too hot and perfectly hot enough to soothe the shudders wracking his already-sore body. Cold water is pressed against his lower lip by a rough fingertip before the smoothness of the glass replaces it. Stiles wants to glug; wants to feel like it's enough against his body hurting and burning like this, like he's been on some bad trip. He's allowed slow, little sips, and he does start to feel better. Oh, so much better.

A pair of soft lips surrounded by rough stubble press to his temple just before the glass is taken away and he's laid back, feeling pleasantly grounded and no longer like he was about to die. He drifts into the blackness of a dreamless sleep as a cool breeze of a gathering storm washes over his still-hot body, forcing out a pleased hum as his caretaker comes back from the open window to tuck the sheet to his chin.

When he wakes to a full glass of water by his bedside and his window firmly closed, Stiles decides it's a dream. No matter how much his temple insists on tingling.

When they both get paralyzed, Stiles dropping onto Derek's chest like a dropped sack of rocks, Stiles' heart hammers, not out of fear per se. More that being dropped against Derek's chest makes him feel safer, not more in danger. He can't move, and Derek wants him off his chest-of course he does, Stiles needs to not even entertain the idea that he wouldn't-but the heat and the smell of him makes something lax in Stiles the way no paralytic could. I'm in love with you. He realizes, followed by, I am utterly and royally fucked.

With Derek digging his claws into his own skin to save them, Stiles is almost desperate to beat this, to get out, to help Derek in some way that doesn't involve letting him hurt himself. They're still in contact, and the more desperation and protectiveness rises in Stiles, the more he starts to feel like something is ebbing away from him, into Derek's skin. He realizes vaguely that it doesn't matter if Derek heals faster: He will protect Stiles at the cost of his own skin, and Stiles recoils from that thought.

He hopes he's wrong.

He knows he's not.

It takes him longer than it should to snap out of the paralysis, but Derek is alive, and so is he, and that's all that matters.

He wants to tell his dad, but, somehow, he gets the premonition of his dad already knowing.

A few days later, Stiles can't get himself into any smaller of a ball, and he knows he's not actually crushing himself, but it still feels like that just before two solid bands of muscle wrap around him as he shakes, unable to breathe as tears run down his cheeks because of the pain and the desperation of not being able to breathe.

Derek drags him backwards until Stiles's back is pressed to Derek's front, the slow, steady rhythm of Derek's breaths washing over Stiles with a delicious and terrifying calm. Derek's huge, warm hand splays out over Stiles's chest, and something in Stiles clicks, his lungs finally pulling in and letting out-trying to do both at once and failing. Derek's breath changes, the steady rhythm interrupted as he hushes a long exhale, silent but soothing. The hand pressing gently, the arms wrapped around him...even if Derek was human, he could probably kill Stiles with strength like that. But this wasn't a threat, not at all. Stiles knew he was being protected; knew that Derek was bleeding peace into him to make his heart keep going when he could just as easily-maybe more easily, depending on the day-rip it out. Slowly his body eased until he wasn't curled in a painfully tight ball anymore. Derek's body fit against his from behind, and Stiles tried to pull himself out of the downward spiral into sleep, but between the warmth and the comfort, his eyes were fluttering.

His attempt to jumpstart the defense mechanism that was his mouth met with Derek's other hand sealing over his eyes, "Stop. Sleep, Stiles. Your body needs it." His hand released immediately, but Stiles's eyes stayed closed.

He dreamt of warmth at his back and comfort and protection until the sun came up, dragging his eyelids just blearily open to see the blurry shape of Derek headed for his window against the light. Stiles's hand twitched, words bubbling that Derek should stay, but he was leaden, his eyes dragging back closed before he could get his tongue to work at all.

He fell back to sleep and dreamt of the field, and Derek being in it.

On the anniversary on his mom's death, Stiles piles into his Jeep with everything they would have packed. He gets to the uninhabited part of the road before he catches just a glimpse of someone in the car with him, sun hanging through the window and a hand reaching across for his. He jerks, swerves, and while usually he can dismiss those flashes of things that aren't really there, this time her ghost is too close to the surface, and he has to pull off messily and stop, has to remember how to breathe for a minute. He gets angry like he hasn't since he realized his dad was running himself past ragged and towards death. His fist goes flying towards the dashboard, a scream in his throat because he just can't hold it in-and then there's a hand catching his fist in its palm, pulling his arm, his body, towards the scent of woods and spices and rain. Derek's wrapped protectively around him, hazel eyes wild and searching the area for what could have made Stiles's car go out of his control, what could have provoked this.

Stiles drags in one breath that feels like broken glass, convincing his limbs to fight Derek's hold because they're aching to just let him wrap his arms around Stiles and let him protect. "There's nothing wrong! There's no threat, it's just…" He can't bring himself to speaking any more than that. Derek looks down at him sharply, firmly not letting him go, and the fight goes out of him, the ache getting too sharp even though he's willing to let it be appeased. He slumps in Derek's hold, looking away. "Today's the day my mom died." He admits quietly, voice tight. Derek's breath catches once, and he nods shakily, the pressure of his grip on Stiles loosening for a moment only to find a better hold, bringing him into the warmth of Derek's chest, Derek's arms wrapping around him, his thumb massaging the back of his neck. "My dad...my dad's so disappointed in me, and I can't tell him what's going on. He acts like he's lost me...I think I'm losing him-" Derek's mouth is by his ear, hushing him, holding on solidly.

"It's okay, Stiles." Derek's fingers brushed behind his ear, over his hair. "Breathe." The wind picked up, cool and comforting, and Stiles breathed into Derek's warmth, his anger quelling and the grief in control again. "Where were you going?"

"She used to take me to this field...once a month...it was to calm me down. Before they put me on the Adderall…"

Stiles couldn't say any more, but that was all he needed to say, Derek letting him go and pulling back enough to look him in the eye, "I'm not the one you want with you, but I want to come if you'd let me."

Realization dawned as Stiles licked his lips and nodded gratefully, Derek's hand brushing over his cheek with a gentleness that made something in him shake. Derek knew. He knew what it was to have a gaping hole in the world where nothing is the same anymore.

"I don't even know where I'm going." Stiles admitted quietly, "I never paid close enough attention-"

Derek shrugged, looking at him with amusement dancing in his eyes, "Then drive."

Stiles's phone went off, and he took a moment to text his dad and Scott that he'd be out of range for a little while, but safe, and he started driving.

"Have you tried finding the field before?"

Stiles paused, thinking about it, "Yeah...yeah, just after her funeral." He barely remembered, but something nagged at him, something more. "I think...I think I ended up at your house. A storm rolled in, and I had no idea where I was going, and I was on foot...Weird."

Derek's lips twitched, and Stiles thanked the gods of timing that he'd looked in time to catch that, "Yeah. Weird." He scoffed, and Stiles grinned, the stress and tension and everything else that came with being sidekick to werewolves making it almost hysterical. He couldn't help it. His life was weird. Weirder than he ever would've thought it'd be.

"You ever get tired of redefining the parameters of words like "weird" and "dangerous" and "broody"?"

"Is "broody" actually a word?"

"It totally is, don't change the subject." Stiles earned himself a Look, but it wasn't a "I'll tear out your throat and make you gargle with your own blood" Look.

"You change the subject mid-sentence half the time. And it honestly horrifies me that I'm starting to be able to track it when you switch gears, because Scott gets lost more than I do now."

Stiles shrugged, smiling angelically, "No one can keep up with me, makes it hard to track what I'm thinking and even harder to know what's coming next-"

"And it's a defense mechanism." Derek cut in, his gaze so intent on the side of Stiles's face that Stiles could almost feel it.

"No one wants to know what I'm thinking, it's better for everyone if no one does."

"No, sometimes I think it'd be better if I could even begin to understand why you don't run when I tell you to or keep yourself out of harm's way." Derek told him, voice dark and a little angry.

"You're just saying that because then you'd find a way to drive me away, and we both know you don't want that. You'd end up dead." Stiles felt unease sweep through him at the thought of it, and passed it off as being unease towards actually saying Derek wants him around even a little. It'd be easy to break him if Derek told him he didn't want him at all, and that killed him, because he shouldn't want Derek to want him.

"I'd take me being dead over you being dead, Stiles." Derek snapped, and Stiles had to look over at him.

"What? Why?!"

"You have your father, you have your life ahead of you-"

"Hey, no. You are six years older than me. Just six years. You have your life ahead of you, too!"

Derek snorted, and that was eloquent enough to get the point across that he really didn't have much of one.

Anger flared in Stiles's heart again, and passion. He felt like Derek was being blind and dense and unnecessarily prickly right now. "You know what I have ahead of me? I have graduating from school and being unable to go to college because there's no money, being stuck in Beacon Hills because I have nothing going for me. My dad's working himself to death, Derek, and it's only a matter of time. He won't listen to me any more, and he's stopped trying to stop it. How's that for a life ahead of me?" And with it laid out like that, at last, Stiles could feel it like a raw, infected wound that wouldn't close. He had no life. Nothing behind him, nothing ahead of him, and just being in the moment was the only thing that didn't make him want to drive until he was lost and no one would know his name.

Derek didn't say anything, the growl too low for Stiles to even hear as he stared out the into the road ahead of them. "If you could...what would you do?"

Stiles heaved a sigh, dredging up his box of dreams that would never happen, things he didn't let himself want; shoving aside the people he wanted for the life he'd always wanted to have, "I'd get a house somewhere...somewhere where I could have my circle, but still be anonymous sometimes. I'd travel the world...keep the house, but work in other countries, other worlds. I want to have somewhere be home, and still be able to keep bouncing around the world when the mood strikes to run away from it all. I want to find someone I love and give my dad someone else besides me to consider blood. I want the person I'm in love with to love me back, because that has never happened to me before; no one's ever wanted me or wanted to be near me like that before. Scott's my best friend, yeah, but sometimes I think it's because he's a creature of habit and he knows he's the only one that understands me half the time."

Stiles's ears and cheeks burn crimson, and he feels far more worked up and angry about it than he should. Beside him, Derek keeps silent for a long time, "When you saved me, in the pool, you didn't want anything from me at all, did you?"

"No." Stiles answers quietly, "And it kind of bums me out that you think that's the only reason why I'd help you."

"It's not...It's not you. Most people would only help me because they want something back."

"I'm starting to get used to not even getting a "thank you" in return for saving your sorry asses." Stiles rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned for no reason other than he felt like it.

Derek stayed silent, his expression not exactly brooding or blank, just...relaxed. Stiles couldn't put a word to describe it, not comfortable with "fond", though that seemed the closest to being the case.

"What were you doing when you found me?" Stiles asked suddenly, pulling out of what ever his mouth had decided to spew to fill the silence.

"I...I was running through the woods. I saw your car swerve and I could hear your heartbeat panicking," Derek told him haltingly, and Stiles got a sense that he wasn't hearing the whole truth here.

"You don't need to run in the woods or work out anymore. You are built like a wall. You have the body, stop making the rest of us look bad!"

Derek snorted, "The way to keep the body is still to work out." He flashed a brief, brilliant smile at the scowl Stiles shot his way.

"So you'll be working out for forever? Sad." Stiles grinned cheekily, and Derek snickered, shaking his head, "Whoa-wait, what?! Did I just make sourwolf smile?!" Derek didn't reply, looking chagrinned. "I feel like should go in a record book or something. You do not smile enough!"

"I haven't exactly had a reason to smile."

"That's bull: I am hilarious, you should have at least chuckled at approximately half the things I've ever said to you."

"What's the ratio of times you actually pay attention to the words coming out of your mouth to times you're not paying attention and just letting yourself fill space?"

"Shut up. Silence bothers me. Silence gets filled with these things I want to chase away and not feel, memories that are better off being buried and gone. It gives me time to stall, to think of other things while I can say the things I've already discarded. You can't tell me that you haven't noticed it, too. That you don't find it easier to ignore everything and focus on the problem at hand when there's no silence." That you don't think of your dead family when I keep your mind trying to follow mine. Stiles snaps his mouth closed, lets the silence that he feels almost allergic to stretch out. Derek looks at him for a long time, intent and studious.

"If you're being quiet on my account, don't be. I know why you fill the silence, and it doesn't matter to me right now, as much as it is fucking annoying every other time."

"Why are you being nice to me lately? I mean, I like it way better than you smashing my face into my steering wheel, but I don't understand it and I want to understand it to keep it going in the future-" Stiles cut himself off again. "Ignore me-"

"I can't, and that's the problem here, Stiles." Derek said in a rush, snapping his jaw closed himself as if he was going to bite his tongue off for having the audacity to move, "I wasn't running. I wasn't even anywhere near the road. I was on the other side of the forest. The same with the other night. I don't know how, but when you panic, truly panic, I end up where you are."

Stiles paused, frowning, "The night after the pool-"

"You had a panic attack." Derek swallowed before continuing, voice somehow soft, "You were in a cold sweat, almost feverish, and you were shaking so hard I thought you'd fall apart."

"You were worried." Stiles realized, and Derek's features darkened, "You took care of me."

"You kept me alive."

"What do you want from me in return, then?"

Derek's eyes flashed, but not with werewolf-y colour. He wasn't angry, and that made something in Stiles's chest thump because he looked almost...disappointed.

"I don't want anything. I was repaying a debt."

"You weren't indebted to me."

"To your eyes. You hate me, but you kept me alive. You could have left, let me drown. You could have run when I told you to, when the kamina attacked-"

"You were in danger...you put yourself between me and the kamina." And me and Isaac. And me and every other danger I've been in that you've been around for.

"You're a part of the pack, you needed protection!"

"I was a part of the pack then, too?" Stiles blurted, and that was the draw back of running his mouth when his brain went south for winter: he said some things that he would never say if his voice box wasn't so damn in practice.

Derek tensed, his eyes flashing with anger this time, but Stiles tried to soothe himself that it wasn't at him-and failed miserably, because, honestly? It was him.

Derek's eyes won out on hazel as he looked up at Stiles, and Stiles rolled to a stop on the deserted dirt road, meeting his gaze. His heart was beating harder than normal, the pulse in his throat throbbing, but that happened-more than he'd like to admit, actually.

"Stop being afraid. Please."

The last word sounded like it was killing Derek, but it almost floored Stiles. Shock replaced the fear almost instantly.

"Do you know how many times I've found myself outside of where you are, just because you had a flash of fear?" Derek whispered, strain showing to Stiles's eye as if he'd never looked before. "It's gotten so strong that I come to you before I'm forced to be-" Derek cut off as Stiles reached over the space between them, his hand folding against the back of Derek's neck, the action getting him the eye contact he'd set out to get, but he didn't take his hand away, "I shouldn't see as much as your life as I do."

Stiles's eyebrows lifted, impressed at that absolute deluge of words, a smile tugging at his lips that he refused to let form. "That's gotta be boring for you. Hell, when things aren't trying to kill me, my life is boring for me." Stiles offered a smirk, and Derek's lips twitched.

"I know this part of the forest, there aren't any big clearings, let alone fields."

Stiles shrugged, grabbing his pack and sliding from the driver's seat, reaching into the back and pulling out his supplies before a huge, calloused hand closed around the lot of it, taking it easily from his hand. "Hey, no-this is my outing, you didn't even want to-"

"If I didn't want to come, I wouldn't have come."

Stiles snapped his mouth closed, "Scott wouldn't've."

"Scott's kind of a jackass-and that kid, Jackson? I would snap his neck on your behalf: he's annoying you to the point of annoying me."

Stiles felt his expression of open disbelief, and had to laugh, "I think he'd actually take pride in that to be honest." Derek smiled, shaking his head in grudging agreement. "I have a mission now." Stiles realized suddenly.

"Tell me it's to annoy that dick to death, and I will not only help in any way I can, but keep him from killing you."

"No. My mission, because I've chosen to accept it, is to make you laugh, sourwolf. Actual, real laughter."

"Laugh? I don't think I've ever done that before." Derek moved around Stiles before he could see the cheeky grin, but Stiles knew it was there.

"All babies laugh."

"Gas."

"You had an older sister, you must've been tickled."

"Werewolf cubs bite, Stiles, there was a kibosh on that before I was out of the womb."

"That seriously sucks. Getting tickled is one of the greatest and worst things you could possibly be subjected to."

Derek looked around at him, face a picture of interest, "Tell me about it."

"Do you like coffee?"

"...Despite the fact that I can usually-scarily, I might add-pick up where you're going, you've lost me here."

"Just answer."

"I prefer tea."

"Well, look at tickling this way: it's like having your favourite tea, one you're constantly so eager to drink that you scald your mouth a little. But you keep going back for more because it's so damn good."

"While that's an analogy that is actually coherent, I'm not sure that makes sense."

Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek's shoulder, but Derek flashes a smile anyway at his wrinkled nose and drawn brows.

"You're being silent. Stop being silent, Stiles." Stiles stops dead and drops his jaw at that, "And pick your jaw up off the ground, you're going to catch a small bird in there and Tweety will not be pleased."

Stiles finds himself laughing, jogging lightly to catch up the with the sourwolf that didn't even turn to know his jaw had dropped, "It's creepy when you do that."

Derek shrugged, "I already told you, I've seen too much of your life for not being a part of it."

Derek hikes on, leading them for some reason, and Stiles feels something swoop in his chest.

He doesn't run his mouth off, silence falling over him and pulling him in a dozen different directions that all have to be safer than the I want you to be floating around in his head. "When I was young Laura and I were playing tag through these woods. We got in too deep, and a storm was coming in, our scents got lost, and we didn't know enough to trust the wolf to bring us home. We literally combed every part of this forest, Stiles, this section doesn't have a field."

"Wait...what do you mean trust the wolf to bring you home?" They reach a fissure in the earth, Derek leaping easily across it and immediately-shockingly-reaching back, but Stiles took the leap easily, bouncing on the balls of his feet to stem the impact, and Derek stares at him. "What?"

Derek shook himself out of it, adjusting his load and walking on steadily, slower, keeping pace with Stiles instead of forcing Stiles to keep pace with him. "The wolf...there are two things that matter more than anything: a wolf's pack, but more importantly, their mate. And before you go there, no, it's nothing like Hollywood "mates", it's...it's like being led around your whole life on a chain of events that you will never be able to stop, change, or veer off course from to allow you to meet your mate…"

"You sound like you know from experience."

"I have a skeleton the shape of Kate Argent in my closet, and I still know I'm headed over the cliff of being a wolf with a mate."

"You mean to tell me there's some poor soul out there that is destined and Meant to put up with your brooding ass the rest of their life-capital M for extra-intendedness?"

"If they choose."

"So...for you it's not a choice, but for them it is?"

"Not...it's...it's not a compulsion, exactly. You don't die if you're not with your mate. It's a choice between feeling everything you've never wanted to feel, and settling for less than you were meant for."

Stiles was silent, pondering, for a few moments, "The way you put it, it's a damned-if-I-do situation, which I think is selling this whole thing short. Is it a werewolf-to-werewolf thing, or do humans get caught up in it, too?"

"My dad was a human, and my parents were mates." He mumbles, and Stiles draws a little closer (he thinks the better to hear him with, my dear, but there's something in the air that Derek can't scent out). "They shouldn't have worked, but they loved each other even more because of it." Stiles smiles a little, thinking of his free-spirit mother and his down-to-earth-cop father. "It doesn't happen to every wolf, though."

Stiles looked thoughtfully at the needle-covered earth, his arm bumping into Derek's on the uneven footing of his next step, his fingers brushing against Derek's in an unconscious caress. Stiles knows his pulse doesn't change, but he can feel it now, "My mom used to tell me the story of the gods splitting humans in half, from having four eyes and arms and legs to only two and half a soul. But it didn't end there. She told me that, with each passing life, if you managed to find your soulmate, you'd be broken into smaller pieces, smaller fragments of the souls that will recognize their mate, so it gets harder and harder each time. She told me that I'd been blessed because my soul thrived on love, my soul had faith in its mate."

"Had?"

Stiles's face darkened, but he had to speak, if only because Derek had told him so much already, "I'm not so sure. I want to find the soul that makes mine whole again. I want to fight for it if I have to…"

"You don't want to be alone anymore." Derek murmured, pitched low, and somehow Stiles still heard him, if the stutter in his heartbeat was anything to go by.

Grief filled Stiles to the edges, painting him black from the core out, and it shredded him inside, choking him. "Do you really set out to make yourself alone?"

Derek could lie. He knew he could. Stiles wouldn't call him on it if he'd notice at all-though he knew that, really, he would notice, and know-but he couldn't bring the word to his lips, the walls around him, and with the way Stiles looked in the chill of the air, his cheeks and lips and the tip of his nose bright red as his eyes struggled to stay dried against the painful edge of his heart, of his laboured breathing and trembling hand. "Alone is safer, Stiles."

Stiles was a steady, solid and soothing presence at Derek's side as they gave up the search and ate, making their way back after. Derek puts no more space between them, and Stiles feeds off the warmth and the safety, moving easily over the uneven and potentially disastrous terrain. It's the most put-together, the most graceful, that Derek has ever seen him.

That night, while Sheriff Stilinski is working late, Derek asks to speak to him. He and Scott shift back and forth, over and over, and when he makes sure he hasn't killed him with shock, Derek tells him about what Stiles is; what Stiles does. He can't define it. He can't say it's anything beyond being so unique that it's infuriating, but the Sheriff promises him that Stiles will know that he knows, he understands, and that he's proud. Scott asks him why when they turn to leave into the moonlight, and Derek can't say that it's because it might be worse to know you're losing your family while they're alive.

He slips into Stiles's room, staying by the window while Stiles sleeps soundly, looking more restful than he had yet. Stiles murmurs about wolves and sky.

Stiles dreams of a guardian angel with fangs and crimson eyes, haloed in white light while bathed in black. It makes for good imagery, but Stiles would have liked feeling like he could reach up and let the angel fly him away.

Stiles worked hard after that, not to panic. He controlled his emotions like a werewolf did, separating himself out of them.

It still didn't prepare him for Gerard.

Stiles laid there, praying that Derek didn't know, wouldn't come to his rescue; would manage to escape that trap.

When Gerard let him go, Stiles kept a hold of it, wouldn't let himself fall into the panic like he wanted to.

Stiles's hands shook, and he fought the urge to bring Derek right to him by sheer force of will. No one could know, not until everyone was safe.

Stiles shut the door to his bedroom, and locked the window, but the moment the lock snitched into place, his door opened, Derek Hale looking utterly thunderous. He crossed towards Stiles in three strides, eating up the distance between them in a way that forced Stiles to find himself backed against the wall, shaking. "Please don't." Derek's face changed, horror spreading over his features before he took the last step and plucked Stiles away from the wall, his arms folding around him as Stiles shook like he was coming apart.

Derek's huge, strong hand cupped the back of his head, his ear pressed against Derek's naked chest. "Your panic had me fully shifted and somewhere in the middle of the forest before it just stopped. What happened?"

"Please don't. I don't matter. What matters is that you figure out a plan and you get Boyd and Erica home."

Derek's hold tightened, and Stiles found them sitting, Derek's frame curled around his, "You do matter, Stiles, get that in your thick head." Derek's voice was rougher than he'd ever heard it, and Stiles curled in on himself further, "Gerard has Boyd and Erica?" Stiles nodded, licking his lips and shaking, a wince flashing as he agitated his split lip, "He kidnapped and tortured you." Stiles felt Derek's fingers wrapped around his hand, bringing his arm out to be examined as Derek coaxed him onto the bedspread, slowly and gently, keeping his legs under Stiles's.

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't!"

"Erica and Boyd matter! You matter! I will deal with this, I will get through it, I don't care-but you can't go in there, guns blazing, Derek! Please, don't play into his hands!" Stiles was hyperventilating, the panic tearing his chest apart, and Derek's hand pressed into the pounding of his heart, his eyes sharp and hard, as if he could threaten Stiles's heart into a steady beat. "He won't hurt them for now...it's just a matter of time. Please, Derek."

"No. You stay when you should run and you infuriate me in a way that should kill you, but right now, you take precedence, and I am staying with you until you're alright with me leaving."

"Stiles?" Stiles's heart spiked again, his eyes turning to the door, the way Derek and he were curled up together, "What happened?" Derek put some space between them, letting Stiles sit up, his aching body protesting.

"Sheriff, I'm sorry, but-"

"If whatever bastard did this isn't a creature, I can hunt him, too, Mr. Hale." Stiles's eyes sparked in confusion, looking between them.

Derek shot a look at the sheriff before ducking his head, voice quiet and strained, "I told your father. Scott and I. After our adventure in the forest." Derek looked at Stiles's confused gold eyes and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, "I lost my family, I won't let you lose yours because of a secret you've been forced to keep."

Stiles gasped a little, his eyes widening before they roll up to look at his dad, "Is that why you...why you…?"

"I should've told you I knew, but I still wished you'd told me I was raising a hero."

Stiles laughed once, painfully, "I'm no hero, Dad."

"Like hell you aren't." Derek and the Sheriff chorus, and Stiles has to laugh again, everything he'd been hiding in himself, all the emotions he's been denying, hitting him all at once, hysterical and shaking. Derek pulls him into his arms again, the Sheriff nodding to Derek, a clear "we'll talk later" before he shuts the door.

Stiles's really doesn't want to be clinging to Derek; the man has it hard enough-but he can't help it, bare skin probably bruising under his fingers, and he feels bad about that, too, because Derek shouldn't be in pain because of him. He just wants to protect the pack, and he's the weakest link, and he knows it.

"Stiles, hush."

"All that was out loud, wasn't it?"

Derek snorted, "Yes. And you're not bruising me, relax." Derek's fingers massaged the back of Stiles's head, drawing him in, "What have you been doing to yourself, Stilinski?"

"You can feel it when I panic…"

"So you've been forcing yourself not to panic." There was so much disappointment in that statement that Stiles bit his lip, ignoring the spark of pain, looking down ashamedly, just from Derek's tone. "No-"

"It's exactly like you guys having to reign in your anger!"

"Stiles, no it's not." Derek snapped, "You are human, Stiles. You don't have to reign anything in, you don't have to hide from your emotions or use them as a weapon. You're a seventeen-year-old, and you're not meant to have to do any of what you do for us. I know you don't like me knowing-"

"That's not it! You have better things to do than to have to follow me around."

"I'm beginning to think I don't! You get into the worst messes, you know that? And you always know first...I'm starting to think keeping tabs on you would be a better early-warning system for shit going on in this town than having a fucking psychic."

"You gonna have Scott follow me around, then?"

"He's useless. I'm sorry, he's your best friend, but he's useless when it comes to paying attention to you and what's going on in your life."

Stiles snickered, heaving a sigh, "And isn't that just fucking sad?"

"Kind of. He needs to get his priorities straight."

"I don't think I'd even make the list."

"Then he needs to get his head out of his ass."

Stiles had a hold of Derek's arm, slung over his chest, while the two of them laid against the pillow, Derek on his side facing Stiles and watching carefully as the shaking began to lessen. "Also out of Allison's."

Derek hummed, his thumb brushing the pulse in the soft of Stiles's elbow. "You need some kind of protection."

"I've survived on sheer dumb luck thus far, I can push it a little longer."

"Stiles."

"No, I don't want to be bitten; I don't want to be turned into anything. I don't want to be a werewolf, I wasn't lying when I told Peter no."

Derek raised himself up a little, looking down on him in confusion, "What? Peter…?"

"Offered me the bite. I turned him down."

Derek nodded, "I'm glad." He whispered, swallowing slowly.

"Why?"

"I think you're better off being human. I don't want to turn you. I would if you asked me, but I don't want to turn you." Stiles traced idly at a vein in Derek's arm, "You're getting protection, I'll make it clear to the pack that that's a priority. That way, you can keep an eye on them, and they can keep an eye on you."

"And if something like this happens again, we see it and we're prepared. Smart."

"Maybe you're rubbing off on me."

Stiles crinkled his nose, shaking his head, "Nope, don't think so. Still haven't gotten a laugh out of you."

"Keep trying."

"You feel your resolve weakening?! I'm close?!"

"No, but it gives you something to keep you occupied when you stop having near-death experiences."

Stiles laughed, "Yeah, like that'll ever happen."

Derek frowned, looking at the slash over Stiles's cheek, looking at the bruises and the pain that he'd gone through, that he wouldn't have told a soul about. "You know, maybe you're not human. Maybe you're something entirely new that not even the Argents can put a name to."

"That's...actually, that'd be fucking cool. I like this. Only I really want better superpowers."

Derek shrugged, the action "accidentally" bringing them closer, Stiles's eyelashes almost brushing his cheekbones he was so close to be soothed off to sleep, "Maybe you need some missing link to find your powers. A catalyst."

"No cats. 'M allergic."

Derek chuckled, watching Stiles fall further, then completely asleep and getting ready to heal Stiles as best he could. "Good thing you run with wild dogs."

Stiles could feel pressure on his shoulder, soft and soothing, while he dreamt of stars that moved on the earth, sounding like music.

He finds his dad before work the next morning, actually smiling to hear that Stiles is going to press charges against him, that Derek's going to make his move as they arrest Gerard, and Chris Argent's helping them with the operation, taking down any hunters who get in Derek's way, if not by citizen's arrest, than by shooting them. Apparently, his dad had reached out to an old friend, getting into contact with his hunter sons and their family friend, some guy named Bobby, who the sheriff looked downright pleased to know. Derek and the older of the two brothers weren't allowed to talk to each other, because that would either end bloody or end in their two heavy-hitters drunk off their asses. Odds were equal on either.

Erica and Boyd, to Stiles's extreme panic, actually hugged him when he saw them next, Derek halfway back across the room before Stiles got it under control. Someone, always, was with him, day or night. One of the betas in the day; and Derek himself, usually, at night.

Exactly a month after their first trip, Derek shows up on his doorstep with everything that Stiles had brought with them last time, and Stiles feels shock hit him hard, followed by a wave of sincere pleasure.

"Once a month, right?"

Stiles can only nod, gratitude in his eyes as he grabs his coat, keys, and boots. He smiles, open and honest as he walks with Derek to the Jeep, loading it up and climbing into the driver's seat.

"I used to fall asleep during car rides." Derek tells him quietly, "A few minutes, and I'd be out like a light...but not when I was really young; around the time I hit my teens."

Stiles laughed, "You'd just sit there, stoically awake in the backseat?"

"And I'd tell my mom when she was going the wrong way to where we were going."

Stiles laughed again, more heartily; happy and vital and alive. Derek kind of wanted to know what that felt like. "That would be awesome. You'd be a cute little GPS."

Derek snorted, scowling with no heat, and Stiles's cheeky grin flashed over his features. "I'll have you know that I was a scary looking kid."

Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Oh, please."

"Why is it so easy to talk about them to you?" Derek asked suddenly.

"People have been talking to me about things they shouldn't be talking about at all since I was five. I don't know, that is just one of my superpowers. Along with getting into trouble, and being scary-brilliant." Stiles shrugged, and Derek turned in his seat to look at him fully, "Yes, it's part of the reason I never shut up. If I fill the silence, no one can tell me things I'd rather not know."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you tell me nothing. I'd actually like it if you'd tell me stuff! But no, you actually tighten your lips to keep yourself silent!"

"You want me to talk about-"

"I want you to talk, period, Derek. I don't care if you babble about the pack or politics for crying out loud, I just have this...thing, where I can listen to someone talk, and if I do enough of it, I find myself able to help more."

"There's such a thing as "more"? That's a scary thought."

Stiles scowled, "Shut up."

"You just told me you want me to talk!"

Stiles made a face at him, "You are...impossible."

"I've been told that. Usually when I'm half-naked, but yeah…"

Stiles's features completely changed, lighting up and dropping into complete disbelief before he started laughing helplessly, "You actually made a funny!"

"Your turn to shut up, Stiles: my turn to talk." Stiles made a 'be my guest' gesture, and Derek smiled, "Before we started running, Laura wanted me to become an author and a wildlife rescuer." Derek's voice is soft, spinning out a story that Stiles can get lost in as he talks about his life before returning to Beacon Hills; all things no one else knows now.

They pull into the same place they were before and Derek looks at him, open and vulnerable in a way that he really isn't, ever, "Tag, you're it. No using your super speed." Stiles's voice is just as soft and level and steady, no mirth in the words at all, but he taps Derek on the arm and they get out of the Jeep in unison, Derek bracing his hands against it as he watches Stiles over the hood, "What?"

"I'm trying to give you a head start here, get your ass moving." He snickers, and Stiles laughs, turning and dashing for the tree line.

Derek takes off after him, wind scented with forest and Stiles, and he feels like talking to Stiles has taken some pressure off of his chest, has eased some seizing muscle that's been close to killing him with pain. He lets himself run, the wind whipping over and around him-and then he sees Stiles running ahead of him, as if the forest is where he was born and bred, and it would only ever protect him. It's not human, and the grace of it is certainly not Stiles, but where he could doubt his eyes or his nose, together they feed him the same thing: that is Stiles, launching himself through the chilled air, with an easy heartbeat and only slightly laboured breathing. That's Stiles missing everything he could possibly trip on.

There's no way that's Stiles.

Derek gets his hand on Stiles's sleeve, and they stop abruptly, their momentum skidding them both over the forest floor until Derek finds himself suspended on his arms over Stiles where he lays beneath him, laughing breathlessly, one hand low on his ribcage. "You hurt?"

Stiles shakes his head, "Nah. But that was fun. I think we'd have fun at hide and seek, too, but you'd use your nose and cheat."

"I can't turn it off, does that really mean I'm cheating?!"

"Yes, totally."

"That is not fair." Derek chuckles, and Stiles's eyes shift, focussing on his hair as he reaches up to get a leaf out of the black mess. Stiles's heart slows to calm, and his breathing eases up, pupils wide. Stiles's eyes flick down to Derek's mouth, and Derek has to kiss him, there's nothing else he can do. Stiles reaches up, responds immediately, rolling them over slowly, getting a better angle and drawing out a low moan, though neither of them could tell whose it was. Stiles kissed eagerly, with no experience, but that really didn't matter if you asked Derek, because it was Stiles. He managed to pour in all the goofiness and cheek and support that he carried around in his slim form, and it tasted amazing, light and sweet and as good as the Earth overrun with rainbows and sunshine and everything good in the world. Slowly, they parted, Derek's eyes blown and his grin curving up his mouth, "You're it. Catch me if you can!" Stiles found himself flipped back onto his back, Derek up and running, before he could catch his breath from the kiss.

"Total cheater!" laughing so hard it was almost a shriek, Stiles gave chase, launching himself easily up. Derek was a sight to behold when running; completely distracting and utterly gorgeous and-boy, was this a good idea for a horny teenager! Instinctually, Stiles leapt one foot onto a fallen tree, launching himself into the air as he swung off of a tree branch for momentum to tackle Derek to the ground. They rolled to the left, Derek's back to Stiles's front until they stopped, both panting; Stiles from the adrenaline, Derek from getting hit around the chest. The sun shone down at them where they laid just barely in the dappling arms of the forest, a field of sweet flowers and tall grass stretching out beside them.

Laughing, Derek reached behind him, flipping Stiles onto his chest and kissing him sweet and slow, his hands cupped behind Stiles's neck and around his hip, keeping his lips, his body, trapped against Derek's. Licking at the hollow under Stiles's jaw, Derek pulled them flush, Stiles's hands tight on his biceps as he pressed his body up against Derek's. Derek pressed soft, hot little kisses over the column of Stiles's pale neck, the feeling of wild freedom filling him up as they rolled further into the sunlight, Stiles's noises so deliciously perfect.

"I made you laugh…" Stiles gasped out finally, his eyes flicking over Derek's eyes, down to his mouth while his arms pull them impossibly closer instinctively, not wanting to let him go.

"You did." Derek agreed, grinning into another kiss, "So what should your mission in life be now?"

"To keep you. I think that'd be a good life choice on my part. Keeping you would be very nice."

Derek's breath catches, and it's only Stiles's hands in his hair and around his back that keep him steady. Derek lowers himself down in the hollow of Stiles's throat, inhaling deeply the scent of him, "I'm yours. What makes you think you have a choice?"

They play tag and make out in the sunlight, Stiles's forgotten grace, dancelike and perfect in a way that wasn't even human, fitting perfectly with the speed and agility of Derek.

They walk mostly intertwined back to the Jeep and eat sprawled out together lazily. "I can't believe you tackled me. Isaac and Erica joined forces and still couldn't tackle me."

Stiles laughs, tracing idle patterns over Derek's black shirt, "I don't even know how I managed to do that."

"Teach them, I beg of you."

"Nope. Not happening. It was dumb luck, you weren't paying attention-"

"I was, actually. I was trying to hear if you tripped or anything. I don't particularly want you to break yourself, you cause yourself enough pain as it is."

Stiles snorted, but his over-active brain produced something for him, "You shove me around a lot less."

Derek snorted, "I can feel it when you panic, Stiles. The less that happens when I'm already right next to you, the better."

"Why? Does it make you want to get closer even when you're next to me?"

"Compulsively. If I let my body call the shots; if I let my instincts fully react, I wouldn't just be hugging you, you'd be crushed against me, your bones would be shattered."

Stiles frowned, playing with Derek's hand for a moment before it reached up to play with the side of his mouth, trying to coax a smile that wasn't coming, "So I'm a hindrance in terms of control?"

"No, you aren't. It's good practice, not leaping through the Chem lab window and scooping you up like Faye Rae."

"Yeah. Yeah, that would not be a good thing." Stiles agreed, voice high. They both held it a beat before they let laughter and soft chuckles come, Derek nuzzling into the back of Stiles's neck, brushing through his hair to gather up as much scent as he could. "What are you doing?"

"You smell...just a little different like something that was there before is stronger now. I'm trying to place it, but...I don't know."

"Good or bad?"

Derek sighed, thinking of the way Stiles had moved through the forest, "I don't know. It doesn't smell bad, but the cause-"

"Could be make outs with a hot werewolf?"

"Shut up, I'm worried."

"Why? I'm not. Today has been brilliantly, fucking gloriously good for me. The only thing that could make it better is more kissing."

"I'd forgotten how hormonal teenagers are."

"Really?!"

Derek rolled his eyes at the British-accented incredulity, "No. I'm surrounded by you lot on all sides, it's like wading through a sea of hormones and pheromones-and expect random phones calls or just me showing up at your house because I can't take it anymore and you smell good."

"I am also a walking sea of hormones."

"On you, it's appealing. I don't know why, don't ask."

"It's because you want me." Stiles tells him, perfectly matter-of-fact.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response-"

"Because the response is "Fuck, yes, I want you, Stiles" and then we'd end up being late for your evening brood and my nightly badger-dad-into-eating-better."

"You shouldn't let an older man take your innocence on the first try." Derek mocked him, and Stiles grinned.

"Oh, please. Like I had any to begin with."

Derek chuckled, curling his fingers through Stiles's buzz-cut hair, scrubbing his knuckles gently against the fuzz. "Is it bad that I don't want to go back?"

Stiles looked at him steadily, possibilities being calculated in his clever gold eyes, "No, because you'll have to be the big, mean Alpha again."

"What happens…?"

"With us? You continue not to throw me against stuff, I continue to try to keep a lid on the panic, we let no one know that not only have I been making you happy, but that I've managed to make you smile...we keep the status quo, and add in late-night kissing. It's the safest and sanest way to go."

"The pack-"

"The pack wouldn't freak out about us, but smile at me in front of them and their little worlds would implode."

"You make it sound like I'm the big bad wolf."

"My, what big teeth you have…" Stiles purred, maneuvering up to kiss Derek long and sweet, curling his long, thin fingers in the fabric of Derek's sleeve. Stiles ran his teeth over Derek's lower lip, his body melting into Derek's below him, "I plan on getting very, very used to this, and demanding a lot of this in the future."

"I'm okay with that."

"You're going to use making out with me as a weapon, aren't you?"

"Keeps you quieter than telling you to shut up does."

Stiles stilled for a moment, then shrugged, grinning.

"You're mine." Derek's hold on him tightened possessively, his eyes hard and not open for debate.

"I'd suggest, for now at least, you don't mark your territory visibly, 'cause my dad would flip if I showed up with hickeys after being with you all day."

Derek growled, but there wasn't any heat in it, "You're going to have to tell him, though."

"And risk him instituting nightly checks to make sure you haven't jumped the window and are stealing my dubious virtue? No." Stiles laughed, "And, yes, he does know that you can do that. He's ignored fifty-eight calls from nosy cat ladies seeing dark figures running over rooftops. When he found out about you and Scott, he figured that out. Three days ago, he told me to tell you that he will put bigger locks on the windows and doors if you ever threaten me. He showed me the locks, and they look frightening to me for fuck's sake. And they're for me. Really, I'm having visions of turning into Princess Fiona and being locked away, guarded with a dragon."

"Not with a dragon, just a big pack of really angry werewolves."

"I don't think that'd be kosher, because the alpha wolf is totally allowed to take my innocence, and the object of getting locked away in a tower surrounded by lava and dragon is to keep innocence intact."

"I thought you had no innocence?"

"I don't, other than my virginity, which I really, really want gone."

"I'm not doing that right now."

"But you will in the future."

"You're not asking nicely, but...fuck it, yeah. Yes, I fully intend on taking your virginity. Few more dates, I'll probably end up not being able to stop myself."

"That is the most promising thing anyone has ever said to me…"

"Not right now."

Stiles pouted, but could only hold it for a moment before he grinned back at Derek. Stiles heaved a sigh, really too comfortable with Derek's arm draped, hot and solid, over his back and his body mashed up against Derek's side. The sun was late fall-weak, but between the layers Stiles had bundled in and the heat coming off of Derek, Stiles was all too comfortably warm. Derek's thumb ran over his wrist, back and forth, breathing even and heartbeat slow, and Stiles was going to be out cold if they kept this up.

"You can sleep," murmured Derek, like he'd just heard all that. Stiles thought for a moment, and there was a good chance that he had, because Stiles's mouth had a mind of its own and yet was still granted access to his. Derek chuckled, kissing his temple in an uncommonly soft gesture. "Go to sleep."

His dreams are full of colour and sound, laughter and some music he's never heard before mixed in with Derek's voice in that soft, fond tone that he'd only just started hearing. In the dream, he tells Derek, "I'll tell you what, sourwolf: You're not allowed to fall in love with me, but I will fall head-over-heels for you and stay that way for the rest of my life. You're not allowed to fall in love with me, but, break the rule and the penalty will be that you have to keep me. Permanently. Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Teasing, soft, but the earnest knowledge behind it leaving him feel floored in a way he would never be able to describe, because it felt like a wedding vow.

Derek drives them home, then Stiles is carried up to his room, pleasantly untroubled in his sleep, and Derek sneaks a kiss before the warmth is gone from Stiles's skin. At least, it's gone until Derek slides back in through the window, laying out beside him and around him on the bed.

Stiles does not notice a thing. He doesn't see the way he's moving now, compared to how he used to. He doesn't realize he's instinctively there when someone needs him. And he really, really doesn't see how people have changed towards him. He might just put it down to dating Derek-because, let's be honest, dating Derek is like a two dating a thirty-eight on a scale of ten, and he doesn't know how this happened, but it's good-and he very happily goes about his business.

The problem with that is that Derek's seen it, he's watching very carefully here, and those aren't the only changes. Stiles is beginning to move more like a warrior and less like a pile of limbs all connected by springs and fishing wire; his eyes actually darken when he's angry or disappointed, changing colour just slightly with a flash of different moods, but entirely not in the way a werewolf's would; his skin seems to almost glow sometimes when he's really happy, and the moods-his moods-are infectious in a way that might not be natural, because it's not just Derek and the pack reacting to them. Stiles begins to fill out differently, too. Still gangly and slight, but his strength is compact, and growing every day. Derek half wants to keep him from the world to stop the change and he half-wants to start teaching Stiles how to fight, to encourage the change and see the beauty it gets out of his very own Little Red.

It's after the first night Stiles stays at Derek's-just sleeping, mind, because Derek has more self-control and morals than either of them originally thought-that the biggest change starts to happen.

Stiles opened his eyes that morning and screamed because he could see Laura's ghost.

It took two hours of questions and convincing before Derek calmed down about his boyfriend's sanity and thought about it being real. Stiles figures he might've taken four or five more hours, himself, but he's happy not be going to the loony bin.

"You can see Laura."

Good grief, I swear he's more dense every year!

Stiles laughs, "Yep. She says you're more dense every year." Laura grins at him, and Derek's features flash confusion, hurt, grief, guilt-

Tell your sourwolf to stop that: it's not his fault I'm dead.

"I'm not so sure he'd even listen to that; he's supposed to be a wolf, but he has the stubborn streak of an ass." Laura laughed at that, and Derek turned confused eyes on Stiles, "Laura wants me to tell you that it's not your fault she's dead. So, I told her you're annoyingly stubborn."

Derek frowned, "I'm not nearly as stubborn as you!"

"No, but I'm cuter."

Laura chuckled, I like you two. You're a good match for my baby brother, you'll help him more than he could ever help himself.

Stiles let pride take place on his features, "Your sister approves of me."

Derek snorted, "Then she really must not know you." His features were closed off, dark, as if he still couldn't believe it even though Laura had answered all the questions only she would have the answers to.

"Derek, I'm not trying to-"

"No, I know...I know, it's just…" Derek gestured, his voice thick, and Stiles nodded in understanding, reaching for him. "Laura, why are you still here?"

You, baby brother. And your mate.

"Mate?" Stiles and Derek questioned in unison once Stiles had told Derek what she'd said.

Laura laughed at them both, and Stiles leaned against Derek's side, tucking his head against Derek's neck, Werewolves are the epitome of co-dependency that way, boys; and you two got it bad.

"So...we're...and you're...wow." Stiles stutters, and Derek takes that as his sister's confirmation. He doesn't let the happiness burst inside him like he knows it can. He doesn't even reach over to pull Stiles into a kiss that could last for days if he'd let it. Derek simply finds Stiles's fingers with his own and lets his side lean against Stiles's in return, balance between them.

"Why couldn't I tell?"

Because you're a total jackass and you would've turned tail and run if you'd sensed it first and fallen for him second.

"You needed to have a few roots here first. You would've left me before we'd even been together if you hadn't." Derek squeezed Stiles's fingers softly.

But I'm not here for the tall, dark and dumbass: I have a message for you. I'm only the first one you'll see, Stiles, and it only goes downhill from here.

"This is eerily like A Christmas Carol, you're the first ghost I'll see. Downhill how? We talking Ghost-bad or Frighteners?"

It's not us that will be the problem, sweetheart. You're headed for a hard-knock life. Premonitions-

"So I will be a psychic. So much for being a better early-warning system than a psychic."

Not just the future, but the past, too, Stiles. You need Derek with you. Not constantly beside you always, but you need to let him come when you panic, because it'll be like living through everything you see.

Stiles went still, "So, I see someone getting attacked, I feel every hit?" Laura nodded, and Stiles's stomach dropped hard. "How does Derek stop that?"

Derek was staring at him, confusion and worry and fierce protectiveness written over every feature.

He's something for you to hold on to. He's your connection to what's going on. Your mind will think you're being hit, but your body won't bruise, won't give out, with input to prove it otherwise. You two love each other, and you'll be protected-

Something was niggling at Stiles, and it struck with horror, with memory he'd refused to remember, "Who told you all this?" He pressed his fingers to Derek's wrist, calming as he stared at Laura's pained expression, "It was my mom-wasn't it? When I was little-during the fire-just before she got sick...she saw the fire. She wouldn't stop screaming and she was too hot to touch, and I had to force her to drink water, even though it burnt my hands to hold her still. My dad...my dad was gone. He was out of the house...I don't understand…"

Your mother saw the fire, but she was already sick. She was sick because your father had cheated on her, and she'd kicked him out. She forgave him before the end-he made amends, but it wasn't in time to save her life, Stiles. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Laura whispered the last, all abrupt ire gone by then, silver tears running down her cheeks.

Stiles felt tears matching hers as his heart crashed with absolute horror, and Derek pulled him into his lap instinctively, his hand cupping the back of Stiles's neck, forcing his head into the crook of his shoulder, "Stiles, breathe, please." Stiles clung to Derek, a whisper of sensation over his hair as Laura brushed over his hair in farewell. Fear hit Stiles hard, too hard. There was a huge list of people in his life that he could easily say he loved like family; but this...God, this meant that he hadn't even been enough for his mom. Hadn't been enough for his dad. He saw it all over again; his father yelling at him that he'd killed his mom, that he'd been the reason she'd died. What happened when he wasn't enough for Derek anymore, either? "Stiles, tell me what she told you. Tell me what's going on." Derek's voice was kind, but it wasn't a request. Stiles was going to tell him, it didn't matter what he tried.

Derek turned his head around to face him, kissing Stiles hard and deep, holding onto him and giving himself something to hold on to, kissing a trail over Stiles's skin, marking him with Derek's scent thoroughly, arms steel bands around Stiles's lithe form. Stiles panted into his shoulder for a moment, slowly coaxed back out to talk with slow kisses to his neck and the very corner of his mouth. Derek felt like he was being torn apart as Stiles told him everything but the thing Derek would absolutely need to know most of all: that one moment of not loving each other could meant Stiles's death.

That night, Stiles slept half-underneath Derek, swallowed by the curve of Derek's body, curved to protect and shield him. He held onto Derek's arms, and dreamt of the moon.

It was another two weeks before Stiles had his first vision.

Laura had warned him it wouldn't just be the future, but the past as well, but his and Scott's reactions as the Alpha had broken Derek's back and thrown him against the school, feeling the pain of it from where Derek was, it had him screaming.

Derek clutched onto him, curled around him and rocking, trying to soothe him. Distantly, Stiles knew that Erica and Isaac were running off to follow whatever orders Derek was barking at them as he watched a thin trickle of blood run down from Stiles's lips.

"No, no, no...C'mon, Stiles, you're here, you're here with me, you're not-No. Erica, get me water. Isaac, he's burning up-he's got a fever, it's not fire-hot. Thank god. Just...get me the blanket from the living room, I'm taking him to our room. And an ice pack, Erica! Boyd! Good, thank you. No, I don't know what's going on, other than that I am not leaving him right now. Argent will have to wait, I don't care."

Stiles focussed on the breathless rush of Derek's voice, fast enough and fluid enough that it almost held its own against what his could do.

"Stiles? C'mon, I know you're in there." Derek's hand was against the back of his head, lifting in a different way, and cold touched his lower lip-water. Water was good, water was very good, cool and sweet and perfect, and Stiles could feel Derek under his hands now, could see the fuzzy shape that had to be Derek's scowl instead of the field of grass Derek had landed in; instead of the bloodthirsty Peter Hale.

Stiles took a shaky breath as Derek set the water away, coughing nastily and spitting into a Kleenex what tasted like blood. He pressed himself into Derek's arms further, feeling how the room was holding its breath, "Not future, past. Attack at the school, when the Alpha threw you into the side of the building…" Stiles muttered into Derek's neck. Derek's hand skimmed over his back, reassuring them both that he was intact.

"You experience it, then. Like you're the victim?" Boyd murmured from somewhere behind or beside the wall Stiles was using his boyfriend as.

"Yes." His voice shakes as much as his hands, and Derek keeps hold of the glass again, but gets Stiles to let him go enough to take another drink.

"Just breathe," Derek murmured, rubbing his hand up to Stiles's hair, then down to his lower back a few times. "Isaac, I need you to get Stiles's phone and call Scott. He should know this is happening. Tell him to bring the sheriff with him, too. He and I are overdue for a talk, if he knew this was happening with his wife."

Stiles shook his head from where it was buried in Derek's neck, ostensibly nuzzling further in. "Don't yell at him. I don't think he ever wanted to have to deal with any of this. I think he didn't want the supernatural in his life."

"Yes, well, his son and his son's male mate are both supernatural, so he's going to have to deal with that."

"I have not told him about the mate part. I figure I should wait until after you and I haven't broken up for a really long time before telling him I'm pretty much married to you." Derek's breath stuttered in a small laugh, and Stiles felt like he was under a thousand feet of water and getting weaker by the second.

"Scott didn't answer."

"Oh, surprise." Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes even though they were closed. Derek chuckled again, pressing his lips to the top of Stiles's head.

"I'll stay until Stiles is asleep, then I'll go find them both." Derek told his betas, "Go and find something to do, I won't be long."

Stiles was a bit shocked when Derek laid him down to find that he was in a bed already. They'd been in the kitchen when the vision had hit, so Derek must have carried him. Stiles melted into the mattress, only to be un-melted in order for Derek to shift him across to his side, letting Derek have the closest to the door, the soldier's side that would allow Derek to be the first attacked if needed.

Derek slid in behind him, curling up around him and whining in the back of his throat as Stiles continued to shiver a little.

Derek drew him back, Stiles's body completely pliant as he rolled him over in the crook of his arm, his other hand reaching up to trace Stiles's features with his fingertips.

Stiles stays asleep until early the next morning, then goes back to sleep after taking in his own room, with Derek pressed against his back. He feels fragile, but he knows Derek's got enough strength to protect them both if he has to.

Stiles has seen only one Hale since being able to see the dead, and he takes that as a good sign: a sign that they've moved on to that "better place" people like to talk so much about. From what Derek's mostly willing to tell him now, he likes them all, and he wishes the number of Hales would be zero, because Laura deserves her rest, too.

He does see all kinds of ghosts, though: Mrs. Pemberthy walking along like the bitter, old hag she died being; a lady named Agatha that used to work in the library, reading to small children when they did that kind of thing; an elderly man in a conductor's uniform, looking for a renegade passenger who'd never shown a ticket. Stiles looked it up and was horrified to find that that very passenger had killed the man and seventeen others.

Sheriff Stilinski, after finding out that his son was the same thing his mother was, decided that the reappearance of all this supernatural bullshit was down to Derek. He forbid them from seeing each other, took away every privelege that would lead to Stiles ever seeing Derek, and then had Scott join him, because, to Stiles's mind anyway, the traitor thought that Derek couldn't possibly love him; that Derek was a monster incapable of it.

Derek broke the new lock on Stiles's bedroom door the first time he had another vision, calling Erica and Boyd to go find a woman who'd broken her leg on some rocks while she was hiking alone.

By the second, Derek had made up his mind that Stiles would be fully his; living with him, supported by him, everything, by the next dawn.

Scott had been present for the second attack, and seeing Derek as he had been, desperate and passionate and almost wrathful in the force of his will to bring Stiles out of what he was seeing, that he relented and agreed to help. Stiles told him he'd have to earn back his best-friend status by wrestling Allison, Lydia, and Danny for it, but Derek could tell, sometimes, that Stiles still couldn't quite believe he was friends with them all.

They stopped car accidents and saved people from falling off of ladders or walking into the path of a falling tree. Stiles spent two days shuddering like he was about to die after seeing a pair of cross-country skiers lost in a blizzard. The skiers were safe, but the chill Stiles had caught was keeping, even with a puppy pile to try to warm it out.

The pack had taken to calling Stiles "mom", and were actually less defiant of Stiles than they were of Derek sometimes. There was balance, it was good.

Until it wasn't.

By the time Derek realized that Stiles had completely disappeared, he couldn't remember what they'd fought about.

Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Boyd, Isaac, Erica, and Danny all came to tell him that they hadn't found Stiles, not anywhere.

Derek ran. He started running, because-and he hadn't really even realized this-the thing that had kept him from running, that had held him down and made him fight instead of fleeing, was now gone. Derek ran until he was in the part of the woods that Stiles and he had gone to; had first kissed in. Stiles's scent was here. Stiles had to be here.

Derek looked around himself; there is where he'd impacted after Stiles had tackled him. They'd rolled that way into Stiles's field.

Stiles's field that wasn't there. Derek ran, ran further than they could've rolled, and nothing more than trees surrounded him.

The sun was setting, and his pack was howling for him, but Derek couldn't bring himself to leave the forest. Boyd and Isaac found him first.

That first night, his whole pack camps out with him on the edge of where that field should be.

As the nights add up and turn into far too long, they dwindle until it's only the sheriff and Derek sitting there, two men who made two different mistakes that cost them the people they love.

"It was the stupidest mistake of my life, but it was one night. Stiles's mother and I had-I thought-fallen out of love with each other as Stiles got bigger. She loved him so much there wasn't any left for me-and I don't begrudge him that at all. But I was the one that was supposed to keep her alive. I didn't even...it'd been long enough that I'd forgotten how bad it was without me there for her. I convinced myself it was all a dream-and then, one night, an old friend showed up from LA…and I had a moment of weakness. She knew before I even called home late. She told me not to bother coming home for what I was about to do. Being a rebellious ass, I listened to her, just because I wanted her attention. After...after the fire...Stiles called me at work, but I would've come home-or tried to. She was so weak. Weaker than I'd ever seen, and still in pain. She was dying, and I'd done it by betraying her."

"Stiles thinks it's his fault. That it's his fault h-his mom couldn't fight it. That she didn't love him enough to fight it." Derek's voice was soft, almost kind, but his face spoke exactly how much he didn't want to talk to this man.

"It doesn't work like that. The pain, the whole thing, it has to be someone they fit with. I didn't understand what that meant until it was too late."

Derek's out there even a week gone; under the stars, watching the sky, dreaming of Stiles flying and his howl being enough to bring him back. After a while, no one's willing to wait with him.

---

Stiles knows he isn't actually dead because he has shiny Techni-colour, and Laura and his mom are still kinda blue-silver-transparentness.

He's just had a fight with Derek. THE fight with Derek, the one where Derek's roared at him that it's not possible that he's in love with him because he's a child that doesn't know what love is. Sex and how they're living together but they haven't had it started it. And it ended with the words that Stiles always knew were coming.

Laura had come to get him, then. Sent by his mother. She'd looked...so angry. So very, very pissed off, and Stiles couldn't ask what was going on, because he didn't want to hear her be disappointed in him for not giving Derek the time he needed to get used to Stiles loving him back.

The field was exactly how it'd always been, warm and bright and in full bloom. "I'm not in Kansas anymore, am I, Toto?"

No, my dear, you aren't. Laura snickered, and Stiles felt a small upsurge of hope that he wasn't the cause of the rage.

"Where am I?"

You're home. Sighed a new voice. One that Stiles would never forget, no matter how much it hurt him. His mother was crying as he turned to her, and he ran into her without thinking, feeling so very small as she folded him up in her arms, a hug the likes of which he honestly couldn't get anywhere else.

Stiles ran and laughed and sang, Laura chasing him from time to time, hugging him like a best friend and a sister. It was brilliant; blazing and glorious, so full of love that he felt like he'd never come down from the high.

Time didn't move; he didn't tire. It was freedom and light, endless and perfect-or almost.

Laura didn't show him the world; didn't take him to see his father, or his friends, or Derek. Stiles began to wonder, to worry, and under the watchful, happy gaze of his mother, he was taken apart and examined, his heart earning the most approval of all.

There is a word for what we are, but it's safer if you go with what humans have called us, Stiles. We're old magic and old power, and names are everything when you're dealing with these things-I am so proud of you for hiding yours. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he only now noticed it was beginning to grow, sticking up on the top like old engravings of Peter Pan or pixies. You know the mythologies, for the most part, so I'll tell you the closest thing to what the humans have been able to equate us to is fairies. It's not what we are, really, but it'll do. We're elemental, Stiles. We need to have balance in order to be able to properly function. For most of your life, I've kept your powers from you, because it's been safer that way. I've had to slowly give them back, with the danger you've been in.

Your full powers, which I'll give you here and now, will give you the ability to...coax the world around you. You've already dabbled a few times: with electricity while your mate was being tortured, and with water while you were in the pool. You're closest to the earth, though; it'll be the easiest for you to control, you've seen it when you and Derek were playing. It'll let you slide from your world into this one, with him if you want him here. You can summon a storm or take it away and a storm is something you'll always feel safest in, but it all comes with a cost-as you've felt. Your body isn't trained for it, not like the old ones were, but even then, they'd exhaust themselves. The only reason you survived after the pool, little dove, is because Derek came to take care of you. Stiles's breath catches, his body locking down, You're the first of our kind to be bonding with someone who isn't one of us, or a human: I think it'll make you stronger, but you're a lover, Stiles, and you don't fight like we've fought over the past.

"I need to change, don't I?"

No, kid. No, you really don't. The trick of it is being a lover and fighting for what you love. You do that, and you're perfect. Laura cut in, shaking her head as she played with his hair from behind, curled slightly around him where he sat on the ground.

Stiles relaxed between them, laying back as night fell as fast as his mother turning the lightswitch off when it was time for him to stop reading; the stars moving through the sky, creating the stories her voice laid out for him, the history that was his, that he'd never thought he'd know about.

Wars and battles fought for love: the Red King Oberon against the White Queen Titania; her people-his mother's people, as she was Titania's daughter-peaceful, kind, and gentle, only fierce when it came to love; the Red King's people too wild and unfettered to be allowed near humans much anymore, tricky and deceitful. It didn't feel real, but none of this did, so maybe he was Alice and his sanity was the White Rabbit.

The Hales-the very early form of the Hales, anyway-made a pact with Titania; their women and children were being killed, so they turned to the moon for help. She listened, and sent help in the form of magic. They revered wolves, and so, when told the consequence of the strength and the speed, they were asked what form they wished to take. For the change to take hold, I was to bind myself to the youngest son, as I was meant to. The night it was meant to happen, the night of the largest full moon there had been in a century, he was killed, and his uncle took his place.

We have bad luck with uncles in my family… Laura murmured like this was something to be observed, snorted over, and discarded; Stiles's mother cracking up as Stiles shot an apologetic look at her.

Enraged, my mother cursed that first uncle to a life of solitude, eating the hearts of his victims, those he'd desire, so that they could be saved from him and taken into the section of what the Irish call Faerie that's marked for the heaven of humans. Apparently he was killed by hunters recently: I think you worked with them to take down Gerard.

"The Winchesters? Cool." Stiles's voice was deceptively high, the act of not caring bringing both women closer, cuddled with him on either side. "But...you've been alive-"

I've been searching for the soul of my mate, Stiles. He was human, but he didn't go where he was meant to, and I've never been able to find him. I'd thought your father...he was like him…but he wasn't…

"You bonded with him anyway, though?"

Once you came along, my dear, I wouldn't have chosen anyone else. And I've been around a while, Stiles. I wasn't ready, exactly, but I do think it was time. Stiles closed his eyes as his mother's ghost kissed his forehead.

He dreamt of a wolf howling at the moon; an arrow drawing into a hunter's bow, and a desperate need to go to a home he couldn't find.

Before he left, Laura drew him to the side to make her goodbyes, tears falling as she told him to bring Derek if he could; to show him this place, because then he'd be able to see her and her family again. The very thought broke Stiles's heart.

His mother was crying as she kissed him goodbye, and Stiles stepped from his field into the real world.

And found the real world demolished.

Blood was thick in and on the compact tent to the left of the small clearing, the smell of gunpowder burning Stiles's nose. He wanted like an itch to demand to be shown what had happened here, but the only thing he knew was that Derek needed him: he was in trouble that could cost him his life.

Stiles picked up the destroyed cellphone at his feet, hearing in his head the message from his father, "Singer called with a tip-off, more deranged hunters are on their way, headed for you. Get out of there, Hale."

Stiles ran. Around him, the forest shifted and moved, the coppery smell of blood remaining thick in his nose no matter how he tried to get it out, but Derek couldn't be dead. No.

Blood was still congealing on the leaves around him as he ran, faster than even Derek could go, something like a snarl rising in his chest as he ran up a half-fallen tree, leaping off and taking out a hunter with his legs, flipping and throwing the man into the forest, his body coiling and whipping out, a sinuous and reedy move that lashed out, taking a gun from another. It didn't even require thought before he simply shot the remaining two, dismantling the gun and throwing the pieces away as he reached out and caught Derek's slumped body, pushing himself under Derek's heavy frame and keeping him upright as his hand came away with blood.

"Derek! Derek, babe-no." Stiles tore Derek's shirt away, the poison clear and in his heart. Derek was dying.

Stiles pressed his palm to Derek's chest as if that would do anything at all, and-the bullet bumped against his hand, fell into his palm, as if he'd summoned it there.

Ghostly hands pressed against the backs of his, and Stiles looked up to see his mother, looking him dead in the eye and serious as a heartattack, Concentrate, Stiles. Think of why you love him, think of your love for him, and let it fill you up until you can heal him with a touch. I'm here, baby, it's going to be alright.

The scowl the smirk the growls that one golden laugh the safety the warmth-Derek. Stiles felt like his insides were clawing their way out, like he was going to throw up and die and he could only pray that he'd find peace because he'd be with Derek-and he wasn't letting him chase him away! He wouldn't leave Derek again!

Golden light, like a yellow moon, shone through Stiles's palms. Agony spiked through Stiles's body, draining him and making him dizzy, but he kept going, jaw set and determined, even as his mom urged him to stop, that he'd done enough. It wasn't enough until Derek opened his eyes, it would never be enough if Derek didn't come back to him. The last thing Stiles saw before he passed out was Derek's eyes-and then he was choking on his own blood.

Derek, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Scott, Allison, Jackson, and Lydia are in varying degrees of either on him or flung haphazardly when Stiles comes-to, every single atom of his being in pain.

Derek's eyes, unsurprisingly, are the first to open. But Stiles was laying there, staring at the man's chest move and his eyelashes flutter in a dream for ten minutes, so it was probably good on the Alpha's part that he could sense that.

Stiles opens his mouth, intending still to whisper, but his voice comes out for approximately one syllable somewhere in the middle of "How long was I out?" and his throat feels like he gargled a chainsaw rigged with bottle rockets. He kind of thinks he can taste blood, but he hopes not. Derek hold up a finger against his lips, looking from them to his eyes with a heat that Stiles feels everywhere. His heart just kind of...melts on him, flinging itself down like a movie damsel fainting, completely at the mercy of the man that he doesn't doubt would catch him if he did the same.

"Isaac, Jackson, get Deaton and the supplies, please." Derek murmured softly, not even taking his eyes off of Stiles. Stiles couldn't do it, either, so he knows the feeling.

Stiles reaches for Derek's hand, his face a mask of contrition, trying to tell him how sorry he was for running.

Derek shakes his head minutely, moving up and kissing Stiles's throat softly, laying his body against Stiles's for a moment, heavy but not crushing. "You took yourself away from me for almost a month, Stiles. And then you come back, save my life, and sleep for almost a week. You drive me insane, and you make me a different person when you're around. I have issues a mile-" Stiles lifted one finger to Derek's lips, silencing him in return, his eyes fierce and loving.

Stiles takes the teas and medicines and the TLC of his pack, keeping Derek trapped next to him with a steely grip, thanking Allison for her sainthood silently when she brings him a white board to communicate with while his throat heals up.

Stiles is no good at writing left-handed, but he does it anyway, because he couldn't be paid to let go of Derek's hand now.

'You are an idiot, but you're my idiot, and I love you.' He writes first, piercing Derek with his eyes for a long moment before he erases that and starts something else, 'I'll tell you what, sourwolf: You're not allowed to fall in love with me, but I will fall head-over-heels for you and stay that way for the rest of my life.' Stiles looks hard at Derek again, the fight in his eyes with only a tiny glimmer of amusement as he "says" the words that he thought would be wedding vows. Slowly, he starts again, measuring each word, 'You're not allowed to fall in love with me, but, break the rule and the penalty will be that you have to keep me. Permanently.' Derek's eyes are shining with laughter and awe, and Stiles wants to bask, but he finishes it anyway, sticking his tongue out in punctuation, 'Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?'

Derek laughs, he laughs like he's just been saved from the brink of death and he was doing some really stupid flailings to save his life. He laughs like there's nothing else that is going to be that funny ever again. Stiles doesn't care, because he honestly looks forward to the challenge.