A.N. I do not own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters! Enjoy.

Thirty days.

Four weeks.

One month.

It'd been one month since the incident. Sometimes it felt like years had passed since that night, other times it felt like only seconds. Usually, the was the latter. There were rumors and whispers that it was because his dad was too close to something, but to be honest Stiles didn't really care why. His dad was gone, now. That's all that seemed to matter.

But that also meant one month, so far, in federal custody. And, so far, six of his federal bodyguards-six-have died. Two were car accidents, conveniently timed and in the right place, and one was still missing in action. The other three… were killed. Protecting him, they said, but each time it seemed more like they were just putting him in more danger, almost getting him killed every time. So, apparently, they hired outside the bureau.

They assured him- though he wasn't sure who they were anymore-that the new guy was well vetted and came from a military background and would definitely keep him safe. But, when the new guy walked into the safe house, Stiles suddenly wasn't really worried. Sharp, defined muscles and a jawline that could cut glass, the new guy was gorgeous and Stiles was a little less anxious when he was distracted by him.

Every day-and night-there were at least five other feds on site at all times but they rotated and switched so often they just blurred together. But Derek… Derek was constant. Derek made every inch of Stiles' life his business. He learned Stiles' routine, every aspect of his life he'd ever kept secret-from the kind of cereal he ate as a kid to how he folded his boxers.

When yet another attack forced them to move yet again, Stiles didn't really expect anything to change except the faces of feds he already couldn't remember. But, with the attack, came a new level of anxiety from Derek that was honestly kind of unsettling. Derek took to sleeping on his floor by the door. Usually, the agents left him alone to his room and he figured it was probably in their rulebook or something but Derek wasn't bound by a rulebook. The more time he spent with the man, the more he realized that the only thing that governed Derek was his own gut.

It was Derek who woke him from the nightmares with a gentle hand on his arm. It was Derek who brought him coffee in the morning when he'd had a rough night. It was Derek whose breathing and heart rate were always just close enough to sense but never close enough to analyze. It was just… always Derek. Maybe it was a byproduct of being together 24/7 but he was starting to open up to Derek-telling him small stories about his mom or his friends back in Beacon Hills. Derek was also the only one who called him Stiles, the rest used his number.

It was safer that way they said. But Derek didn't give a shit and shrugged when Stiles asked him about it.

"What difference will it make? If they can listen in on us, then they'll probably know your case number anyway." Stiles nodded, kind of impressed with how blunt and honest that was compared to the usual secrecy of the feds. Until Derek came, no one would tell him anything. Now, he made them.

He distinctly remembered one night in particular: where the nightmares were really bad and he couldn't even close his eyes. He remembered Derek getting up with him, sitting with him and just talking with him. Derek had asked him what he was scared of. Usually, the feds-if they even noticed-just told him to go back to sleep. They never asked him why he was afraid.

"I'm afraid of them coming for me... like my dad." But rather than reassure him or tell him not to worry about it, Derek had just nodded. He'd stayed with him, quiet but present, until he fell asleep.

The next morning, Derek had summoned him to the living room. With the blinds all closed and the lights on, Derek began to the slow process of teaching him how to get out of basic holds and how to fight back without hurting himself. Slowly, he learned how to disarm an attacker and how to hide if he ever got separated from Derek. It was weird but Stiles actually felt better afterwards.

Derek yelled at himself internally when he caught himself wanting… just yearning to reach out and pull Stiles to his chest. It was his job to protect the client, but not to feel so damn protective of him. He wanted to shield him from the world that had already hurt him too much but no. That wasn't the job. Technically he shouldn't have even been in Stiles' room-he never crossed the wooden barrier with the client because that was how things got messy-but he had to be now. Now that he knew what it felt like to fall asleep with the reassurance of Stiles' shallow breathing, knowing he was safe.

He knew he shouldn't get attached-after all, it was just another job and it would end soon enough-but he did. Really, he couldn't help it. Stiles had an easy, carefree way of existing that made him forget about everything going wrong. He liked it. Stiles wasn't afraid of him either which was new and kind of endearing. Now, he woke up in an instant whenever he heard that familiar hitch in Stiles' breathing and he was usually up and beside him before the tears started. Sometimes, he wasn't that lucky and by the time he made it to the boy his face was streaked in tears and he was writhing on the bed like some invisible force was fighting him. He hated those times most.

When Stiles did wake up, it never took much. He never hugged him or pulled him to his chest or stroked his hair no matter how badly he wanted to; he just rested a hand on Stiles' shoulder and rubbed softly until he moved away. Derek truly loved waking up to see Stiles' face, especially when he was still asleep. He loved it more than he should have. Stiles was just another client who had been through hell and thought Derek was his savior. He shrugged it off whenever he could as protecting Stiles-emotionally and mentally-but at night when he was alone with his thoughts, he doubted that.

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