This is my first Teen Wolf fic, so bear with me. I don't know if it sucks or if it's okay, so let me know what you think! It will be multi-chaptered.

EP (you know who you are), don't judge me.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: language, slash, violence, abuse, mention of canon death of minor character

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters. I'm just borrowing!

Enjoy!

Stiles leaned back in his chair, tilting the two front legs off the floor. He glanced up at the clock. 2:15. School was almost over, and Stiles was anxious to get home. His dad wasn't working late for once, and Stiles was determined to make dinner before he got home from work.

He tapped his pen on his desk, sucking on his bottom lip and propping himself up with his elbows on the desk in front of him. It was the anniversary of his mom's…of losing his mom. His did used to tell him that he could stay home instead of going to school, but had caught on after a few years that Stiles wasn't going to take him up on the offer. Stiles couldn't bear sitting in the house alone, not that day of all days. He knew Dad would be exhausted when he got home. He was used to Dad grabbing a bottle of whatever alcohol he could get his hands on and disappearing into his bedroom for the night. Stiles really didn't want to be left to sit in his room by himself all night, and he hoped that he could at least coax Dad into having dinner with him.

Stiles started when the bell rang, the shrill noise shaking him out of his thoughts. He gathered up his books and stuffed them into his backpack before standing up and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Hey, man, do you want to hang out tonight?" Scott asked, approaching Stile's desk and watching his best friend with concern. Scott knew the answer before Stiles could say anything; every year, Stiles spent the whole night trying to keep his dad from spending the night alone in his room and drinking. He had been mostly successful the past few years, but Scott worried about him. It wasn't fair that Stiles had to exhaust himself for his father's sake when the Sheriff should be the one going out of his way to help Stiles through a day like this.

Stiles shook his head and hiked his bag up on his shoulder. He smiled reassuringly at Scott, grateful for his efforts and attempts at offering help, even though Scott knew full well that Stiles would shoot him down. He started out of the room, expecting Scott to follow suit, and said over his shoulder, "Naw, that's okay. My dad'll be home."

"Alright," Scott shrugged. He fell into step next to Stiles and walked with him out towards the parking lot. "Can you drop me off at my place? Allison was thinking of dropping by later to study, and I kind of want to shower first."

Stiles raised his eyebrows and grinned a little, bumping Scott's shoulder with his own. "I thought you guys were just friends?"

"We are," Scott replied quickly, elbowing Stiles gently to get him to shut up. He didn't want to think about how much he still felt for Allison, not when Allison had made it perfectly clear they were no more than friends, and that's how she intended for them to stay. "Is it a crime to smell nice for your friends?"

Stiles snorted. "You never bother showering before you come and see me."

Scott rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. He could smell the anxiousness rolling off Stiles, thinly veiled by his weak attempts at humor. He was slightly concerned by it, but wrote it off as Stiles's concern for his father. "Shut up."

Stiles shrugged and pursed his lips into a thin smile. He let out a yelp of surprise when a strong hand on his arm suddenly yanked him back a few feet, halting his progress towards his jeep. He tried to yank his sleeve out of Scott's wingers, but Scott had an iron grip; damn werewolf strength. "Dude, what-?"

"Why is Derek here?" Scott hissed, peering beyond his Jeep to where Derek was leaning against the side of his black Camaro. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and struggled to keep his heartbeat steady. Scott could always tell when he was lying, even without his werewolf senses. Stiles dug his fingernails into his palm and silently cursed Derek for showing up when he was with Scott when he knew Stiles wasn't ready for Scott to know about them yet.

Stiles tugged his arm out of Scott's grip, successfully this time. He rubbed his forearm where Scott's fingers had dug in deeper than Scott realized, hard enough to leave bruises. Stiles tried to brush off Scott's concern, focusing on keeping his breathing and heartbeat steady and keep his best friend from becoming suspicious. "I don't know, probably to talk to one of us about something werewolf related. What is he usually out here for?"

"Usually?" Scott repeated, reluctantly following Stiles down the steps to the parking lot. He glanced up to look at Derek again, his stomach squirming. He still didn't like Derek, even though he'd reluctantly agreed to become part of the pack, more because of Stiles's begging than anything else. After months and months of Stiles pushing for Scott to join Derek's pack, Scott has finally snapped.

"STILES, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Scott yelled, slamming his fist down on the center console of the jeep hard enough to leave a dent in the plastic. Stiles jumped and swerved into the other lane, stunned by Scott's outburst.

He quickly jerked the wheel so they were back on the right side of the road before he hit the truck coming in the other direction head on and let out a long sigh of relief. "Calm down, man."

"How can you expect me to calm down?" Scott snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his seat. He glowered out the windshield, digging his fingers into his arms painfully. "You keep bugging me and nagging me to join Derek's pack, and I keep telling you no. I mean no. Just cut it out. Why are you so obsessed with me joining them anyway?"

Stiles shrugged and chewed on the inside of his cheek, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. "I…I've just been doing some research."

"About what?" Scott asked irritably. "Something Derek wants you to hunt down?"

"No," Stiles replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose and scratching his chin. "I, uh…about Omegas. I, uh…Derek mentioned that one was killed recently. Some hinters caught him in a snare, hung him up, and they, uh…they cut him in half. And I just sometimes think, I mean, not that you can't protect yourself, but…"

"I can protect myself," Scott agreed, his tone softening when he realized what Stiles was getting at. "Don't be stupid."

"You don't get it," Stiles said sharply, his grip on the wheel tightening. He attempted to keep his voice steady, but his throat felt tight when he thought of Derek's description of the killing, when he thought of the way Derek's eyes had flickered to him and flashed with concern for just a second. "He thought he could, too. But it's a fact, man, that werewolves need a pack. They very rarely make it on their own, and I swear to God, Scott if those hunters find you and kill you and it could have been prevented by you dropping ng your holier than thou act about Derek's pack, I will bring you back from the dead and kill you again myself."

Scott rolled his eyes slightly at Stiles's threat, but couldn't ignore the way Stiles's voice got slightly hoarse as he spoke. He bit his bottom lip and ducked his head, letting his hair fall around his face. "I…" he sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask," Stiles replied, keeping his steady gaze on the road, a light sheen on tears in his wide eyes. He blinked a few times, clearing his vision and wiping away the offending liquid quickly, but it was too late; Scott had seen a tear curve down his cheek and drip onto his shirt.

Two weeks late, he'd agreed to enter Derek's pack on a probationary basis; the look of pure relief on Stiles's face when he found out was worth it.

Scott knew that Stiles , for some unknown, unfathomable reason, also genuinely liked Derek and his pack, and he was willing to make some sacrifices for his best friend. God knows Stiles had sacrificed enough for him over the years. "Usually he's creeping around waiting to throw you against something and creatively threaten you."

Stiles cocked his head in agreement. He started towards Derek, calling over his shoulder flippantly, "I agree. Though I have to say, his threats are becoming less and less creative lately. He needs to step it up."

Scott reluctantly followed his best friend towards his Alpha, digging his hands into his pockets and curling them into fists. He could tell Stiles was trying to hide it from him, but he heard the slight jump in his heartbeat when he'd seen Derek. Scott chalked it up to Stiles thinking Derek was going to throw him against a wall or make him come out to the Hale house for some werewolf emergency instead of being able to spend the night with his dad.

"Where are the others?" Derek demanded immediately, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes reflexively flickered over Stiles quickly before returning to the door of the school once he was content that Stiles was healthy and unharmed, if not a little tired.

Stiles shrugged and followed Derek's gaze to the front door. "I don't know. Leaving class, going home? Which is what we were doing, by the way, in case you didn't notice."

Derek looked back down at Stiles, studying him disarmingly closely for a moment before looking away again. Stiles rolled his eyes slightly; he did not feel like putting up with Derek's silent, stoic persona. Derek ignored Stiles, instead turning to meet Scott's gaze and say tersely, "We need to have a pack meeting, now. My house. Let everyone know."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles held up his hands in a 'hold on' gesture. Derek turned his attention back to Stiles, his emotionless gaze meeting Stiles's wide, dark brown eyes. He felt his heart ache a little and the hard edge in his expression softened before he could stop it. "I can't just go and meet you all out in the woods. I have plans."

"Well move them," Derek said dismissively, regaining his cold gaze and keeping his tone light and unconcerned.

Stiles blinked, surprised at Derek's reaction. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared up at Derek challengingly. "Why would I do that? Just because you tell me to?"

Derek opened his mouth to speak, realizing his mistake, but was unsure of how to retract the thoughtless remark. He reached fruitlessly for the words to explain himself. "I…That's not what I meant."

Scott's brow furrowed as he watched Derek stumble over his words, searching for the right ones. It was weird. If anyone else said something like that to him, he would growl threateningly and chew them out for talking back, maybe even throw in some broken bones for good measure. Stiles had always seemed to be able to get away with a little more than the rest of them. Maybe because he was human and being part of the pack was a choice; he could leave whenever he wanted to, and then they would have no one to research for them, no one to referee their arguments, and no one to go to when they needed someone for advice or comfort. He was necessary; he kept the pack together.

"I…" Derek rubbed a hand over his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed and started again, able to form a coherent sentence this time. "It will just be a half an hour. I need the whole pack there. It's important."

Scott expected Stiles to sigh and come up with some ridiculous excuse for why he couldn't make it, but instead Stiles met Derek's gaze steadily and said firmly, "I'm making dinner for my dad tonight. That's important."

Derek regarded Stiles for a few moments, his expression blank and unreadable. Scott shifted uncomfortably, sensing the Alpha's intensity in evaluating Stiles's excuse. Finally, Derek nodded, conceding, and leaned back against his car. "Fine. I expect the rest of you. Got it, Scott?"

"Yeah," Scott agreed, biting back his irritation at having orders barked at him. He would have snapped back, but he knew he should never even try to get away with talking to Derek the way Stiles did. "I'll let them know."

Derek nodded shortly before looking back over at Stiles, who was watching him uncharacteristically quietly. "Stay inside tonight."

"Damn," Stiles rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "And I was planning on taking a midnight stroll through the woods behind my house in the moonlight."

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles, and if Scott didn't know any better, he'd say Derek looked concerned. Derek's eyes flickered to Scott for a moment, and he said lowly, "Scott, I'll see you and the others in fifteen minutes."

Scott nodded and started back towards Stiles's Jeep, figuring Stiles would follow. When he didn't hear footsteps behind him, he turned around to see what his friend was doing. Stiles remained where he stood in front of Derek, looking up at him with a strangely unreadable expression. "Stiles?"

"I'll be there in a minute," Stiles called, tearing his eyes from Derek to look over at Scott for a second. "Go ahead, I'll meet you at the Jeep." He dug in his pocket and tossed his keys in Scott's general direction. Scott reached out to catch them reflexively, snatching them out of the air without taking his eyes of Stiles.

"Okay," Scott agreed, but it was obvious Stiles wasn't paying attention to him anymore. He had turned back to Derek, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows drawn together. Scott turned on his heel and walked slowly the rest of the way back to the Jeep, straining his sensitive ears to hear Stiles's voice.

"…problem, Derek?" Stiles was saying quietly, sounding mildly irritated. "You know what today is, I told you to avoid any crazy werewolf news today…"

"I can't help this," Derek replied lowly. Scott heard the rustle of fabric and squeak of leather and assumed Derek was crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "I know this isn't the ideal time, but this is urgent. There's another pack sniffing around here."

"Another pack?" Stiles repeated, sounding surprised. He hesitated a moment before asking, "Derek, like, another pack who wants to kill you, or another pack who wants to kumbaya around the campfire with us and braid each other's hair?"

"I don't know yet," Derek replied softly. Scott heard feet shuffling on the tar, kicking at the small pieces of gravel on the blacktop. "It's not me I'm worried about."

Stiles drew in a sharp breath and laughed softly. "What, you're worried about me? C'mon, what would they want with me? You're the Alpha. Anyway, you know my dad has, like, an arsenal in our basement."

"I've put you in a considerably more dangerous position," Derek replied. Scott paused outside the Jeep's passenger door, confused by Derek's words. What was that supposed to mean?

"You think I went into this blind?" Stiles asked softly. "Hello, Derek, my best friend's a werewolf, too. I knew what I was getting into. I weighed the pros and cons. I even made a list."

"Really?" Scott could have sworn it sounded like Derek was smiling, if it weren't for the fact that Derek Hale didn't smile, ever. He especially didn't smile when he was talking to Stiles. "Sounds like you." There was short lull in conversation before Derek added, "Just promise me you'll stay at home, inside, with your dad. Don't let him leave you alone, and don't leave, not even in your deathtrap of a car."

"She's not a deathtrap," Stiles argued, letting his voice wander into the territory of a whine. "You're just jealous my baby has more character than yours does."

"Stiles," Derek said stiffly, obviously not in the mood for the age-old argument of Stiles's Jeep. "Promise me."

"Okay, okay, I promise," Stiles replied, clicking his tongue distastefully. "Don't be so surly. It's not an endearing quality."

"Mmm-hmm," Derek hummed quietly, doubt evident in his tone. "Go home."

"I'll…I'll see you soon," Stiles said uncertainly. Scott heard him take a few steps away from Derek, towards where he was hunched next to the passenger's door of the Jeep.

"I'll call," when Derek spoke, his voice was so soft that Scott could barely hear him, even with his werewolf hearing. Derek paused for a moment, but added quietly. "Be careful."

"Promise," Stiles said, a grin in his voice despite the sincerity in his tone.

Scott heard Stiles start towards the Jeep again and jammed the key in the lock frantically. He jumped up into the passenger's seat and tossed the keys onto the driver's seat. He leaned back in the seat and stared up at the worn ceiling, tapping his fingers in his knees and trying to look disinterested and bored. Stiles yanked open the driver's side door and slid onto the seat, scooping up his keys before he sat on them.

Scott waited until Stiles had turned the Jeep on and pulled out of the parking lot to speak. He glanced over at Stiles for a moment before returning his gaze to the window, watching the trees and houses fly by as they headed towards Scott's house on the outskirts of town. He cleared his throat and said, as casually as he could possibly manage, "So, what did Derek want?"

"Huh?" Stiles glanced over at him quickly, pulled out of his thoughts by Scott's question. He'd been thinking about what Derek had said; the more he thought about it, the more it freaked him out. Derek hadn't been panicked, but he'd definitely been concerned. Derek didn't get concerned about just anything. As much as he'd tried to hide it, Derek had been a little shaken up, and Stiles was slightly unsettled.

"I said, what did Derek want?" Scott repeated, struggling to keep suspicion from creeping into his tone. "He seemed…intense."

Stiles shot him a weird look. "How would you normally describe Derek?"

Scott sighed frustratedly, blowing his bangs off his forehead. "I mean, more intense than usual."

"He'll talk about it when you all meet up," Stiles shrugged, reminding Scott he needed to text the others. "He thinks there's another pack sniffing around his territory. That tends to get him a little tetchy, you know?"

"A…a dangerous pack?" Scott asked hesitantly. He didn't want Stiles to suspect he'd eavesdropped, but his curiosity was piqued. Derek had seemed honestly concerned, not only for the other werewolves, but for Stiles. He hadn't been talking to Stiles like he normally did; he wasn't abrupt or harsh or impatient. Scott had never before heard Derek's voice so gentle when he talked to any of them, not even Isaac.

Stiles shrugged, keeping his dark eyes on the road. Scott could see the gears turning in his head. He sighed softly and settled back in his seat, chewing on his bottom lip. Stiles thought too much sometimes, and it never ended well; he just kept turning things over and over in his mind, thinking about all the possible scenarios, about all the things that could go wrong. He bottled it all up until it got to be too much for him. Scott tightened his jaw when he thought of the last time he'd seen Stiles suffer through a panic attack. When Stiles spoke, his voice was light and careful. "I don't know. Derek doesn't know. I think that's what you guys will be checking out tonight."

Stiles put down a plate of grilled chicken and steamed vegetables in front of his dad, glancing past the kitchen table to the window. It was getting dark earlier and earlier as winter loomed over the small town. Soon it would start snowing, and Derek would be living in his decrepit house in the freezing temperatures. Werewolf or not, Stiles was sure that wasn't comfortable at all. He bit his lip, resolving to resurrect the argument about Derek getting an apartment next time they saw each other.

"What are you thinking about?"

Dad's voice startled him slightly. He tore his eyes from the dark pines dancing in the wind behind their house and returned his attention to the pots and pans on the counter. He set about making up his own plate, speaking quickly, "Just about stuff. School. Friends. Homework. Friends doing homework at school, which I just don't get, because, I mean, it's called HOMEwork for a reason, right? Why do it at school? What do they do when they get home, if they don't have homework to occupy themselves with? They must have to spend time—"

"Stiles," Dad cut him off, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and pressing a hand to his temple. He looked up at Stiles across the table, cringing slightly when a spike of pain went through his skull. Stiles froze mid-sentence and stared at him, jaw lax and showing off a mouthful of chewed food. "Talk a little more quietly, please? I just…I have a headache."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles agreed readily, swallowing and leaning back in his chair. He nodded furiously and his eyes flickered around the kitchen. "I can do that. That I can handle. Talk a little more quietly. People tell me that all the time, that I have to talk less, or use an indoor voice, and I get it. Having someone talk all the time can be obnoxious, but sometimes I don't notice when I…" Stiles noticed Dad hunching his shoulders slightly and reaching for his temples again. "When I'm doing it again. Sorry."

"No, Stiles, don't apologize," Dad sighed, dropping his hands to the table and looking down at the plate in front of him. He tried to look Stiles in the eye, but couldn't bring himself to lift his gaze from the table. Stiles looked just like his mother; he'd gotten her eyes. Sometimes it physically hurt Stilinski to look at his son because he reminded him so much of his mother. "I'm just tired. It's my fault."

Stiles shook his head and dug his fingernails into his thighs through the denim of his jeans. He ducked his head and sucked on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the guilt clawing at his stomach. It definitely wasn't his dad's fault. None of this was his dad's fault. All of this was his own fault. He hadn't been able to save his mother, and now she was dead and his dad was raising a loud, hyperactive teenager alone. He cleared his throat, swallowing the words of self-depreciation that almost slipped through his lips, and instead said firmly, "Dad, quit it. It's not your fault. Just eat your vegetables."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dad's lips and he picked up his fork again. He speared a stalk of broccoli and looked up at Stiles, suddenly hit by a feeling of overwhelming gratefulness for a son that was so responsible. He knew Stiles was under a lot of stress; between trying to deal with Scott having a new girlfriend, worrying about the Sheriff's insane work hours at his dangerous job, and getting all of his classwork done, he was running himself into the ground. Stilinski was tempted to tell the kid to take a few days off school to get some sleep and spend some time just thinking about himself instead of everyone else, but he knew Stiles would refuse; the routine of going to school gave him some kind of comfort. "So, how is Scott doing lately? He got a girlfriend, right?"

Stiles's expression lit up a little bit and he straightened up in his chair. He leaned forward over his plate and stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork before beginning to speak and gesturing wildly, waving the fork around in the air. "Apparently they're just friends now, which, you know, makes sense on her part, but Scott, on the other hand, thinks that he still—"

Stilinski watched his son fling his hands up in the air, talking a mile a minute and waving the fork around carelessly, his chocolate eyes bright and his posture more relaxed than it had been all week, and for the first time that day, he genuinely smiled.

Stiles rolled over in bed, squeezing his eyes shut against the moonlight filtering in through the shades over the window next to his bed. He tugged his blankets around himself more tightly to seal out the chilly air in the house. His dad steadfastly refused to turn the heat on until at least after Thanksgiving, so Stiles relied on the pile of blankets stored in his closet to keep him warm.

They weren't doing their job well at all.

He huddled under the blankets and curled up in an effort to conserve some heat. He could hear his dad moving around in the kitchen, the sound of the dishwasher running and bottles clinking together, and he was tempted to go back down stairs and sit down next his dad on the couch, to just curl up next to him like he used to when he was little.

He swallowed hard and pressed his nose into the pillow, and holy God, it was fucking zero degrees, why wasn't the heat on?

Stiles didn't move when he heard the window across the room being pushed open. He only turned over when he felt a hand come to rest on his side. He flipped over onto his back and looked up at Derek, holding the blanket close to his chest. Derek gazed down at him for a few moments, taking a moment to scent the emotions surrounding Stiles like one of the thick blankets wrapped around his lean frame. He sensed relief, anxiety, and an undercurrent of deep sadness.

Derek couldn't blame him. Most years on the anniversary of the night his family was killed, he didn't even bother getting out of bed. The fact that Stiles could go to school, put up a brave face for his friends, and take care of his dad was a testament to how strong Stiles was. Derek smiled a little bit at the thought; he never would have thought he would admit that a human was stronger than him.

"What are you staring at?" Stiles asked softly, throwing one arm across his forehead and peering up at Derek through the darkness.

The corner of Derek's lips quirked up slightly, and his teeth were so white Stiles could have sworn they practically glowed in the dark. "You."

"Yeah, I got that," Stiles raised his eyebrows and pushed himself up on his elbows. "Why?"

Derek shrugged slightly and sat down on the edge of the bed. He moved his hand to curl loosely around Stiles's hip. His thumb rubbed small, soothing circles through the blankets. "I…how are you doing?"

Stiles flopped back on the bed again and covered his eyes with his forearm, humming softly. "Okay."

"Okay?" Derek swung his legs up onto the bed and sprawled out next to Stiles, sliding his arm around the younger man's shoulders and tugging him closer. Stiles melted against Derek and nuzzled his nose into Derek's shoulder, pressing his face into Derek's shoulder. His fingers curled into the leather lapels of Derek's jacket. Derek could hear the sound of a bottle being opened downstairs and liquid being poured into a glass. He tightened his grip on Stiles, pressing his mouth into Stiles's hair. "I…if there's something I can do…"

Stiles laughed softly, his warm breath skittering across Derek's collarbone. His fingers curled more tightly into Derek's jacket. "You suck at trying to be comforting."

"I'm trying," Derek pointed out gruffly, slightly put out. He knew he wasn't exactly…easy to talk to. That's why he and Stiles worked so well; Stiles talked enough for both of them, and didn't mind that Derek wasn't as verbal. "I…I'm not good at…at…"

"I know," Stiles replied quietly. "You try, though. That's more than most people can say."

Stiles felt Derek's body tense. When he spoke his voice was even and controlled. "Is Scott ignoring you again?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head, shifting closer to the warm curve of Derek's body. He felt Derek's strong arms tighten around him and sighed softly, allowing the tension to ease from his shoulders; Derek made him feel safe, safer than he'd felt since he'd stumbled into this werewolf thing. "No, he's over that. He figured out he can't live without me. I didn't mean anything by that."

Derek reluctantly accepted Stiles's excuse, glancing down at him for a few moments to try to gauge his expression. Stiles brushed it off easily, as if it didn't matter, but Derek remembered how distant and helpless Stiles had looked when Scott had sort of ditched him when he first started dating Allison. "I've figured out you rarely say anything you don't mean."

Stiles scoffed bitterly, ducking his head and pressing his nose against Derek's collarbone. "Tell that to my dad."

Derek cocked an eyebrow in reluctant agreement. He turned on his side so he was facing Stiles, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around the younger man's waist. He ducked his head and tucked his nose against Stiles's neck, breathing in deeply. Stiles allowed him to, all too used to Derek's werewolf need to scent people; he wasn't quite used to it yet, but he couldn't object to any excuse for Derek to be close to him. "Don't blame yourself."

Stiles chewed on the inside of his lip and regarded Derek's serious expression closely for a few moments before breaking out into an honest smile. "You…you are such a softie."

Derek blinked at him, surprised. "What?"

"You act all tough," Stiles elaborated, propping himself up on his elbow so he could lie on his side and look at Derek. "But you really do…you care."

"If you're just realizing this now, we need to reevaluate our relationship," Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles smiled a little bit and reached out to run his thumb over the curve of Derek's eyebrow. He'd always been jealous that Derek could raise one eyebrow, and had made it his personal goal to learn how to do it himself. He hadn't been successful so far, but a few more hours of practicing in the mirror and he was positive he could make it happen.

Stiles tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Derek's. Derek hesitated, but kissed him back, sliding a hand around Stiles's neck. Derek drew back after a few moments, the corners of his lips curling upwards. "Your dad is downstairs."

"I'm just kissing you," Stiles whined softly, tugging at the front of Derek's shirt impatiently. "Both my hands are even above the bathing suit line."

Derek looked torn between being amused and exasperated. "Stiles, if I even thought about touching you before you were eighteen…"

"Yeah, my dad would probably shoot you," Stiles agreed, flopping onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. The shadows of the trees outside danced across the ceiling bathed in moonlight. "Why do you have to be so moral? I didn't decide to date a tough guy because I wanted respect, or him to protect my honor, I date a tough guy to get—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Derek's eyes flickered over to the door. He listened for the Sheriff's footsteps on the stairs, and was relieved when the sink turned on in the kitchen. "We've talked about this."

"Try, try again," Stiles let out a puff of breath and folded his hands over his stomach. He was wearing a t-shirt and a thick, wool sweater, but Derek could still feel him shivering slightly. He didn't miss the flash of contentment in Stiles's eyes when Derek had cut him off. As much as Stiles whined about Derek's morals, it was painfully obvious how much he did want someone who respected him, who protected him, and who was planning on sticking around. Derek understood the need he had for security. He'd never been interested in short term, convenient relationships after Kate had screwed him over.

"I should leave before your dad hears us," Derek said after a few moments, pushing himself up. He reached down and cupped Stiles's face with his calloused palm, gently running a finger over his cheek. "Call me if you need anything."

"I'll be fine," Stiles gave Derek a brittle, reassuring smile. He didn't want Derek to go (Derek was warm, Derek was comfortable, Derek was safe), but he cringed at the thought of his father walking in and finding him curled up in bed with Derek Hale. He doubted Dad would be understanding about the situation. "Hey, you checked out the other pack?"

Derek had pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, but froze when Stiles mentioned the other pack. Stiles could see the tension seep into his muscles and bind the muscles in his shoulders into tight knots. His voice was measured when he spoke. "I sent the others to sniff around. There's nothing overtly bad, but…I'm not sure yet. I arranged a meeting with their Alpha. Tomorrow."

"When?" Stiles asked.

"Seven o' clock," Derek replied slowly. "My place."

"I'll meet you there, then," Stiles yawned, stretching his arms out above his head.

Derek bit his bottom lip and nodded hesitantly. He wasn't a hundred percent sure about how this pack would react to a human showing up, but Stiles was his pack (his mate, his mind supplied), and there was no way he had a chance of convincing him to stay home if Stiles set his mind to go. That would lead to a fight, which would lead to the silent treatment, which would ultimately end in Derek apologizing, because damn it if he didn't miss Stiles's babbling just a little bit. "Alright."

Derek turned towards the window and took a few steps towards it before he was jerked back towards the bed by a tight grip on the hem of his jacket. He stumbled back a few steps, caught off guard, and turned back to Stiles, staring down at him incredulously. Stiles grabbed the front of Derek's jacket and pulled him down so he could seal their lips together once more. He felt Derek's warm hand cup the back of his neck as he gently reciprocated the kiss. Stiles had picked up pretty quickly that Derek was surprisingly gentle for someone who made a hobby of throwing people into walls. Stiles felt Derek smile a little against his mouth and his stomach fluttered pleasantly. "Derek, I…"

Derek nodded shortly, and slid his hand from Stiles's cheek to cup the back of his neck, resting his thumb on Stiles's pulse point. "I know. Me, too."

Stiles smiled up at him, his face breaking into a bright, unashamed grin. Derek found himself smiling back stupidly for a few moments before he realized what he was doing. He always kind of forgot that he was supposed to be stoic and tough when he was around Stiles; he could coax Derek out of his shell before Derek even realized what was going on. Stiles's skin was cold under his fingers, and Derek felt him shiver. Derek slipped off his jacket and spread it out over Stiles, tucking it around him in hopes that it would offer some extra warmth.

Stiles tried to push the jacket back into Derek's hands, protesting softly, "Don't, you'll freeze. Your house is half burned down, man…"

"I'm a werewolf," Derek resituated the jacket around Stiles's shoulders, smoothing the fabric down his sides and resting his hands on Stiles's hips. "I don't need it. Now, go to sleep."

"'Kay, babe," Stiles murmured, tugging the jacket more tightly around him and turning onto his side. "Night."

"Night," Derek replied softly, rubbing Stiles's back soothingly. After a few minutes, Stiles's eyes drifted closed and his breathing evened out. Derek carefully slid off the edge of the bed, moving slowly so he didn't wake Stiles up. Stiles shifted and whined slightly at the loss of heat and contact before settling on his stomach again. Derek pulled up the blankets around his shoulders and smoothed them out over Stiles's back. He pressed his lips to the top of Stiles's head before straightening up an heading for he window again.

He shivered when the cold night air hit the exposed skin of his arms. It was getting cold outside, and Derek never looked forward to the months when snow drifted in through the crumbling ceiling and the house was filled with icy drafts.

He shut the window behind him and cast one more look over his shoulder at his mate sleeping curled up in bed with a small smile tugging at his lips.

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