A/N: I've been wanting to write a Dark Angel style au fic for a while now, but kept putting it off, that was until my friend Agnes said she really wanted to read it. We had some conversations, and this was the outcome. Set after the season two finally, at which point it veers away from the canon, up to that point everything was the same. Also, this is set in a kind of alternate Dark Angel timeline, where the experiments began a lot earlier and the pulse never happened. Enjoy.

Chapter 1

Stiles pressed his back against the side of the bathtub and closed his eyes. The room had begun to spin the second he's stepped into the shower. He'd tried to shake it off at first, telling himself he was just tired after days of stress. In hindsight that really should have warned him, as it was, he'd stepped out of the shower and bam, his knees had gone beneath him, and he'd crumpled into the bathroom tiles like a damn towel.

He'd managed to prop himself up a few minutes ago, only for the tremors to start. His whole-body trembling and jerking. There dampness that was coating his body wasn't the water from the shower but rather small beads of sweat.

It was his own fault, he knew that. He'd been so distracted with Werewolves, Kanimas and Hunters, that he'd forgotten to take his pills. Thinking back now, it had been three days, and he scolded himself. How the hell could he let himself forget? His dad was going to rip him a new one.

For as long as he could remember there had been two rules, take your pills and never let others know what you are. There second rule was the only thing that had stopped him from beating both Matt and Gerard Argent to a bloodies pulp.

Stiles inhaled deeply through his nose and eyed the door, weighing up whether he could get to his room before he passed out completely. It didn't seem likely however, so he'd have to call for help, which would inevitably lead to a lecture and that look in his father's gaze when he was reminded of what Stiles was.

Closing his eyes, Stiles let his head rest back against the tub, building up the energy to drag his ass across the bathroom to the pile of clothes in the corner. It took him half a minute, not even the sweat covering his body was enough to stop his skin from catching on the tiles, occasionally causing a squeaking noise that under any other circumstance would have had Stiles in fits of laughter.

He riffled though the fabric until he found his cell phone, yanking it free with such force that he heard the seam rip. His vision was beginning to blur, and his hands were trembling so badly that it was a miracle he was able to maintain a hold on the cell phone. With a shake of his head and a deep breath Stiles forced his fingers to move over the keys.

Code 5 emergency home

Then he hit send. The second that was done Stiles allowed himself to collapse back onto the floor, his head landing on the carpet outside the bathroom door.

_(*-*)_/

Getting a message from Stiles was unusual enough, getting one with the words emergency was practically unheard of, especially over the past couple of months. Which was exactly why Derek was currently racing across town to the Stilinski house. If Stiles was messaging him, then it had to be serious.

Once upon a time, back when he'd first met Stiles, he'd have probably dismissed such a message as some kind of prank, or a way to lure him somewhere. However, if there was one thing he'd learnt about the teenager in the past year, it was that Stiles took danger very seriously. Especially if that danger would put lives at risk, even if that life was Derek's. So, sending out an emergency text, that's not something Stiles would do lightly.

He parked the car up the street and continued the rest of the way to the house on foot. When he reached the front yard he paused, closing his eyes and stretching his senses to the limit, listening for any sign that this was a trap. All he heard was a single weak heartbeat and frowned, a sudden rush of fear engulfing him.

Hurrying around the house, he yanked open the backdoor and stepped inside. Even before he'd set foot over the threshold he was bombarded by an overpowering scent he couldn't quite pin down. It was both familiar and strange all at the same time. It was almost suffocating, and he paused, closing his eyes and listening. Had he missed something? Was there someone, or something in the house? But no, he could still only hear a single heartbeat. That didn't stop Derek from extending his claws as he made his way through the house and up the stairs.

Turning the corner, he froze. At the end of the hall he could see Stiles, unconscious, his head poking out of the bathroom. Derek rushed down to him, leaping into the bathroom prepared to fight off…something, only to find the room empty. Checking behind the door, reassured there was no threat, Derek dropped down onto his knees next to Stiles and let his gaze flicker over his naked body. There was no sign of a physical injuries and Derek felt himself relax only minutely before turning to look at the young man's face.

He was covered in sweat, face flushed red and he was shaking. Derek frowned, he looked as if he was having an epileptic fit, but Stiles wasn't epileptic, was he? Leaning in close, Derek inhaled deeply, trying to pin down what was wrong with him. He didn't smell like epilepsy. Erica had epilepsy before he'd given her the bite, he knew what it smelt like and this, whatever this was, wasn't the same. It was… unrecognizable. Indescribable. Weird. Kind of like Stiles himself, Derek thought.

Pressing his hand to Stiles chest, Derek gave it a shake, "Stiles? Stiles?" there was no response other than the slight uptick of the boy's heartbeat against his palm. Derek stared down at him, uncertain what to do. Phone an ambulance, his mind told him, but something held him back. If Stiles wanted medical help wouldn't he have called 911 himself rather than texting Derek for help? And where was Scott, why hadn't Stiles text his best friend. The whole situation was confusing, and if there was one thing Derek hated, it was being confused.

"Stiles?" Derek tried again, grabbing him firmly by both shoulders and giving him a violent shake. "Wake up? What happened?" he demanded loudly. Stiles flesh was clammy, and his sweat was creating a barrier between his skin and Derek's palm, but there was still no response, and Derek sigh. "If you don't wake up in the next five seconds, Stiles, I'm calling an ambulance, and I'm pretty sure you don't want that." he growled through gritted teeth. "STILES!"

Stiles eyes snapped open, pupils blown black and the whites streaked with red. He held Derek's gaze for a few silent seconds. Derek holding his breath and waiting. Then Stiles drew in a deep shaky breath and whispered, "Pills. Drawer."

Derek turned his head, looking at the bathroom cabinet and pushing himself up to crawl over to it, but before he could move Stiles fingers bit into his forearm, stopping him.

"Nightstand." he clarified shakily, his body convulsing violently. It was as if unconscious his mind had forgotten it was meant to be freaking out on him, but now he was awake again, it was doubling its efforts.

Derek gave Stiles a brief nod before clambering to his feet and running down the corridor to Stiles bedroom. He ripped the drawer free of the nightstand and its contents scattered across the floor next to Stiles bed. In the center of the mess was a little brown plastic container. Scooping it up, Derek ran back to the bathroom, hurriedly filling a glass and returning to Stiles side. "Here you go." he said, offering the container.

Stiles eyes rolled back into his head and his body began to jerk off the floor, causing Derek to panic. He set the glass beside him and ripped the top of the cylinder, tilting it against his palm. "How many? Stiles! HOW MANY?" he yelled,

"T-two." Stiles panted weakly.

With two pills in hand, Derek slipped an arm beneath Stiles shoulders and helped him sit up. With his free hand, Derek forced the small white pills past Stiles pale lips, one at a time, then reached for the glass, "Drink." he ordered.

When he heard Stiles swallowing, he lowered the glass, setting it aside on the tiles, then slipped his other arm under Stiles legs, lifting him. He carried him back to his room, covered him up and pulled up the desk chair.

_(*-*)_/

Stiles head felt like an army had marched through it, his skull tender from the inside out, but at least the fit had stop. It wouldn't take long for his body to return to normal, for now at least. The worst part was knowing that when he opened his eyes, he was going to be face with his father. With that look. When he opened his eyes and returned to the land of the living, he and his dad were going to spend days in awkward tension.

He didn't blame his dad, as much as it hurt. It was hard being reminded that the world wasn't normal. It was why he hadn't come clean about the existence of werewolves. His dad didn't need any more insanity in his life.

There was also the fact that every time Stiles had a seizure his father was once again forced to face up to the fact that while Stiles may call him dad, and he may call Stiles son, they weren't blood. So, Stiles could be excused for wanting to postpone that painful moment, if only for a few more minutes.

"I know you're awake."

Stiles snapped his eyes open at the sound of a familiar but unexpected voice, shooting up in the bed. "Derek? What the…?"

"You text me?"

Stiles frowned, "No."

Derek nodded.

Stiles shook his head even as his mind slotted the pieces together. "Shit."

"What are you?" Derek demanded, voice low and dangerously calm.

Stiles gave him a lopsided smile, "What?" he kept his heartbeat steady.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, head tilting slightly as he tried to pick up the deception. "You're not right."

"Gee, thanks." Stiles huffed, flinging back his covers only to yank them back when he found himself naked. Derek didn't so much as flinch at the sudden exposure of his naked form, but then why would he. Stiles wasn't exactly a playgirl centerfold.

"I thought you were having an epileptic fit, but it doesn't smell like epilepsy. It's…weird. You're weird."

Stiles scoffed, "I've been told that for years."

Derek gritted his teeth and growled, unimpressed, "Just tell me what you are? You're not a wolf."

Not caring about his nakedness, Stiles threw off the covers and climbed off the bed, marching over to his dresser and retrieving some underwear. "I'm 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone." he deadpanned.

"So, what was that then?" Derek snapped, his tone making it clear he was getting tired of Stiles' evading the subject.

Stiles turned, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing Derek with a hard look. "If you must know, Mr. Nosy-Wolf, I suffer from a neurological condition that on occasion results in fits and I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself." it wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the whole truth.

Derek stared, uncertain.

Stiles sighed, "What you can smell," he added warily, "is the medication. It doesn't just alter my brain chemistry but also my biology. It doesn't make me anything but a medically fucked up human." he couldn't help the bitterness that tainted his voice at the last part, because that was probably the most honest he'd been with anyone since his mom had died. "Now, I'm grateful for your help, but I have stuff to do."

Derek didn't move or even blink for a half a minute, his eyes searching Stiles. Then suddenly, he was giving him a sharp nod and heading for the door. "You might want to fix the lock on the backdoor before your dad gets home." was all he said before vanishing out of the room.

Stiles stared after him, surprised that Derek hadn't demanded more answers. Then he exhaled a relieved breath. "Wait, what did you do to the back door?" he yelled, rushing out of the room, only to hear the slam of the front door.

_(*-*)_/

When school finished for the summer, Stiles found himself at a loss. Scott had decided to take on extra shifts at the clinic, as well as a part time job at the local grocery store. Stiles knew what was behind his best friends heightened work ethic. Things were still off with Allison, and rather than be haunted by the fantasy of what he and his ex-girlfriend could be doing on all the extra hot summer days, Scott would rather bury himself away in cardboard boxes and spayed cats.

Honestly though, Stiles didn't blame him one bit, it just sucked that he had no one to waste away the summer with. Which was how he found himself three weeks into the summer vacation wandering through the woods up to the old Hale place.

Considering the makeup of his DNA, it never failed to surprise him how much of a klutz he was. He could, if he so chose, run rings around the entire cross-country team. He could hit a bull's-eye a quarter of a mile away and could have laid out the entire Argent army without breaking a sweat, if not for the promise to his mother.

And yet for some reason, Stiles always managed to trip over his own feet at the most embarrassing moments. It had started out as a joke, when he was a kid. A disguise. If he was a complete doofus no one would ever suspect what he really was. The only thing was, he'd been doing it for so long now, that he'd kinda turned into a klutz. We are the masks we wear.

So, when he strolled out of the Preserve to the sight of Derek Hale, shirtless, ripping up the front porch, sweat rolling down his back. Yes, that was the perfect moment to lose his footing and land hard, face first into the dry grass.

There was a tired grunt above him and Stiles rolled onto his back to find Derek bathed in sunlight and practically glowing like Edward friggin' Cullen.

Stiles fixed on a bright smile, "Hey sour-wolf, working hard I see."

"What are you doing here?" Derek grunted.

"Just thought it would be a nice place to catch some rays." he grinned, setting his folded hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

"This is private property." Derek reminded him.

"It belongs to the state."

"Belonged." Derek clarified with a grunt, "The paper work cleared last week. This is my land; thus, you are trespassing?"

Stiles eyes snapped open and he scrambled to his feet, tripping once more and surprised when Derek grabbed his arm to steady him. "You got the house back? Awesome. Congrats?"

Derek sighed, turning his back on Stiles and marching back to the porch.

Stiles buried his hands into the pockets of his jeans and awkwardly followed, "And your fixing it up." he observed, looking at the still ash covered three story mansion.

"I need a pack house." he stated matter-of-factly.

Stiles huffed, "Yeah, can't see crazy Uncle Peter living out of a railway carriage."

Derek turned his head sharply, "Peter isn't part of my pack."

"Uh?"

"He refuses to accept me as his Alpha."

"Oh." Stiles gapped, "So it's gonna be just you and Isaac living here then?"

Derek pressed his lips together for a long minute, before turning to viciously yank a board from the steps, and Stiles flinched.

"Have you heard from them?" Stiles asked cautiously, dropping his gaze to his sneakers and dragging his toe at the dirt.

Derek froze, his shoulders heaving. "No. - Has your…"

"No. General consensus is they ran away together. All very Romeo and Juliet."

"They'll be back." Derek stated after a long silence, but he didn't sound all that convinced.

"Yeah." Stiles agree, equally unconvinced. "So, want some help?"

Derek turned his head, fixing Stiles with a disbelieving look. His eyes travelling over his body, then he scoffed, shaking his head and going back to work.

"Hey, I'll have you know, I'm very good at DIY, and I'm not as skinny as I look."

"I know." Derek grunted over his shoulder, and Stiles flushed at the reminder that Derek had seen him naked.

"Fine," Stiles snipped back, insulted. Then he turned around and marched back to his jeep.

_(*-*)_/

When Stiles showed up the next day wearing a pair of ripped up stained jeans and a white t-shirt, Derek hadn't been all that surprised. Scott was working all summer, according to Isaac, which obviously meant Stiles was left to entertain himself, and apparently that meant turning up at the house to bug him.

He'd almost told the little shit to get lost. Go find someone else to pester, but he'd taken one look at Stiles hopeful brown eyes and found himself caving. "Fine, but don't complain about splinters." he'd told him firmly and then handed him a claw hammer.

Having Stiles around would also give Derek a chance to question him about this so called neurological disorder. Something didn't smell right, and he didn't just mean Stiles scent. There was something else going on, Derek's instincts told him so.

Derek's suspicions of Stiles only increased with the amount of time he was spending with him. He was a lot stronger than Derek would have originally believed, a lot. Supernaturally so, quite frankly.

It should have taken Derek at least two weeks to rip up all the rotted boards and put down their replacements, but with Stiles help it took him six days, and even more surprisingly Stiles didn't complain once. He just kept his head down and focused on the work, the same way he'd seen him focusing on solving a problem.

Taking a step back from the new porch, Derek dragged his shirt down his face.

"Looks great." Stiles announced, stepping up beside him, and handing him a bottle of water.

"Yeah." Derek agreed, twisting the cap and chugging. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Stiles carried the last remaining planks over to the growing wood pile and dropped them with a loud clatter.

"Thank you." Derek muttered when Stiles made his way back over, "On my own this could have taken weeks."

Stiles grinned, shrugging. "I had nothing better to do."

Derek huffed a dry laugh, "Nice to know you're here solely because you had no one else to hang out with."

Stiles stared at him for a long moment, "I'm not saying I haven't had fun," he stammered, "as fun as hard manual work can be, anyway."

"It's fine, Stiles." Derek sighed, heading over to the steps and examining their hard work, "We can start on the inside of the house Monday, if you're not busy."

"Monday. 9am?"

"Sounds good. Have a good weekend, Stiles."

He heard a tired sigh and then the shuffling of feet as Stiles walked away.

_(*-*)_/

"Isaac said he's seen you up at Derek's house." Scott stated over the pizza box, his eyes burning into the side of Stiles face.

It wasn't that Stiles had been keeping the fact that he was helping Derek a secret, it was just he didn't want to have to listen to Scott go on about not trusting Derek. Which was ironic considering that the one person he did trust above all others, aka Allison, was the one that betrayed them.

Stiles kept his eyes fixed on the screen and grunted a non-committal answer.

"So, what, you and Derek friends now?" Scott asked in a way that made Stiles prickle.

Stiles turned to look at his best friend, "I'm helping him fix up the old house." he clarified, "Dad was on my back about getting out of the house over the summer, and he's pretty much my only option unless I want to sit in the park feeding the birds with old lady Barnet."

Scott huffed, shoulders slumping and dropping back against the side of the bed. "I'm sorry for abandoning you over the summer Stiles." he signed sincerely, "I just…"

"I know." Stiles quickly cut him off, "You don't have to explain, man. I get it."

They settled back into their game, Stiles taking out zombies left and right, and generally being awesome. Score one for superhuman skills. When there were no more challengers to take on, Stiles shut down the Xbox and the pair headed down stairs to the kitchen, grabbing snacks before making themselves comfortable in the living room to watch the late-night horror flick.

They were half way through Curse of the Werewolf when Stiles muttered, "He's not that bad you know. Derek. I know he was a jerk after he became the alpha, but…"

"A jerk? He bit Isaac, Erica and Boyd, and now Erica and Boyd are missing." Scott snapped.

Stiles glared at him, "Erica and Boyd left."

"Because of Derek." Scott argued.

"No, because they couldn't handle Jackson and the Argents trying to kill them." Stiles corrected angrily.

Scott met his gaze then quickly looked away.

"As for biting them in the first place. It wasn't as if he stalked the woods at night attacking innocent passersby," Stiles huffed, waving an arm at the screen as if to demonstrate his point, "He gave them the choice, man. - He's not Peter."

Scott stiffened beside him, head locked in place and eyes fixed to the TV. "So, what, now you're the president of the Derek Hale fan club. I thought he scared you."

Stiles exhaled, letting his head roll back tiredly on the couch cushions, "Come on, man. I'm just say you don't have to be an ass to him because of what Peter did to you."

"Are you serious?" Scott snapped.

Stiles straightened at the aggressive tone to his best friend's voice, locking gazes. "Have you even spoken to Isaac about what happened? About what Derek said to him? Have you?"

Scott narrowed his eyes as they flashed amber. He was getting aggravated which didn't bode well, but frankly, if Scott was in the mood for a throw down, so be it. Stiles was in no mood to play Robin tonight. "I don't need to!" Scott spat, "Derek saw Isaac was in trouble and took advantage."

"Did he? You know that for sure, do you?" Stiles heard himself demand loudly.

"What's with you?" Scott yelled back.

"There's nothing with me, Scott. I just don't want to join your Derek Hale is the antichrist club, okay! - Maybe, I think the guy has been dealt a shitty hand and he's just trying to deal with it as best he can."

Scott stared at him, eyes wide and judging, "Shitty hand?" he muttered, "You mean like being attacked in the woods."

"No!" Stiles snapped furiously, "Like losing his whole fucking family in a house fire started by your ex-girlfriend's aunt. I mean like finding out his uncle killed his sister and left her to rot in the fucking woods. I mean like having to kill said uncle with his own bare hands. So, get off your high horse Scott and fucking look at the world from down here!"

Stiles heart was racing, he could feel his hands beginning to shake with the tension building in his body. He hadn't meant to say any of that, and the look of hurt in Scott's eyes cut deep. But the fact was, Scott needed to hear it.

Without so much as a word of goodbye, Scott span on his heels and marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Stiles flinched away from the sound and sighed, dropping down onto the couch. His body was humming, and Stiles gritted his teeth, praying he wasn't about to have another seizure. He knew deep down that wasn't an option, because he'd been taking his pills like clockwork since the incident four months ago.

His leg bounced, and he tapped his fingers against his feet until it became too much. Shooting to his feet, Stiles rushed up to his room, stripping out of his jeans and t-shirt, he hurriedly dressed in his joggers and hoodie, slipping on his running shoes.

It had been a long time since he'd gone for a run to burn off the excess energy, mostly because his dad wasn't able to go with him, and he couldn't exactly ask Scott. His dad used to struggle to keep up with him during their runs so the idea of running with Scott, who up until his change had suffered from asthma, was just flat out ridiculous. - Even now, with his werewolf-ness, Stiles couldn't go running with Scott, because then, well then, he'd have to tell Scott, and he promised.

With his clothes changed, Stiles ran down the stairs and out the back door. He kept a normal human pace as he made his way along the street, and through town, but the second he reached the preserve, he let go. He stopped holding back, stopped reigning in the power in his every muscle, and broke into a powerful sprint. The trees blurring as he past them, his lungs working overtime to keep his body oxygenated.

He made a point of heading away from the Hale property, out towards the lake on the other side of the preserve. Drawing Derek's curiosity would only make everything worse and lead to questions. Questions Stiles knew Derek had been struggling not to ask.

For twenty minutes Stiles ran, fast and free, swerving in and out of the trees. Letting it all go and allowing his mind to empty. The stress he'd left the house with, the worries concerning the fight with Scott, they were all swept away by the rush of wind. Then he heard it, movement before him, running feet. He stopped, crouching low against the dirt and straining to listen, whoever it was they were getting closer. Heavy boots. They were fast too.

Instinct took over.

Instinct and training.

Everything his mom had taught him.

Some of his earliest memories of time with his mom was training in the basement of their house. She'd always told him he needed to know how to defend himself, how to use his body as a weapon, because one day they might come for him and he had to be ready. He wasn't normal. He wasn't like the other kids. He was special. Different.

His mom had taught him a lot before her death, the kind of stuff that in hindsight had him wondering just what she'd done before becoming a middle school teacher. She knew about military tactics, and survivalist training. She'd take him on hikes in the woods and teach him what fruit was safe to eat and how to be guided by the stars.

She taught him how to think. Really think. To look at a puzzle from all sides. How to recognize an enemy in his mists and see past the lies. She taught him how to keep his head when all around him were losing theirs.

She taught him how to stay alive.

_(*-*)_/

When Derek picked up the now familiar scent on the air, he'd abandoned his search for Erica and Boyd and headed straight for it. It was travelling fast, which made Derek nervous and yet also in a weird way immensely satisfied with himself. There was no way Stiles could be moving that quickly through the preserve and be human, no way, and as soon as he caught up with the young man he was going to demand answers.

As it turned out, catching up with Stiles wasn't as easy as Derek had first thought. He was moving a lot faster than Derek expected and he had to push himself to his limit to so much as keep track of him.

After a few minutes Derek stopped in the middle of the clearing, turning in a large circle, confused. Stiles scent was all around him, but there was no sign of the teenager. Closing his eyes, he listened out for his heartbeat, it was slow, and uncomfortably calm considering it was Stiles, and…

Derek lifted his head to the sky just as a figure fell from the trees. Without enough warning, he couldn't react, and legs wrapped tight around his throat. The body twisted, forcing his neck to the side hard enough that he could feel the bones grind dangerously together. There was an angry grunt as they felt to the ground together, the thighs tightening. Derek flicked his fingers, extending his claws and then reached up to jab them into the thighs, ripping through fabric and flesh.

There was a cry of pain and the legs relaxed. Tearing himself free, Derek rolled onto his front, body low and posed to retaliate, fingers digging into the dirt for purchase. Before he could get his baring's however, and focus on the figure, a foot collided with the side of his head. Hard enough to make his teeth crash painfully together, his canines biting into his cheek and drawing blood, and making his head ring. The force of the impact sent Derek falling to the side, face landing in the dirt.

Shoving himself up, he spat out the blood then turned his blazing red gaze on the figure.

"Shit." He heard a familiar voice breathlessly swear, "Derek?"

Derek didn't answer, leaping forward. His body crashed into Stiles, bringing them both down to the dirt once more with a pained grunt. With teeth bared and claws raised, he stared down at the young man, the boy's eyes wide, filled with fear and…regret. "What are you?" he demanded, hissing out the words furiously.

Stiles heart was now, and the thick head scent of fear almost choked Derek. "I'm Stiles?"

Derek growled, forcing his face closer to the boy, the fingers of his left hand, holding his hoodie, tightening while his other hand inched closer to his throat. "You're not human."

Stiles swallowed, chest heaving. "I… Yeah, I am." he nodded desperately.

Derek narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. "No, you're not."

Stiles panted, eyes flickering between Derek's, and then he was grabbing the front of Derek's jacket and using an unnatural amount of upper body strength to fling Derek not only off him, but twenty yards away and into a tree.

"Okay, man, look…" Stiles sighed, turning to face Derek, body lower, poised to react to another attack, "I'm sorry I kicked your ass," he said with more glee than genuine regret, "but I didn't know it was you and I was just defending myself. - What the fuck are you even doing this far out in the preserve anyway?"

Derek watched him cautiously, getting to his feet. "What are you?" he asked again, breathless and almost pleading, his hand pressed his right ribs.

Stiles exhaled a long breath and straightened, relaxing his body and letting his defenses drop, a show of truce. "I told you, I'm human."

Derek shook his head, "You can't be, not fighting like that." he took an unsteady step forward, eyes searching Stiles face, "Are you a hunter?"

Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically, lip curling up, "Seriously? Dude, I threw you into a fucking tree, twenty feet away, and I kicked you so hard in the face your mouth is bleeding. Allison and her dad are amazing in a fight but they ain't that fucking awesome."

Derek stalked towards him and instead of backing up like Stiles would have previously done to maintain the illusion he was a weak human, he held his ground, eyes locked with Derek's. The tension was palpable, and Derek swallowed, his gaze flickering down to Stiles mouth briefly. "J-just tell me what you are, Stiles." he whispered, heart beating hard and fast.

Stiles rolled his lips together, and Derek was sure he was going to deny it again, or worse just walk away. Stiles turned his head, looking at the dark woods, then his shoulders slumped. "Can we go back to the house?" he said finally, turning back to Derek. "I'd rather not have this conversation in the woods, man."

Derek straightened, taking a step out of Stiles personal space and gave a nod. "Okay."

A/N: Feedback would be most appreciated, thank you.