Title: Emerald

Author: OpheliacAngel

Pairings & Characters: Stiles/Derek, slight Allison/Stiles, Isaac Lahey

Genre: Family/Romance

Rating: Teen

Summary: Derek drags Stiles along with him because he has some explaining to do. Season 3 AU in which things basically die down for everyone and they get a much needed reprieve. I've only seen up to Season 2, so if there's been any character deaths I don't know about them.

A/N: This was written for PunkPinkPower for Tag Exchange 2013. The tags they offered that I chose were: Curtain Fic, Families of Choice, Angst and Romance, Fluff and Angst and Angst with a Happy Ending. I hope you enjoy it.

"Do you think we could get curtains?"

Derek pulls his hand away from a display of new Martha Stewart Christmas Ornaments, continuing to push the shopping cart down the main aisle. "Don't think it'll do much good, considering there's not any windows."

"Right," Stiles says, and retreats back into silence for a good, long moment, something that's completely unlike him. He's getting so caught up in the moment, so caught up in shopping for household goods with Derek freaking Hale, sour-wolf extraordinaire, that he's actually forgetting that Derek's new home, a hopefully permanent place for his pack, is underground.

Stiles hasn't gone shopping in ages, and to say he's a little anxious is a massive understatement. The last time he was in a grocery store, his mother was holding him by the hand and leading him down the aisle. Then again, this isn't exactly a grocery store, more like an all in one store; there's probably anything in the world anyone could ever want here. Too bad Stiles is too concerned with not having a panic attack to even look at much of anything.

"Uh, Derek?" And how is he going to say this without sounding like a complete and total idiot? "Why'd you ask me along?"

"Because I value your opinion." As if Stiles was supposed to know that, as if Derek thinks that's not the absolute biggest shock to Stiles Stilinski.

"Right. So.., have you thought about a color scheme? You'd probably like blue or red, or you could do both. I was going to suggest green, since it's known to be more calming than blue is. But you're still probably gonna go with blue anyway, which is perfectly fine, just thought I'd let you know that you have options. Or, you know, you could paint all the rooms different colors, I think that'd look pretty nice." He cuts off after that, taking a deep breath and trying to will himself not to get to that state where he'll have a panic attack.

What this is, being here with Derek, is more than great. Stiles just isn't sure what he should be making of it.

There's a long, incredibly uncomfortable silence, and Stiles pretty much figures that either Derek hasn't heard him or Derek is ignoring him. He'll go with the former even though he'd love to put himself down even more with the latter. Derek has been actively listening to what he's been saying lately, even if he is ranting; he always seems overly patient and genuinely concerned. Don't ask Stiles why, he'll just roll with it and wonder why Derek's been acting so... nice lately.

Cause being nice around Stiles Stilinski was never exactly on his list of priorities.

Finally, Derek graces him with a response. "We can go with green." He maneuvers into the next aisle quickly, and Stiles has to turn around and jog to catch up. They've been in the store for over an hour and there's nothing in the shopping cart yet, which only proves how picky of a shopper Derek is. Then again, it's probably cause he's never actually gone shopping.

When Derek asked him to accompany him today, he never thought it would be like this. Then again, he would have had no way to prepare.

"Where did Allison go?" His hands are deep inside the pockets of his hoodie, which he's sinking into right now. There are too many people around doing their holiday shopping, pushing past the two of them, brushing against his over-sensitive skin that makes it feel like the hoodie isn't even there at all. It's all he can do to keep it together.

Derek eyes a set of three dishcloths in varying colors; he goes with the green pair, but Stiles doesn't even notice through the haze in his head and the pain in his roiling stomach. "I think she said she was looking at lamps."

"I'll see if she needs any help then," Stiles says hurriedly, already moving past Derek quickly. Not quickly enough though, for Derek's strong hand lands on his shoulder and stops him from moving away further.

"Stay," he says simply, that one word making him feel a little bit better. Not that he'll admit to it.

He fights still though, "Derek..."

"Stay," Derek repeats, more gently this time, though also more of a demand. He pulls Stiles closer to him, and the younger boy has the sense that he is trying to shelter him from the world as best he can. "Ignore everyone, it's just me and you, and Allison when we run back into her. Look at the items on the shelves, listen to my voice. Breathe. In and out." Derek's voice is amazingly gentle, something Stiles can't comprehend in this moment. He always knew Derek was capable of it, he just never thought he'd be on the receiving end of it.

Stiles breathes in as Derek's hand runs up and down his back, he breathes out when Derek pushes him closer to the shelf, putting himself between Stiles and everyone else. He closes his eyes briefly and smiles when Derek hums softly, so close to the boy that he can feel the wolf's mercifully cool breath on his cheek. The world fades out and Derek fades in, large and amazing and there. Everything in Stiles' world has been cut down and now it's just the two of them, shopping, alone.

He fingers one of the towels on the shelf before him, focusing on its soft texture, willing it to ground him.

Derek's breath on his cheek sends him reeling about what it all means. If anything, Derek is always forceful with him, always pushing him to adhere to a certain standard. Now he's just being gentle and supportive and understanding.

What has the world done to his sour-wolf?

Stiles' phone is currently ringing.

Stiles' phone is ringing and it is annoying him and grating at him and he picks it up, having half a mind to slam it down on the table and get back to his freaking complicated homework, but he answers and demands: "What?!"

"Stiles?"

"Oh," Stiles starts chewing his fingernail, looking around to make sure no one's nearby. "Derek?" He hasn't called him for months, and never called him much to begin with. Something must be seriously wrong for Derek to include Stiles in something without Stiles or rather, Scott, pushing him to.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

"Uh... no, why?"

"Good. I'll pick you up around 11 am, then."

"Okay..."

"Good, see you then."

There's silence on the other end for a long moment, Stiles waiting for and fully convinced that Derek will hang up the phone. He doesn't though, so Stiles ends up saying goodbye incredibly awkwardly and hangs up himself. If he'll be able to concentrate on his homework now, it'll be a miracle.

He smiles, closes his textbook and heads off to his next class early.

Derek is looking at him intently, eyes full of sympathy and concern, when he glances up. "I'm good," he swallows thickly, "we can finish now." Derek nods slowly at that, pushing the cart down the aisle, his shoulder bumping against Stiles' occasionally.

Stiles somehow feels like the most important thing in the world to Derek Hale.

The trek throughout the remainder of the store becomes easier. With every aisle they go down, he becomes more relaxed and Derek seems to gravitate towards him further, his shoulder a constant presence against his own, instead of merely an occasional one. He starts talking again, ranting again, asking Derek questions about kitchen items and beds, and even the potential for bean bag chairs in the spacious living room Derek has mentioned once or twice.

Derek either nods to let Stiles know he's listening, or says a few words to add to the conversation, to make it feel like they are having a conversation.

It feels nice and peaceful and something that Stiles hasn't had since his mother died. Still though, there's this sinking hope in his chest that tomorrow Derek will be back to normal, not wanting to have Stiles in his life at all, not being able to listen to him rant, not able to keep his patience and lashing out at him.

"Two more aisles, Stiles." The cart is mostly full now, Derek speeding up his shopping after witnessing that Stiles doesn't actually want to spend an entire day in this place. He nods, thinking about the fact that he feels a whole lot better now and probably could stay here the rest of the day, as long as Derek keeps brushing up against him, as if by accident.

He looks up at Derek though, as he stares up at the heavily decorated Christmas trees adorning the center of the store, and can see the awe and curiosity and even somewhat seriousness there. Stiles swallows hard as he looks up at the trees and the snowflakes hanging from the ceiling; he doesn't know how long it's been since he had a Christmas tree.

"You should get one," Stiles says, half-afraid that Derek will lash out at him for it, informing him that they don't have time to decorate trees. "I mean," he adds, "if you want one. Cause you seem like you might want one."

He doesn't reprimand him though, instead he looks down at Stiles and nods slightly. "Maybe I will," he says softly, looking back up at them one more time before heading down the next aisle. Stiles walks at a careful pace behind him, grabbing several cookie cutters off the shelf and holding them tightly to his chest.

It wouldn't be Christmas without cookies, right?

"You'll have to break the surprise to them."

Derek, somehow, knows exactly what it means. His eyebrow quirks upward as he stops and turns towards the younger boy, "Me?"

"Well, yeah," Stiles awkwardly lifts his arm up and rubs the back of his neck. "I highly doubt that I'll even get to see the place much." Derek hasn't exactly ever invited him to any of the places he's called home, most of the time he's just looked irritated and disbelieving if Stiles happened to pop up. Why should Derek's new 'humble abode' be any different as far as Stiles is concerned?

Derek leans against a sink and crosses his arms, as if he's genuinely interested in anything Stiles says, let alone this. "Why do you say that?"

"Cause..."

Derek glances at him carefully, and Stiles feels incredibly uncomfortable under his scrutinizing stare. Not that he should or anything, just that he's sick of Derek treating him like dirt all the time, and he really wants to know what's coming, rather than be surprised by it. Derek just looks even more surprised with how tense Stiles seems to be growing, as if he would rather be anywhere else but here. Yet only half of that is true. "Why do you care so much about the paint and the layout of the rooms then?"

"Because," Stiles admits, "I want everyone to be happy. They deserve to be happy."

His sour wolf doesn't say or do anything for a moment after that, and Stiles wonders if he said the wrong thing, if someone else, someone better, was supposed to say that instead.

But then Derek's face lights up like a freaking Christmas tree, and somehow Stiles relaxes.

Stiles waits nervously by the window that looks out on the street. He thinks he might have a heart attack if Derek knocks on the door.

He doesn't know why he's so nervous, bitting on his fingernails, ready to jump at the sound of any noise whatsoever, nervous, because of course Derek has called him before or dragged him along reluctantly before, only cause he's needed something though. Something about this feels different, because the wolf didn't sound demanding or annoyed on the phone, and considering things have died down substantially lately, Stiles Stilinski has a difficult time believing it's for that reason.

So he waits impatiently for Derek to pull up, waits impatiently for the day to end already.

He practically jumps when his car appears, and he walks down his driveway and hovers by the passenger door for a split second. Something feels wrong. Something feels incredibly wrong and Stiles has no idea what it is.

"Hey," Derek reaches over to open the passenger door. He's still leaning across the seat as Stiles stares at him, "What are you waiting for?"

"Waiting for you to drag me inside."

Derek shakes his head and leans back over, "Come on, already. Not really in the mood for biting today."

Stiles stares at him strangely for another moment before climbing inside the car; Derek mysteriously waits until he buckles his seatbelt before taking off. "Where are we going?" He's jumpy all right, and he obviously can't hide it, not with the quiver in his voice or the way he jumps slightly when Derek reaches near him to turn up the heat in the car.

No one's been talking to him much as of late, and the younger boy's been more fragile lately than he'd like to admit.

He doesn't want to be pushed around anymore.

"You'll find out," Derek relents, and Stiles doesn't want to admit it out loud to him, but he actually doesn't want to find out. Because it's cold outside and Stiles is cold, teeth almost chattering even, and he really doesn't feel like being dragged out into the woods.

He nods, huddles deeper into his red hoodie, and stares out the window.

Derek pulls Stiles into his arms on the paint aisle, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Good answer." Stiles smiles in contentment, his instinct to snuggle into him further and not pull away. "What shade of green?" Derek offers, hand brushing through Stiles' hair briefly. He doesn't even glance at the variety of paint behind him though, his eyes are all on the younger boy he looks at with such affection.

"Actually, I was thinking about green for the kitchen. Blue would be nice for your room. Erica probably won't accept pink, so we'll have to give her red. Boyd would be blue too, and we'll have to get Isaac's opinion on purple, though I'm sure he'd like it. Maybe gold for the living room, actually." He feels sorta stupid after his rambling, this won't be his place after all, and he knows it.

Knows he wouldn't ever belong there.

Although, he is overjoyed at the thought of seeing the hopefully excited reactions of Isaac, Erica and Boyd, the fact that they'll all have their own rooms, feel like a true family. It's just one more step towards having a seemingly normal life... "Who else did you say was moving in?"

Derek quirks an eyebrow at his change in tone from overly excited to slightly terrified. "Most likely Peter, and I'm not sure whether Lydia is staying with the Argents or moving in with us. There'd be plenty of room for her though."

Stiles has doubts with that last one, primarily because he knows Lydia usually needs her own space, and by own space he means a vast amount of room that she won't by any means feel claustrophobic in. As for Peter, he's gotten pretty used to having him around; he suspects they all have, even Derek hasn't been hiding things from him lately. And Stiles sort of trusts him, so he figures Peter moving in actually has a good chance of not turning out disastrous.

"Hey," Derek's hand slips under his chin and tilts his head up. "Today's supposed to be a relaxing day, no over thinking."

"Well, I'm afraid I ruined that about an hour ago."

"What are you so afraid of, Stiles? Are you afraid that this isn't real, that I brought you here just to tempt you and then rip everything out from under your feet?"

Stiles chuckles a little awkwardly at that, "It's not like you've ever been anything else but that..." He dares to take a brief glance up at the wolf for a moment, and his mouth falls open in shock when he realizes that Derek doesn't even seem the slightest bit mad, in fact, he seems genuinely sorry and disappointed, though not in Stiles. He's disappointed with himself.

"Stiles...," Derek sighs, as if what he's about to say is emotionally and physically daunting. "I've had a while just to myself, a while to think about how I've treated you and everyone else, but especially you.

"Yeah?" Stiles croaks, clearing his voice and slowly realizing that he's not dreaming right now. He knows what dreams feel like, nightmares of his mother and father, and this isn't one of them. He never thought Derek cared, not as much as Stiles cares about him, anyway. And he never would have imagined Derek wanting to explain himself, wanting to make Stiles feel better.

"And I'm sorry."

Stiles can easily tell how hard it is for Derek to say those words, for him to apologize to Stiles Stilinski of all the people in the world. There's something there though. Something suggesting he wants to tell him.

He doesn't know what starts it, half the time he doesn't, all he knows is that it's here, right now, and Stiles has to find some way to deal with it because he's alone and helpless and no one else could give a flying fuck about him. And what a surprise that is.

Allison had hovered outside the door for a brief moment, but Stiles could hear her walk away after that. It was better that way too; he didn't want to worry her, not when she was the only one who noticed him and would give him a warm smile from time to time, to attempt to eradicate the chill that was burrowing deeper inside of him every day.

He crumples down onto the floor, relieved he's made it to the bathroom in time. He leans his head against the door of the toilet stall, hands clenched and shaking where they're bundled in the pockets of his hoodie. He tries to breathe, but all he can think about is that he is moments away from dying. Allison knows where he is, Allison will come back eventually, kick open the door and find him. Her beautiful face will crumple and her eyes will tear up and Stiles is so deathly terrified, he can't put that on her. He can't...

"Stiles!"

He opens his eyes to find that Derek is lifting his aching head up off the floor. 'How the hell did he find out?' "Stiles, it's okay, okay?" 'Sure, it is,' Stiles thinks, 'it's always fine. I'm always fine.' "Just breathe, you're going to be fine. Just breathe!"

He wishes he could die, just like this, right in Derek's arms as he's pulling his entire body up off the piercing cold tile floor, draping him awkwardly across his lap. "Come on, Stiles!" Derek's incredibly warm hands on his face ground him, with a voice in his head screaming at him that maybe there is something to live for after all.

It takes a long time, long moments where Derek's hazel eyes bore into him, holding him, lighting him up like fireworks, but eventually everything that Stiles is filters back into reality, the reality where his sour wolf's eyes are wide and panicked and his strong arms are holding him up off the ground.

Allison hovers above him then, smiling warmly at him in that way of hers and waving. Stiles stares up at her, wishing she didn't have to see him like this. "Trust him."

She fades away like a presence that never existed in the first place.

"How often do you have panic attacks, Stiles?" Derek says it like he's out of breath, like he's the one who needs to breathe in the face of a sure, must be sure, death. He sounds tired but present, which Stiles recognizes as something new and worth noticing and remembering. Because Derek has always seemed like he was a million miles away from him, like he's too done and numb to even be exhausted. But here Derek is, exhausted, and it isn't because he's annoyed, but like he wishes things could be different, for both him and Stiles. And Stiles wishes it too, he wants Derek to feel alive again, but being around the younger boy at the moment isn't helping.

There are at least a million thoughts that go through his head, a million things he could say... "Not often."

He knows Derek knows he's lying; he doesn't care. He knows what it was: the panic of being alone, the panic of being left entirely alone with no one to talk to and no one to look at him.

"Stiles..."

"Don't," his voice is weak and it sounds like he's going through puberty all over again, too unbalanced, too loud and awkward and strange. "Just don't, Derek." 'I don't need you to fight my battles for me, or tell me to get over whatever this is already. Cause I can't, it's just not possible.'

The deep breath he takes next, finally, makes him feel like he should have died, that dying would have been better for everyone. But Derek's arms around him, strong and warm, and his soft sigh, say something completely different that Stiles has a right to be scared of, yet also has a right to clutch to his chest for however long it will last.

Stiles drifts back in quickly to what Derek's saying, "And I want to start over, while things have died down for the moment."

He nods and smiles a little, showing the wolf that he accepts the apology. They look at each other for too little a time, and then a customer bumps into him and forces him to break eye contact. He follows Derek to the paint samples, straight to the green ones. "So," Derek brings up again, his grin wide, "what shade?"

"Maybe emerald, it's been calling to me lately for some reason."

Derek nods and smiles wider, fingering the paper that displays the shade of green Stiles just mentioned. "Emerald it is. It is a great color."

Allison is a few steps ahead of them, big, yellow goggles covering her eyes as an employee stands behind her. She's holding a drill and smiling wickedly, and Stiles doesn't even want to know what she plans on doing with it.

"Seems like Allison's having fun."

Allison looks up at the both of them and grins. "Half-price, guys. Can you believe it?"

"Oh," Stiles remarks, "I can believe it, alright." Allison seems like a kid in a candy store at this point, practically glowing, and Derek seems to notice it too.

"What do you guys think about a Christmas tree?"

Allison glances over at Stiles and winks, "I think it's the best idea I've ever heard." She throws the drill and goggles in the cart, wraps her arm around Stiles and drags him along with her after Derek.

They pick the biggest tree and then they check out with everything, load their bags into the car and head downtown to a Christmas store. The second Stiles steps inside he can smell sugar cookies and apple cider and chocolate, and he can see nothing but lights and nutcrackers and wreaths and Derek's smile when he pushes him lightly towards the ornaments. There are snowflakes in all different patterns, little angels and reindeer, and Allison holds candles under his nose for him to smell: cranberry and hot cocoa, sugar cookie and Christmas wreath, and Derek wraps an arm around them both as he fingers lights of every color imaginable.

They spend way more than they should, cramming Stiles into the back again with a multitude of bags, and they put everything on the floor of what will be the kitchen. Allison hangs back with the Christmas tree as Derek leads Stiles into a room. It's dark, everything is dark, but Derek lights a candle and then Stiles can see how big the room is.

"Wow, you've got the best one."

"It's not mine," Derek tells him, and Stiles is confused for a good long moment, until Derek pulls the hand out from behind his back, revealing the emerald green paint can.

"Wait..."

His sour wolf doesn't wait. "It's yours, if you want it. I realize that you'll probably still want to live at home, to be with your dad, but anytime you want to come here, it's yours." Suddenly, Stiles doesn't feel as claustrophobic in here as he did only a moment before. He feels at home, feels like he could bunk here, knowing Derek is no more than a few steps away.

"Figure we'll get some more light in here and start painting. Give me something to do, anyway." Stiles looks behind him and sees Issac lingering in the doorway, smiling and holding several paintbrushes in his hand. He hands him one, "Merry Christmas, Stiles."

Derek's eyes reveal all the love and appreciation for even existing in the world, and that's all that Stiles Stilinski really needs in the end.

Just a room with Derek right down the hallway.

FIN