Hello, children! Sorry about the delay. Midterms, a twelve-page original short story, and computer problems for my beta got in the way. Though, at this point, I should probably warn y'all that I'm not the best at updating because, for whatever reason, when I get to a certain point in a fic, I start getting writer's block for it. So yeah, just - don't get your hopes up for regular updates. Otherwise, enjoy! :)


In the middle of the night Stiles starts whimpering and twitching, waking Derek up. Sitting up quickly at the scent of fear he sees Stiles is still asleep so it must be a nightmare. When the whimpering intensifies, and Stiles' claws come out and go to scratch at the opposite arms, Derek reaches over, one of his hands grabbing both of Stiles' by the wrists and his other inserting itself in Stiles' hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. The struggles continue so he drags Stiles into his lap, face tucked into his neck, hoping the familiar scent will calm him down at least a little bit.

It seems to do the trick, for as soon as he breathes Derek's scent in Stiles calms down, drawing in ragged breaths. Then, after a few moments of quiet, he alternates between nuzzling into Derek's neck, rubbing his nose and cheek in and rumbling out a sound that is remarkably like a purr, and leaning his head back into Derek's hand to get him to keep scratching at his scalp.

Swallowing thickly as he realizes what Stiles is unconsciously doing, Derek sits with his back to the headboard, Stiles in his lap, waiting an appropriate amount of time before transferring him back to the mattress. When he tries to get up Stiles latches onto his shirt and reels him back in, tucking his face underneath Derek's chin and nuzzling at the exposed skin. Holding back a sigh, Derek lets him, though he knows he'll have many demands of why he smells so much like Stiles.


Waking up with his obnoxious alarm, Stiles isn't surprised to find Derek already gone, his side of the bed cold, making Stiles sigh as he sits up and stretches.

Sadly, he also isn't all that surprised to find Peter sitting in his desk chair, watching him like the creeper he is.

"What're you doing here?" Stiles yawns, scratching at his arms.

Peter, of course, doesn't answer the question. "I see my nephew's been here recently. He stay here all night?" And there's one of his creepy smiles staying he knows exactly what the answer to that question is. Great.

It's too fucking early for this, Stiles thinks as he flops back with a groan. "What do you want, McCreepypants? I have to get ready for school."

"Want?" Peter chuckles. "Oh, I don't want anything; I just came to see how my new favorite beta was doing after his little ordeal yesterday."

"Aw, I'm your favorite? How sweet," Stiles gushes to the ceiling, hearing Peter get up and head back toward the open window. "I'm surprised though; I'd have thought you'd have ranked yourself number one because you just seem like the type of guy who'd have the whole self-worshipping thing down pat."

A growl turned into a dry chuckle comes from the direction of the window as Peter steps out casually. "Careful with that tongue, Stiles. It might get you into trouble one of these days."

"It already did," he grumbles to himself after Peter leaves, getting up to dress for school.


Throughout the day Stiles is once again never left alone for a minute, not even when he has to take a piss during history, which is just downright rude and annoying and way to voyeuristic for his tastes.

"Do you mind?" he snaps at Erica as she comes in and leans against the wall next to the sinks.

"No," she says with a smirk, arms crossed beneath her breasts. She just stands there and watches, all casual and shit despite the fact she's in the guy's bathroom.

Once he's done and washing his hands, having taken a few minutes longer with an audience, she finally decides to say whatever's on her mind.

"Why do you smell like Derek?"

Sputtering, Stiles splashes water on his front. "What? I don't -" He cuts himself off and takes a moment to breathe, and yep there's the scent that's been following him around all day. "I, uh, I don't know."

"Uh huh," Erica hums, leaving the bathroom with a flip of her hair as he's drying his hands.


It gets worse at lunch when Isaac sits down across form him and asks, "Why did Derek smell like you when he got back to the loft this morning?"

This time Stiles sputters while he's taking a drink of soda, making some of it come out of his nose and the rest go down his windpipe. Scott thumps his back while Lydia and Jackson each raise a brow at him, Boyd looks bored, Erica smirks again, and Allison fights a smile.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles manages to choke out, though he knows they can tell he's lying at least partially. "I haven't seen Derek since training yesterday."

And now they definitely know he's lying because Lydia snorts delicately – and since when was it possible to snort delicately? Wait, it's Lydia. – and Erica laughs outright.

"I hate you guys," he groans into his hands.

Scott pats him on the back in camaraderie.


No matter what he does Derek cannot get Stiles' scent off. Well… He doesn't particularly want to, so he doesn't try too hard, but he'd rather avoid questions – especially from Stiles.

Sighing, Derek texts Lydia, telling her to bring her self-reacting Molotov cocktails; he figures they'll do just the trick in destroying the root cellar when Stiles comes for training later.


After school Lydia drags Stiles back to the chemistry lab, requesting – well, demanding – his lock-picking expertise. Never one to question Lydia, Stiles does as he's told, though he doesn't stop asking questions till she has all the necessary ingredients gathered.

"You're making Molotovs? Why?"

"So you can set ablaze to that root cellar," she answers, not looking up from her work, "after you tear it down with your bare hands and claws."

"…Yeah, that sounds really satisfying actually. Can I set those tree roots on fire too?"

"I don't know if that would be wise considering it's a nemeton."

"Whoa, really?" He thinks about it. "That makes sense actually."

"Exactly. The darach was trying to draw power from it by sacrificing you to it."

Stiles nods, chewing on his lip. Maybe they could use it to their advantage at some point or another, having a magical tree.

He shook himself out of his reverie when Lydia nudges him, letting him know she was done and he should lock the cabinet back up.


When the pack gets to the house Derek is just finishing up his workout so he heads out the door shirtless and sweaty, though not out of breath.

"Hey," Stiles says with a shaky smile as he gets out of the Jeep.

He smells slightly anxious – whether because of his freak out yesterday or the fact he asked Derek to stay last night, Derek isn't sure – and a tiny bit aroused, his heart beating faster when he sees Derek's bare torso. As per usual, Derek tries to ignore it, but there's something different about this time that won't let him.

With an air of judgment and condescension, Lydia marches up to him and carefully hands over the Molotovs. "Here, you carry them. If Stiles does he's bound to shake them too much and set you both on fire."

"Hey!" Stiles protests as the others laugh and snort out their agreements. Huffing, he marches – much like Lydia just did, actually, which is scary – off into the woods in the direction of the cellar. "Well, come on!" he calls after Derek, not turning around.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Derek follows, leaving instructions for the others to practice sparring while he and Stiles take care of this. Scott offers to come along, but Derek declines, saying he's needed more with the other betas, implying that if Stiles wanted or needed Scott there he would've asked.

Walking at a normal pace so as not to activate the chemicals, Derek can see Stiles much further ahead. By the time he arrives Stiles has already torn the doors off and into pieces. Figuring it'll be good for him, Derek sits down a reasonable distance away and watches as Stiles tears the cellar apart bit by bit, tossing it all in a pile, growling as he goes.

Before long it's all down, Stiles somehow managing to get even the support beams without the dirt crumbling down on him.

Once he's sure Stiles is done Derek walks over to him and hands off one of the cocktails without a word. Both backing up, Stiles lobs the bottle at the great pile of wood, the glass shattering in an explosion of flames. The top layer crumbles to ashes fairly quickly and easily before the fire starts to dwindle around the middle, so Derek gives Stiles the other bottle, which lands with another satisfying crash.

Glancing at Stiles, Derek sees a grim smirk on his face, eyes over-bright. He nudges his shoulder with his own, gaining his attention. Derek nods at the flames eating the wood hungrily, eyebrows raised. Stiles' smirk turns into a soft smile and he nods in return, nudging Derek's shoulder in thanks.

It's a nice, intimate moment, Derek thinks, despite the reason behind their little bonfire – and despite the fire period. Which is why he feels kind of bad for ending it.

"We should -"

"Get back to training, yeah," Stiles interrupts quickly, shaking his head and flapping his arms.

Derek narrows his eyes, getting the feeling he's missed something since he could've sworn Stiles' heart had just skipped a beat, but he can't be sure because the fire is sort of messing with his sense of smell, so he can't check that way.

At least Stiles didn't ask why Derek smells like him.