Chapter Four

Sheriff Stilinski shot a skeptical glance to Stiles, then to teenage Derek, then back to Stiles. He shuddered with a groan and buried his face in his hands.

"Why!?" the older man lamented. "For God's sake- why me?"

"Is that a yes?" Stiles suggested hopefully.

The sheriff eyed him like he was looking at some alien, rather than his own son.

"I guess," John Stilinski sighed with a defeated scowl. "I suppose we can't have... "

The sheriff gave Derek another one over.

"... a teenager, staying by himself," he finished.

"You're the best," Stiles said with a grin. "Come on Derek."

Derek tried his best not to show any irritation as the boy literally pulled him toward the stairs. The sheriff was being nice by having him here.

"Why'd you make it sound like I wanted to stay forever!?" Derek hissed in a whisper once they were in the upstairs hall.

"Well you must admit Derek- a teenager staying in a loft by themselves might raise a few eyebrows."

Derek groaned, but he didn't argue. Stiles would have to win this one. It was either here or Scott's, and Derek very much doubted if the young alpha would be overly thrilled to have him.

"Right, so let's get to it."

Stiles threw the grocery bag on his bed and plopped down without grace, beginning to sort through the materials.

"Oh no," Derek groaned at the sight of a small vial full of the telltale black powder.

"Relax Sourwolf," Stiles told him, pulling out a packet with purple grains that looked suspiciously like wolfsbane. "I won't actually touch you with any of it."

Derek raised a skeptical eyebrow, but the boy merely glanced back mischeviously like old Stiles before the Nogitsune incident.

He jerked Derek's arm again, positining him in the center of his bedroom.

"Uh... "

"Just stay there," Stiles ordered, unstoppering the vial of mountain ash. "We're going to try a few things."

He began emptying the vial around Derek in a circle.

"Stiles I swear to God, if you're thinking of trapping me!"

"I'm not that mean," Stiles muttered, but he couldn't keep the amused smirk from popping up. "Right then... "

The teen surveyed his work. It appeared the circle had no open places.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "What did Deaton say? Its faith, not words... "

Stiles twitched a little in that nervous way of his when he worried about goofing something up. He focused on the circle of ash, biting at his bottom lip as he willed with all his might for this to work.

"Resume your true form!" Stiles commanded, throwing his hands out dramatically.

Nothing happened...

"Stiles," Derek growled irritably.

"It will work," Stiles assured him matter-of-factly. "The ash alone probably isn't enough."

He began sprinkling the wolfsbane around the ash, forming a second circle. Derek hissed at the nearness to the substance.

"Just relax Derek. Right- resume your proper form!"

There was an earth-shaking peal of thunder, and the wolfsbane scattered like a gust of wind had swept through the room. Stiles shielded his eyes, waiting for the purple cloud to clear. Derek was hacking violently, breathing becoming strained.

The boy finally moved his hand away... it hadn't worked- Derek was still a teenager.

"No," the boy said. "You heard the thunder. That should have worked."

"You can't remove it," Derek snapped in irritation. "Meaning Deaton probably can't either. Only that old witch can."

"I hate to say this Derek, but... you might be a teenager for a long time."

"Well don't just stand there Genim! Remove the damn mountain ash!"

Stiles jumped with nerves.

"Right," he said, running his fingers through his hair quickly.

The other teen stepped forward and bent down, focusing power into his hand before sweeping some of the ash aside. A subtle hint of a breeze indicated the circle had broken.

Derek stepped forward, but noticed Stiles was still knelt down, staring at the floor.

"Stiles," Derek spoke carefully.

"It should have worked," Stiles huffed, hitting the carpet with his fist. "This is all my fault. Everything is... "

Part of Derek wanted to agree, but the other part knew Stiles wouldn't have had him cursed on purpose. The old fortuneteller had misled him.

"No it isn't," Derek assured him in a low voice. "Come on Stiles- get up."

He helped pull the other boy up with his hand. Once the brunette was on his feet their hands remained in place for mere seconds, but the moment seemed to drag out.

Those gentle whiskey eyes remained on his, Stiles finally letting his hand go. Derek fought down the hint of bile rising in his throat, but not from disgust- from hesitation and confusion.

This wasn't the first time Stiles had evoked that weird feeling in him lately, like something between them had shifted.

Stiles held his gaze, and Derek saw the fear and hesitation mirrored there.

"So uh," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "You wanna go somewhere?"

"Like where?" Derek asked curiously.

"Your loft?"

Why would Stiles want to go there?

"I know you and my dad aren't best buddies," the teen said by way of explaination.

"Understatement of the century," Derek smirked.

"I'll cook dinner for us too," Stiles said, knowing that would seal it.