A/N: I'm totally ignoring what happened in last night's "Teen Wolf", if for no other reason than thinking about it makes me start crying again. I literally just bawled for half an hour straight after it happened. I know it was a fictional character who died, but after spending three/four years with these guys, they're almost like friends and it feels like a friend has been taken away from all of us, not to mention the sympathy and hurt I feel for every other character on the show and how that loss will affect them.
Moving on...not really much to say about this chapter I don't think...Oh, GayWolfy on AO3 suggested that I add "grief" to my warnings, which I did, since it might be triggering in a way to some. If anyone thinks that anything else should be added, feel free to let me know.
Enjoy the chapter and let me know whatcha think of it. I'm gonna go curl up with my stuffed wolf and cry some more. Between "Teen Wolf" and now the near end of "Being Human", Mondays are just full of supernatural related pain. Not sure I can handle much more of it...
Derek's body had become accustomed to waking up at 5:30. It was a habit really, one instilled by his dad when he was about ten. Wake up early, go for a long run around the neighborhood and work off excess energy to leave him calm and level for the rest of the day. He hadn't really understood it until he'd skipped a run when he was eleven, taking advantage of his dad being out of town and not waking up him up before the sun. He'd spent the entire school day keyed up, anxious, his wolf pacing around and restless. He'd never felt so trapped in his life as he did during those seven hours, even feeling unsatisfied after running around during recess and a rigorous game of dodgeball during gym. It wasn't until he got home and dragged Scott out to run with him that he felt at peace, finally collapsing on the couch as the younger McHale did the same on the loveseat, both snoozing until dinner.
Since then, he'd set his alarm and had gone out every day at 5:30 for a run around the neighborhood with his dad. Scott joined them when Derek turned twelve, never seeming as into it as the other two McHale men. He'd put up with it during lacrosse season, understanding the need to stay in shape and keep his stamina levels up for playing, but would make it known how not stoked he was on the early exercise with countless grumbles and the bitter scent of aggravation during the rest of the year.
Derek loved it. He loved the freedom, the mindlessness of it, the way it was as close to being a wolf as possible while still remaining human. It made him pity his four-legged cousins trapped in zoos and nature preserves, knowing there was no way they could fully feel the same sense of knowing that if he wanted, he could just keep running forever and there'd be nothing to stop him.
He kept the habit up after his dad died, but didn't ask Scott to join in. He was sure the younger Alpha appreciated the extra hour or so of sleep, even if he didn't say it, and Derek appreciated the solitude, the ability to be alone with his thoughts or to just not think at all, as he was apt to do. On his runs, he was by himself, the way he wanted to be, allowing him to pretend that everything was okay and that his family hadn't been ripped apart and that things at his house were the way they had been.
Allowing him to be in denial.
After seven years of the early wake-ups and the long runs, his body had gotten used to it, his internal clock set to rouse him at 5:30 on the dot. Which was a really awesome thing on the off-chance a power outage happened in the night and screwed up his actual alarm, or the even rarer instance when he forgot to flip the thing on in the first place.
It wasn't so great when he moved to California and was now three hours behind in time. Meaning his body was wide awake and alert at 2:30 AM.
And there was no way he was getting back to sleep.
He tossed and turned on the mattress, flopping onto his back, his side, his back again, his other side. The sheet had gotten tangled in his legs, the fitted one wrinkled and pulled up at a corner. His pillows had flattened out under his head, pillowcases bunched beneath his cheek, the sensation irritating but bearable.
The scent still lingering in the mattress, however, wasn't.
Derek flopped onto his back, starfishing across the mattress, eyes staring at the exposed beam running parallel to his body as it bisected the ceiling. He was beyond awake, unable to keep his eyes shut and his brain silent long enough to drift back to sleep, despite the exhaustion that burned behind his orbs. He'd run on less sleep before, had pulled all-nighters cramming for his SATs and ACTs, partying with teammates, fucking Kate into her mattress when her parents were out of town visiting family she couldn't stand. But after everything he'd gone through that day, from the move to the Omega that he was pretending didn't exist, he was more tired than he could remember and wanted nothing more than to just fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He absently wondered if Maria had any alcohol in her house.
He then figured it wouldn't matter, since chances were she didn't have any wolfsbane to lace it with and therefore rendered him unable to get drunk and pass out, defeating the purpose.
Shit.
Kicking the sheet back, Derek sat up, smearing a hand roughly over his face. The attic felt stuffy, the air thick with the mingled scents of old things and clean sheets, of musky objects and new mattress. He felt like he was choking, weighed down by the combination of...everything, his chest tight. An overwhelming need to get out had his skin tingling and his mind buzzing, a low hum at the back of his head that he couldn't ignore, and all he could think about was how easy it would be to just grab clothes and go.
He gave in to the urge, shooting up to his feet and striding over to the bureau he'd been given. It didn't take long for him to pull on a pair of mesh basketball shorts and sleeveless Queens Alpha-Beta Lycanthrope Academy tee, his socks and sneakers more work but barely slowing him down.
It was just after three when he left the attic and crept out the house, his wolf-half subconsciously listening for three steady heartbeats, the human-half ignoring the creak of Scott's mattress as he partially woke up due to Derek's movements.
Derek didn't stop until he was outside, the door closed behind him and feet on the sidewalk leading to the driveway. The air outside was lighter, more breathable, a barely there humidity that made the night pleasant. He inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs and feeling the tightness in his chest loosen a smidgen. He smelled the warmth of a late summer night, the crisp scent of the lawn that had been mowed earlier, the earthy notes of dirt dampened by an overused sprinkler system.
The Omega that he'd been taunted with earlier in the evening.
Exhaling sharply, Derek scented the air, catching the smell of Stiles, the trail he'd left behind going to and from his home next door. His head turned, eyes focusing on the brick house to the left, windows dark and bodies still. Two heartbeats pumped steadily, a faint snore coming from an upstairs room, a creak sounding out as the house settled. Two cars sat in the driveway, an old light blue Jeep and a black SUV with 'SHERIFF' emblazoned along the side. He wondered briefly about a second parental figure, only to remember that none had been mentioned. Maria had spoken of "the sheriff and his son". Scott had commented about how Stiles was good to talk to since he'd lost his mom. Derek hadn't cared when either had said those things and found himself trying to figure out if they had mentioned what exactly had happened to the female.
Only to cut that thought off with a mental slap. The less he knew about Stiles and his life, the better. It was hard enough trying to resist the allure of the Omega's scent; he didn't need the added complication of actually knowing the guy and finding commonalities or differences, things like that.
Something scratched at Derek's bare shins and he looked down to find himself caught in a foot-tall shrub that separated the two properties. He'd begun walking over to the house next door without even realizing it, his nose clinging onto the scent and guiding his movements.
Terrific.
Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingers into his lids, careful not to cut himself with claws that had extended on their own. Again. Unbelievable. He'd had a tight hold on his wolf-half, was able to remain in control and rein in the animal when it tried to take over. Sure, there'd been slip-ups when he'd first turned eighteen, but that was natural, and it hadn't taken him long to learn how to keep a firm grip on his humanity. Now he'd wolfed out three times in one day, all without his realization.
Really though, it made sense. His entire world had been flipped on its head—twice—within a couple months and he was feeling completely out of control about everything. And being forced to move across the country left him ungrounded, his anchor unable to do its job, the waters of his life too rough to allow it to gain a hold of anything. He was lost in a stormy sea and it was only natural for him to allow his animal half to take over and just give in to only dealing with baser instincts and problems, rather than all the human bullshit he was currently suffering through.
Opening his eyes, Derek carefully stepped out of the shrub, watching pink and white scratches on his shins heal themselves up between one heartbeat and the next. He briefly considered wolfing out for his run, only to shove that thought aside. Other than the last two full moons, he hadn't been a full wolf since his dad's death, except the day Melissa had announced their move. And as satisfying as it would've been to give in to the mindlessness of running as an animal, he refused to allow himself that pleasure, instead turning and heading down to the road, running in the direction opposite the house belonging to the sheriff and his Omega son.
And the Omega's scent.
Despite not being familiar with the neighborhood, Derek had a feeling it wouldn't be big enough for him to run out everything he was feeling.
Two hours later and Derek felt like he had the neighborhood memorized.
Which was good, because he was fairly certain he was gonna fall down.
His legs burned, muscles aching with fatigue as he walked the final lap, cooling himself down. His skin was shining with sweat, shirt and shorts both soaked, and his throat felt raw with thirst and panting. But it was exactly what he'd wanted, needed, the exhaustion that came only from physical exertion, from pushing the limits of what his preternatural body was capable of. And as his feet slapped against the tarred road, he thought about the shower he was about to have, followed by collapsing onto his bed and hopefully getting an hour or two of shut eye.
He'd spent the past couple hours running countless mile-long laps around the neighborhood, an absent thought flashing through his head about how glad he was that it was too early for anyone to notice the unshaven man running past their house multiple times. But it was nice to have the mindless monotony of running, of being able to zone out and focus on solely what he wanted to focus on. He listened to the sounds of his feet pounding against the road, his harsh breathing sawing in and out through his mouth, the swish of his mesh shorts rubbing together as his legs moved. He heard the familiar nocturnal activity of a suburban neighborhood: a raccoon digging through a trashcan, an owl hooting in a tree, rodents scurrying for safety, crickets chirping in the grass.
He'd been so focused on his hearing that it took him three laps to realize that he'd fallen into the habit of slowing down in front of the sheriff's house—of Stiles' house—scenting the air in the hopes of catching a whiff of the Omega. He shook his head to clear it, eyes trained on the pavement below his feet, forcing himself to snap out of it, to quit acting like a hormonal idiot. He was an Alpha. He was better than that.
On the fourth lap, he sped up before reaching the Stilinski residence.
He kept up the habit throughout the remainder of his run.
Until his final cool down circuit when he'd taken to walking.
The house in question was coming up on his right, his eyes immediately drawn to it. The windows were just as dark as before, the blinds just as still, nothing happening within the building itself. Yet Derek still found himself unable to tear his gaze away, unable to do anything but stare at it as he meandered closer, hands on his hips.
He cursed silently to himself, huffing out a laugh of disbelief through a burning throat as he panted through parted lips. Unbelievable. He'd spent the past two hours trying to forget everything that seemed to be going wrong for him in his life, only for it all to come racing back at the sight of brick and mortar.
He felt like punching a hole in the side of the house.
Not that it was the house's fault really, just the teenager sleeping within. Not that everything was Stiles' fault, but it was easy to place the blame on him. For making Derek's nose trail scents he didn't want it to. For making his vision redden and his mind cloud. For making him lose control of his wolf, the one thing he still felt like he had a hold of after everything else had been ripped from him.
Asshole.
Derek's brows fell into a scowl, his feet slowing to a stop by the path that led to the Stilinskis' front porch. He found his body turning to face it, eyes flicking from spot to spot, window to window, searching for something his mind wasn't aware of.
Until it was.
Shit, he was looking for Stiles.
Smearing a hand over his face, Derek fought with his instincts to stalk up to the porch, barge his way in, and head straight for the Omega, instead forcing himself to turn away. Jaw set and eyes narrowed, he jogged his way to Maria's house, not stopping until he was inside and the front door was locked. As quickly and as silently as he could, he stalked straight to the kitchen, chugging down a bottle of water before making his way to the bathroom. He turned the water as hot as possible, showering everything away: the sweat, the anger he felt at himself and at Stiles, the hormones that made him want nothing more than to strip the Omega bare and fuck him until they were both raw and sore, only to do it all over again after their werewolf healing fixed them right up.
The fuck was his life anymore?
Derek scrubbed until his skin felt as raw as his lungs and throat had, until he was a bright red all over and he finally felt something other than a driving urge to force his way into the house next door. Flipping the water off, he stumbled out the shower, catching himself on the counter, his legs finally starting to give out on him. He dried off with quick, rough motions, wrapping the towel around his waist and mentally cursing himself for not grabbing clean clothes. A quick listen told him the other three occupants of the house were all still sound asleep, allowing him to avoid any awkward run-ins out in the hall.
Sweaty clothes gathered up, he padded his way out the bathroom, down the hall, and up the attic stairs to his room. Soon, he found himself in a clean pair of boxer-briefs and flopped down onto his stomach on the bed, head between the pillows and face buried in the mattress.
He tried not to search out the Omega's scent and failed, the sweet notes teasing his nose and tempting his wolf.
Derek fell asleep soon after, dreaming of that scent, accompanied by plush lips and mole covered pale skin.
Derek woke up still on his stomach, pillows shoved onto the floor, face smooshed into the mattress with his head against the wall, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle.
And that scent in his nose.
He shot up to a kneeling position in a literal heartbeat, eyes wide, air rushing through his nose and into his lungs. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at the spot on the mattress he'd previously been smashed into, telling himself he wasn't glaring at an inanimate object or getting pissed at a smell, just that he was squinting against the sun streaming in through the window above his bed.
He was only marginally successful.
Smearing a hand over his face, he forced his brain to get with it, rising up fully on his knees before climbing off the bed. He turned his back on his mattress as though that would do anything, as though it would block the scent from doing anything to him. Fucking pathetic really. It wasn't like a smell had all that much control over him, like it could actually force him into doing something he didn't want to.
He had a brief flash of memory from the night before, of grabbing and pinning Stiles against the wall, of scenting him and grinding against him, of growling both in pleasure then in possession.
Okay, maybe it could, but that was a one time thing and was never gonna happen again.
He was gonna make sure of it.
Barefoot, Derek padded over to his bureau, pulling a random gray tee out one drawer before throwing it over his head. He completed the look with the jeans he wore the day before, figuring they weren't too stained, deciding they didn't smell too bad. Finger-combing his hair, he made the black locks spike up the way he preferred before shuffling his way to the stairs.
He'd picked up the sounds of movement in other rooms below him, of pans being scraped over the stove top, of bacon sizzling and spoons stirring, of friendly chatter and amused laughter. Clearly, the other residents of the house were up and about and making breakfast and as loathe as he was to interact and most likely be forced to discuss his behavior the night before, he was hungry and eating sounded like a good idea.
Moving soundlessly, he made his way down the attic stairs, opening the door and stepping out into the hall. The smells of breakfast hit him, along with the scents of those who resided in the house with him. He could hear the din of conversation as he walked down the hall, hear Scott rambling about some video game and was it cool if he went to Stiles' place to finish up their game. Derek pretended that his heart didn't skip a beat at the mention of the Omega's name, that his chest didn't get tight and his wolf didn't raise its hackles in a possessive move. It was a lot easier to do when he didn't have the younger male's scent in his nose distracting him to no end.
He took the stairs at a near jog, ignoring the door and the wall next to it, focusing instead on the beige carpet, the fluffy feel of it beneath his bare feet. He remembered making carpet angels with Scott in the living room, the way the rug would get dark if rubbed a certain way. Derek's angel always turned out bigger, a fact that made the younger McHale pout, until the elder ruffed his hair and he got agitated at that instead.
Everything really was much simpler back then. Their dad was still around, calling the two of them to order, telling Derek to quit picking on his little brother and Derek whining that Scott was just being a cry-wolf. In those days, neither of them would realize just how dramatically their lives would change, that one day their dad wouldn't be around to chastise them, to teach them, to remind Derek that Scott was younger and he needed to protect him, not mess with him. Their dad would be pissed if he knew how shit had turned out, if he knew that Derek and Scott barely spoke anymore and when they did, it was in snippy tones and with angry words. Gone were the days of hero worship and playful banter. Their relationship was no longer one of a carefree kind of annoyance that came from having a younger brother constantly plastered at your side, copying your every move because he thought you were just that cool. It was now one of a genuine annoyance and a belief that if something were to happen to the other, they'd be okay with it because the asshole deserved it.
Yeah, their dad wouldn't stand for that shit at all and would verbally ream them with growls and snarls until he was satisfied they'd gotten over their bullshit.
Then again, if their dad was still around, their relationship wouldn't be that way. Derek would still be his old self, the older brother who enjoyed hanging with the younger one, teaching him, playfully picking on him, the two thick as thieves as they had been.
But that clearly wasn't meant to be. Shit happened for a reason, that was his dad's belief. Derek just hadn't figured out the reason for his father's untimely death yet.
He entered the kitchen to hear Melissa reminding Scott that the moving truck would be there sometime around noon and that he needed to help, earning her an enthusiastic grin and nod in response. Clearly the younger Alpha had gotten his way.
Again.
Derek shuffled over to the coffee maker, grabbing a random mug out the cabinet above and filling it with the caffeinated drink. He was gonna need the ass-kicking it could provide—and a lot of it. Really, he should just set up some sorta IV and mainline the shit straight into his system. Despite the couple extra hours of sleep he'd gotten after his run, he still felt exhausted. Mentally exhausted anyway. His body was back to being ready to run another ten miles or so, but his mind was just not willing to deal with anything, demanding he get back in bed and snooze.
Not that he'd be able to really. His body was well-aware that it was past nine, that it was time to be awake, and wasn't about to let anything shut down for any reason.
Fucking fun.
"You're up late," Melissa commented from her position by the stove, a plate in hand as she scooped bacon onto it.
Derek stirred sugar into his coffee, shrugging as he took a sip to taste test it, satisfied. He knew he was pretty much always the first one up—at least since his dad had died—and that for him to be the last one to arrive in the kitchen was a strange occurrence. He just didn't feel like explaining his restless night or his way early morning run.
"He was up at three," Scott commented, a slight bitter edge to his words.
The elder Alpha turned and glared, an eyebrow cocked in a silent demand to know where the fuck he got off sharing information about a life that wasn't his own.
The look was ignored as the younger kept talking, setting cutlery at each setting on the table. Only four this time. Thank fuck. "Left the house and didn't get back 'til nearly five."
Derek both heard and felt two sets of inquisitive female eyes locking onto him, Melissa the one to comment with a low "oh?" He held the glare at Scott before turning to her, seeing firsthand the questioning tilt of her eyebrows, the curious twist of her lips.
"And what exactly were you up to at three in the morning, Derek?"
He resented the question, the way she was treating him like a little kid who needed a curfew and permission to leave and to check in every five minutes. He was legally an adult, not to mention a fully matured werewolf. If he wanted to fucking leave at three in the morning, he could and would.
But the weight of Melissa's stare—along with that of Maria's and now Scott's—had him buckling under and he knew there was no way he'd be able to get away with a shrug and a head shake. She'd badger and prod and create theories of her own until he finally snapped and barked out an answer, raising her anger level to an unnecessary point. Unfortunately for him, it was best to just skip all that shit and cut right to the part where he answer.
"Running," he stated flatly, stepping over to his chair and lowering himself onto it, taking another drink of his coffee before putting it on the table.
"At three in the morning?" she questioned dubiously, placing the plate of bacon in the middle of the table.
This time he did shrug, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. "Couldn't sleep."
"You run by Stiles' house?" Scott asked, sitting across from him, eyes narrowed. His body language was tense, muscle in his uneven jaw ticking, clearly ready to attack his elder brother should he dare say something bad about his best friend.
Derek rolled his eyes, both at the younger male's ridiculous attitude and the stupidity of his question. "He lives right next door," he reminded him, voice gruff with annoyance. "Trust me, if I could've avoided it, I would've."
Scott snorted, rolling his own dark eyes and shaking his head in disbelief, turning away from the elder Alpha. Derek refused to acknowledge his reaction, the way his scent shifted to something bitter, the annoyance clear in smell and facial expression. Instead, he lifted his mug, inhaling a huge waft of coffee, knowing the beans could help clear other scents from his nose. That, plus it just smelled fucking good.
Maria made her way to the table, shaky hands placing a large bowl of scrambled eggs next to the plate of bacon. A plate of toast soon joined it and the two females seated themselves, the elder giving the order to dig in. Derek helped himself, purposely avoiding any curious and/or annoyed gazes that went his way, focusing solely on the task of eating.
It was a whole lot easier than thinking about his earlier run, why it'd been necessary, and the aggravating moments that had taken place during it. And it sure as hell beat dealing with Scott's own irritation at the elder Alpha and his attitude towards the Omega next door.
The Omega who'd left his scent on one of the chairs at the very table Derek was seated at.
Seemed like avoiding all things Stiles was gonna be harder than he'd originally thought it'd be.
Scott left as soon as he finished breakfast. Maria and Melissa lingered at the table, enjoying a second cup of coffee each and chatting, as Derek washed the dishes before disappearing to his room. He contemplated going on another run, if for no other reason than it was something to do, but didn't wanna deal with the questions it would raise. So instead, he flopped onto his back on the bed, rereading the book he'd tried to enjoy on the airplane.
The moving truck showed up a little after noon, just like Melissa had said it would. Derek slipped on his boots and made it outside as the back door of the vehicle was lifted up.
And the front door of the house to the left opened.
Derek tried to ignore the way his inner-wolf raised its head in interest, the way it began pacing about, whining. He tried to ignore the way his own body tensed up, the tingle he felt all over, the tightening in his chest. He tried to ignore the scent that wafted his way, the intoxicating combination of sugar, orange, and pine, along with that same laundry-detergent-flannel-denim-hair-gel overlay. He tried to ignore the way the scent was getting closer, the excited rush of words as the owner of the smell spoke, the sounds of sneakers crushing a perfectly manicured lawn as two males walked over.
He tried to ignore the fact that Stiles was moments from being within arms reach once more and that it would be more than easy to just grab the guy and run off with him.
Shit.
He clenched his teeth together, breathing through his mouth to reduce the risk of him inhaling any more of that scent and doing something stupid. Like having anything to do with Stiles.
Muscles tense, he stomped over to the back of the truck, grabbing two stacked boxes and turning to take them inside. Only to come face-to-face with Stiles. Because that's how his life was these days, a constant punishment, pushing him beyond his limits and testing his hold on...pretty much everything really. And now was another one of those punishing tests and he was seconds away from failing. Again.
Stiles came to a stop in front of him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, easy-going smile on his face. His body language was loose, relaxed, and if he harbored any ill feelings or anger about the first time they'd been face to face, he didn't show it. His scent might've told a different story—the true story—but Derek wasn't chancing finding that out.
Hell, just standing around was chancing things.
His grip tightened on the box he was carrying, holding his breath in his lungs, his entire body tensed up. It was just like at dinner the night before, when he was too afraid of relaxing in case his wolf decided to take shit over and make a move for him, a move he didn't wanna make in the first place. He bit back a growl—albeit he had no idea why he felt like growling, but figured the fact that he wanted to make the noise in the first place wasn't a good thing—barely able to keep his sight from reddening out.
But the Omega before him didn't seem put off by any of this, didn't seem afraid or nervous or worried. He kept up the same casual demeanor, the same easy going nature, simply taking his hand out his pocket and waving.
"'Sup, Big Guy?"
Yeah, that shit needed to not happen.
Stiles' voice ghosted over Derek's skin, hitting right in the core of him, and without a second's hesitation, the Alpha turned and stormed his way up the lawn and into the house, not stopping until he was in the kitchen.
He dropped the boxes on the table, vaguely aware of objects inside rattling, not sparing a second's thought to whether anything was breakable or if he'd even put them in the right room. All he could think about was getting control, gathering himself enough so that he could deal with everything that was happening, could deal with Stiles' scent and voice and existence and not feel like he was gonna wolf out and do something he'd regret later on.
Exhaling harshly, Derek shoved the heels of his hands in his eyes, breathing heavy as he willed himself to calm down. He counted down from ten, then twenty, then fifty, still feeling his body tremble, still feeling completely on edge. Voices drifted inside the house, Scott and Stiles, the two heading upstairs judging by the sounds of their footsteps. Derek dropped his hands from his face, gripping the back of the chair and digging his claws in, holding himself there.
Really, the entire fucking thing was stupid. He was a fucking Alpha, one that was, once again, letting some stupid fucking smell affect him. He could handle this, was better than this. He just had to hold his breath around the Omega, make sure he carried his own boxes and didn't let any unwanted scents transfer onto his things. Easy.
Taking another deep calming breath, Derek mentally pulled his shit together and released his grip on the chair, absently aware that he'd clawed the wood and would most likely get chewed out for it later. Whatever. He'd deal with that problem if and when it happened. He already had enough on his metaphorical plate at the moment.
His eyes shot to the cabinet where he knew the actual plates were held, a small satisfaction tingling the back of his head at the memory of him smashing his dad's plate. A little messed up, but if it meant one last thing in the house didn't have the Omega's scent on it, then it was fine.
Tilting his head down, he soon realized he'd scratched the chair Stiles had used the night before.
Of fucking course.
Shoving himself away, Derek turned and left the kitchen, his muscles still tense and his steps still heavy as he made his way out the house and to the truck. He just needed to get his own shit, get it in his room, and avoid Scott and Stiles at all costs.
Judging by the dark glare the younger Alpha leveled at the elder as he stepped onto the front porch, the last part wasn't gonna be a problem at all.
It only took about twenty minutes for them to unload the truck. Derek handled his own boxes, as well as some of the heavier ones. The other two males took care of Scott's things and helped Melissa with her's. Maria's arthritis prevented her from doing much of anything beyond directing the movers where to put boxes and making lunch for everyone. By the time the truck pulled away, five plates of sandwiches and chips sat at the table, glass of lemonade stationed at each setting.
Derek took his upstairs. He'd had enough of family meals and trying to keep his wolf in control around the Omega who'd been helping them out. He needed a reprieve from remaining tensed up and constantly having to hold his breath.
No one argued with him. Melissa didn't insist that he stay and join them. Probably because he'd grabbed his plate after Maria had inquired about the state of her chair and he'd just shrugged, facial features betraying nothing.
Lunch eaten, he set about unpacking his things, putting clothes in the drawers, setting up his laptop and school supplies on his desk, tossing his dirty laundry in the folding mesh hamper he placed next to his desk. Shoes were lined up next to his drawers, trash can under the desk, spare lamp on top, alarm clock situated on the nightstand before being plugged in and set to the correct time. The place still looked completely impersonal and utilitarian, but it was how he wanted it, knowing he wouldn't be there for long.
He hoped anyway.
The last box contained his books and he stood there frowning at it, wondering where exactly to put them. He hadn't been given any shelves for them and a quick scan of the other side of the attic informed him that none were over there either. Maria had mentioned there being more furniture in the basement and he contemplated going down to see for himself when a knock sounded on his door.
His frown turned into a glare as he turned his head towards the opening where the stairs lay, wondering who the fuck was bothering him this time. He assumed it was Melissa coming to chew him out over Maria's chair and to give him another lecture about respecting other people's property and to watch what his claws were doing. Or maybe a reaming about being an anti-social dick. Or another tirade about what an asshole he was being to Stiles.
He smeared a hand over his face, feeling his whiskers rasp against his palms, wishing he could wipe away all thoughts of the Omega as easily as wiping his hand down his face.
Focusing more on his iPod and trying to decide what he wanted to listen to next, he barked out a gruff "c'min" to whoever had knocked, realizing too late what a terrible fucking idea it was.
The door swung open, the scent immediately making its way to Derek's nose. He felt his entire being tingle once more, head jerking up and focusing on the drawers across the bed from him and not the person beginning their ascent into the attic. Stiles.
The Omega's scent teased him, getting stronger and more potent with each step up the creaking stairs. Derek dropped his iPod on the bed before he smashed it in his hand, fingers curling into fists, the bite of his claws stinging his palms. He felt his chest rumbling with a growl and he cut the noise off, gritting his jaw and tensing his muscles to keep himself in place.
"Hey."
Fuck.
Derek closed his eyes against the voice, breathing in a huge gulp of air to gain control of himself. Huge mistake. All it did was give him a lungful of Stiles' scent and cause his wolf to start clawing and whining, demanding that Derek get over there and claim, to mingle their scents, to rub himself all over the Omega so no one could ever smell him without getting a whiff of the Alpha with it.
Not gonna happen.
Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, fingers drumming against cardboard as he shifted from foot to foot. Derek finally opened his eyes—albeit it not all the way, but enough to actually see what was going on—leveling his hard gaze at the younger male.
The Omega stood there with the same easy going smirk as before, box in hand, eyebrows bobbing up in a "hey, how ya doin'?" motion. If he had any inclination that he was a lowly Omega in the den of a mature Alpha, he didn't show it, still seeming as carefree as ever.
Idiot.
Derek fully turned to face him, folding his arms over his chest in a move to intimidate, as well as keep himself from grabbing the Omega and having his way with him until they were both covered in sweat, come, and each others scents. "What do you want?" he questioned on a growl, still glaring, thankful his vision was still normal and not covered by a mask of red.
"Oh, uh." Stiles raised the box slightly like the elder male hadn't already seen it. "This is yours apparently. It was just dumped on the kitchen table. Figured I'd come bring it to you."
An eyebrow raised on its own at that. Clearly the kid had issues if he thought going to the bedroom of the guy that had slammed him into a wall the night before was a good idea. He wondered why no one had stopped him, why Scott hadn't held him back or Melissa talked him out of it.
Unless there was some sorta ulterior motive behind it.
His ears searched the other rooms of the house, hearing Melissa and Maria talking in the kitchen, the water running as someone did dishes. A toilet flushed in another room, Scott most likely doing his business. Meaning Stiles had been left alone and ignored and had decided all on his own to go to Derek's room under the pretense of giving him a box of his things.
Definitely an idiot.
"Right," the Alpha stated flatly. "And you brought it. Now leave."
"Uh, actually," Stiles began, stepping over to dump the box on the bed. Derek tried not to think about how close he was to the mattress, about how easy it would be to just shove the box off and push the Omega down onto it, to climb on top and cover that lean frame with his broader one, with his scent. The gray tee and khaki shorts he wore were no match for an Alpha's claws and it would be the work of seconds to get him naked and moaning, that scent stronger and with that spice note he'd inhaled the night before. Derek had fleeting thoughts about how the younger male would taste on his tongue, about what kind of underwear he'd be ripping off in order to get to his cock, his ass, his hole. He'd bury his nose where the Omega's scent was strongest, lap at his dick, suck at the head, before drifting down and eating him out, drinking in the essence of him as his body got him ready to be fucked.
A faint noise reached Derek's ears and it took him a moment to realize it was the sound of Stiles' breath catching in his throat. Eyes flipping to the Omega, he registered how his cheeks were redder, lids halfway down now golden eyes, lips parted and jaw dropped. His breathing was heavier, body trembling, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. And his scent had kicked up a notch, stronger, with that spice note Derek had detected the night before when he had the smaller male pinned to the wall.
Fuck. Shit just got more complicated.
Clearly Derek had failed in his mission to try not to think about having the other male in his bed rather than next to it and his x-rated side-trip hadn't remained in just his mind. Judging by the red and orange tint to everything, his thoughts had leaked out, his dick twitching with interest inside his jeans, his claws digging into his tee, his wolf howling out a demand to go ahead and do everything he'd been thinking about doing. And it wasn't just his physicality that would give everything away, it would be his scent, too. Chances were his own held that same spicy note of arousal and even if Stiles himself couldn't tell exactly what it was, his wolf would. His Omega instincts would tell him that an aroused Alpha was in the vicinity and that his body needed to ready itself for penetration, to give whatever the Alpha wanted without hesitation.
And as much as Derek wanted that, he also didn't want it at all.
Swallowing hard, he fought to keep in control, to rein back his wolf and his instincts and everything inside of him that was screaming to just grab Stiles as he had before and follow through on what he'd started the night before.
"You need to leave," he ordered, voice a harsh growl that shoved its way past his fangs in a barely understandable rumble.
Stiles' mouth did an impression of a goldfish, lips moving up and down, up and down, up and down, no words coming out. He shook his head rapidly, attempting to snap himself out of it, before awkwardly smoothing his hand over the back of his head. "I was hoping we could talk," he requested, voice rougher than usual, gesturing to the elder male with his hand before shoving both in his pockets.
Derek snorted, rolling his eyes, fighting off the instinct to give the Omega anything and everything he asked. His wolf was clawing to get out once again, demanding the human-half of him just shut up and let Stiles talk, let him talk forever about anything and everything, if that's what he wanted.
But the human half knew better, knew that letting the younger male talk would not only go against his plan to not get to know him, but also would result in Stiles believing that Derek wasn't such a bad guy and would forgive past transgressions. And with him forgiving what the Alpha had done, it meant the Omega would no longer be so wary—if he was even that way in the first place—of being around him and would be a constant presence in his life. It was exactly what Derek was hoping to avoid.
"I have nothing to say to you," he replied, tone flat.
"Okay, that's cool, but I—"
"You," Derek interrupted. "Are gonna leave and not come back."
Stiles' brow furrowed in confusion, hand slipping out his pocket to point at the other male. "But—"
"Your stench is already all over my mattress," Derek cut in once more, coming up with an excuse that was both understandable and believable. "Now it's gonna be on my shit. I don't need you hanging around getting your Omega stink all over everything else. It's already hard enough to breathe in here without that shit."
The smaller male's mouth shut, the gold leaking from his eyes, head turning away as he struggled to keep eye contact. His jaw was working, lips twisting in various directions, fingers clenching into fists inside his shorts. Derek had obviously hit a nerve, had hurt the Omega's feelings given the way his scent turned salty.
Something inside the Alpha twisted, a knife slicing into his gut, a wrenching in his heart. His wolf hunkered down, ears back, head on its paws, whimpers leaving it. It clearly felt like shit, hated to see the Omega in pain of any description, especially when the human-half of Derek was to blame. He felt the urge to go over, to wrap Stiles up in his arms and hold him close, to insist he didn't mean it, that he was sorry, that he would do anything to make it better.
But he didn't do it.
Because Stiles being hurt was exactly what he wanted. Because no one would wanna be around the person who was a dick to them and upset them. Because deep down, Derek really was a dick.
And for the first time since his dad's death, he felt like absolute shit and regretted his actions.
Stiles nodded repeatedly, pressing his lips into a hard line, resolution setting into his features as his body hardened. "Right," he muttered, screwing his face up briefly before flattening his expression. "Well, guess that, uh. Nothing really much to say to that."
Derek kept his own poker face up, digging his claws further into his shirt to prevent his hands from reaching out and pulling the younger male close and holding him tight until he was forgiven again. Instead, he shrugged a shoulder, playing nonchalance, acting like he hadn't a care in the world about what he'd said and how it'd been taken.
When in all actuality, part of him deep down had broken.
But it was easily ignored. For the time being anyway.
The Omega swallowed hard, licked his lips, nodded some more. Without another word, he turned on a sneaker-clad foot and quickly made his way downstairs, shutting the attic door behind himself.
Derek didn't move for another long moment, ears listening out for the sounds of Stiles shuffling into Scott's room, false cheer in his voice as he greeted his friend and pretended like everything was okay and no, he wasn't lying, did he want Scott to set up the wifi or not? Satisfied that his own lie had been bought, Derek forced his body to relax, exhaling slow and long. It wasn't until he pulled his hands from his sides and dropped his arms that he realized there was blood on claws, that his sides were bleeding, that he'd hurt himself physically after hurting Stiles emotionally.
Standing in the middle of his room, staring at the red under his nails and barely feeling the sting of the slices he'd inflicted upon himself, Derek knew he was more fucked than he originally thought.