Derek's old bedroom had been converted into a guest room soon after he'd moved out. The hunter green walls he'd had were painted to a lighter mint shade with white trim, cherry furniture decorating the space, curtains and bedclothes a deep plum color. It was nice, the colors complimenting each other well and it spoke of his dad's eye for design and style.
Bed was comfy as hell, too, an absent thought that ran through Derek's mind as he sank down onto the mattress, burying his face in his hands as he practically slammed his elbows onto his knees. He let out a prolonged sigh, shoulders slumping with the exhale. God, and he'd thought things had been overwhelming enough for him lately. Now this on top of it? And, of course, it was happening while at a huge freaking party with half the county attending.
Okay, not half the county, but still. A whole lotta people that usually didn't hang around the house. Especially not at the same time.
The door closed over, shutting off all the noise of the party down below, Derek remembering how all the bedrooms—and the office downstairs—were soundproofed for privacy. Necessary in a house full of Supes with incredible hearing and he'd been thankful as hell when he was a teen.
And now he was thankful as an adult as his mouth started moving without him being conscious of having sent the commands.
"I really didn't need this right now," he muttered, heels of his palms digging into his eyes. "I can't handle it. I should just leave, go home, get as far away from all this as possible."
Lydia let out a humming noise, heels clicking on the hardwood floor before thumping softly on the white shag rug the bed was seated on. "Oh yeah, totally. It really worked well for Stiles, ditching everyone who cares about him without any real explanation. Brilliant idea."
Derek lifted his head to her, brow furrowed as he gave her the most unamused scowl he was capable of. She simply stared back down at him with an arched eyebrow, Parrish's dog tags still around her neck, arms folded over her emerald green satin party dress, hip cocked out, pink lips pursed. She was back in her old high school Queen Bee mode and there was no winning against her.
Didn't mean he wasn't gonna try.
He let out a sigh as his hands dropped between his knees. "I hate when you get passive-aggressive and manipulative like that."
She shrugged a shoulder, not all that bothered by it. "I'm only manipulating you into doing the right thing. Which, in this case, is staying here and talking to Stiles."
His head bobbed with a snort, jaw tensing up, eyes narrowing. There was no way that was happening. Not after what Stiles had done to him, had done to all of them. And really, he'd pretty much expressed himself with the f-bomb and use of the man's real name.
"I have nothing to say to him," he ground out, fingers curling into fists then unfurling.
Lydia bobbed her eyebrows in a dismissive manner, licking her lips before speaking. "Stiles probably has a lot to say to you though," she pointed out with an arched eyebrow. "You should get him to explain everything to you."
He let out another snort, feeling his chest tighten up as he remembered the last moments he'd spent around his ex, the way Stiles had freaked out before practically shoving his clothes on then running out. Literally. His head hung from drooping shoulders, fingers twisting together amongst the fabric that covered his palms, his next inhale a shaky one. "I doubt he wants anything to do with me," he mumbled, voice sounding small and far away.
A small laugh gusted out of her. "Right. Totally. That's why he followed you into the kitchen calling your name, because he wants nothing to do with you." More sarcasm and he could practically feel the eye roll she was more than likely giving him. She sighed out softly before moving to sit on his left, hands folded neatly on her lap. "Hear Stiles out," she suggested softly, sweetly, gently pushing him in the direction she wanted him to go rather than the blatant shove of her earlier passive-aggressive words. "If for no other reason than to get an explanation for why he left so you can find some sort of closure and not spend the rest of your life wondering why he up and bailed like that."
Derek smirked, turning his head to the side to eye her with a cocked eyebrow. "You just want me to talk to him so you can find out why he left."
She gave him a vague head shake with pursed lips, trying to deny it, but her scent gave away that he'd caught on to ulterior motives. His smirk grew into something cockier and she rolled her eyes at him yet again. "Partially," she admitted, flipping red curls behind her shoulder, dog tags jingling with the movement. "But mostly for you. You've become a good friend and I want you to be happy." At his raised eyebrows, she huffed. "As happy as you can be without your Mate," she corrected with the barest amount of snark possible.
A sad smile curved up the corner of his lips, a warm feeling growing in his chest. He'd forgotten what it was like to have good friends like Lydia, to have someone genuinely care about him the way she did. He'd had it with his family, of course, that unselfish desire to make sure others were happy before themselves, but he'd shut all that down the second he'd estranged himself from them. But there Lydia was, with that unconditional care for him because they were friends. Not because he was Stiles' ex and they had something in common, not because he was the partner and friend of her boyfriend, but because of their own relationship forged on their own terms.
She was a good person and he was damn sure lucky to have her in his life after years of just using people around him then pushing them aside once more.
"Thanks," he whispered to her, smiling shakily at her.
Lydia waved him off with a flick of the hand, shaking her bangs out her eyes and turning up her nose. "Don't thank me. Just admit I'm right and do as I say," she dictated, the tiniest smirk playing on her pursed lips.
A laugh made its way out of him before he even realized it, followed by a semi-sarcastic "Yes, ma'am" as he rose to his feet, Lydia following suit. "But seriously," he began, tone grave once more. "Thank you for being there for me all this time."
She shrugged again, arms folded under her chest, green eyes peering up at him. "I'll admit I was a little selfish when I first showed up at your place," she confessed. "I mostly needed to just rant and I knew you'd be able to relate and understand. Going to Scott would've been too awkward, since I was always more of Allison's friend than his, but—" She paused, licking her lips before pressing them together in a hard line, shrugging and shaking her head. "I knew you'd need an understanding ear, too, and I wanted to be that for you."
A grateful smile formed on Derek's lips and he enveloped her in a hug, feeling her return the embrace with her arms around his waist and her head turned to the side as it pressed up against his chest. "I'm glad you showed," he confessed, chin resting on her red hair. "You're a great friend and Parrish is a lucky guy to have you."
They parted and she smiled softly up at him. "No," she argued quietly, eyes twinkling and her face lit up from within. "I'm the lucky one."
The comment caught him off guard, Derek more used to Lydia's cocky attitude. He'd been expecting a "duh" and a gesture to herself, comments over how any guy would be lucky to have her. But her belief that Parrish was better than her and that she was the one blessed to be with someone so great just backed up Derek's argument that his partner was indeed the fortunate one in their relationship.
Nothing against Parrish, of course. Guy seemed like a pretty good catch given his Boy Scout manners and boy-next-door grin.
"C'mon," Lydia instructed with a nod to the door. "Let's find Stiles so you can get some answers."
"For both of us," Derek added on with a cocked eyebrow, smirking at her.
She played dumb, turning on a heel towards their exit, lips pursed as she shook her head. "No idea what you're talking about."
"Suuure," he placated, following her out the bedroom and down the stairs, where they parted ways.
Derek tracked Stiles' scent to the office, the scents of his mom and the sheriff hanging around the door frame, alerting him to the fact that they'd also recently entered the room. Must've been a serious conversation if they'd chosen the only soundproofed room that wasn't a bedroom. Although really, given the fact that Stiles had suddenly shown up outta nowhere after having told his dad he wasn't coming home for the holidays, it was completely obvious that it was a serious convo. The guy had a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people, not just Derek. He had to be ready to dole out a whole lotta apologies.
Part of him knew the polite thing to do would be to just walk away, let them wrap up their convo and wait his turn. But the other, much bigger part of him knew that if he did that, he'd never work up the nerve to talk to Stiles. He'd come up with excuse after excuse for why he couldn't do it, why he wouldn't do it. He had to just get it over with while he still had the nerve—and Lydia on his back.
Not that she'd relent if he backed off right then. She'd be on him worse than ever if he didn't go ahead and talk to Stiles at that very moment. And a relentless Lydia turned into a scary Lydia and the last thing he should—and would—ever do was piss her off, lest he wake up with her screaming over his death. A death that would come at her hands.
A shudder raced through him at that thought and he shook it off. Lydia wasn't gonna kill him because he was gonna go ahead and talk to Stiles, just get it over and done with, like ripping off a band-aid. Sure, might be a little rude, but his mom would understand and the sheriff would have other opportunities to talk to his son. If he knew Stilinski the way he believed he did, then he knew the older man would not only insist his son stay in his old room, he'd drag him there in handcuffs if necessary.
Really, this was Derek's best shot at talking to the guy, while they were in the same building and the Werewolf still had the nerve. He needed to take the chance while he had it.
That belief in mind, he grabbed hold of the knob and twisted, pushing open the door as he knocked.
Conversation ceased the second he stepped inside, hand still on the knob, taking in the scene before him. His mom was standing between two high backed leather chairs, arms folded over her black cocktail dress. The sheriff was seated behind the desk, hands clutching at his head as his elbows rested on the mahogany table. Stiles was standing to the side of it, arms wrapped around himself, head ducked and lips pressed into a hard line. Everyone was tense, not a relaxed muscle in the room, and the air was thick with anxiety, confusion, and an underlying note of joy.
Super serious conversation then. One Derek was both glad and saddened to have not been a part of.
His eyes flicked between all three occupants, lingering more on his mom and the sheriff, feeling his own wolf growing agitated by the heavy emotions filling the space. "I can come back," he offered, throat tight, pointing behind himself with his thumb.
His mom looked at him with a tight-lipped smile and watery eyes and he couldn't help the flashback of when he'd last seen that same expression on her face three years prior when he'd shown up for Christmas festivities, right before she'd told him Stiles had been there but left.
Not a good sign.
"It's fine, sweetie," she rasped before clearing her throat, something that made his brow furrow in confusion. His mom only ever sounded like that when she was really upset, usually after having just watched Titanic for the five-hundredth time. It was a sign that she was holding back tears, that she was pretending everything was okay when really, she was on the verge of bawling over Jack's death again. He took a few steps towards her on automatic, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"We'll just give you some space." She gave Stilinski a pointed look, and he nodded dumbly in return.
The sheriff rose to his feet in slow motions, pushing himself up with his hands on his desk, limbs unfurling like they were having trouble with the action. His blue eyes were distant, unseeing, focused on nothing as he scuffed his way over to the door and out of the room, not acknowledging his deputy as he passed by.
Derek's curiosity grew, further fueled by the whiff of shame that he scented from Stiles' direction. He glanced over to the other man to witness him sniffing, thumb rubbing at his nose, shoulders hunched further. Turning back to his mom, he frowned at her, wanting to ask what the hell was going on but knowing she wasn't the one she should be directing the question to.
As if sensing this, she gave him another smile, this one more genuine, more sympathetic than the lie that had previous curled her lips. She rubbed his arm as she passed him, closing the door and shutting off the sounds of the party.
Leaving Derek alone with Stiles.
Funny how that would've been the best thing ever three years ago, how the sheriff wouldn't have left without a pointed look at both of them, wordlessly conveying that he had a gun and a magazine of wolfsbane bullets should anyone get out of hand. He wouldn't be able to leave without his sisters giving him knowing smirks, ribbing him endlessly throughout the night, teasing him about his scent and his hair and "aren't hickeys supposed to heal on us, bro? He must've gotten you good, huh?"
Now, however, Derek wanted to be anywhere else but there. It was more awkward than his encounter with Scott, his wolf pacing about, agitated and anxious. And its human counterpart couldn't blame it really, kinda wanted to do the same thing. He could barely breathe for all the tension in the air, could only inhale the increased panic and worry, could feel it cause every muscle in his body to tense up.
Stiles finally lifted his head and looked in his direction, fake grin curling up the side of his mouth momentarily. His arms dropped to his sides, one hand then rubbing the back of his neck as the other gestured to the other occupant. "You, uh," he started then stalled, clearing his throat. "You look good."
What. The fuck.
Derek cocked an eyebrow as his arms folded over his chest, fists held between his biceps and his chest. "Seriously?" he snorted, unable to believe that after all that time, that was what Stiles chose to lead with.
Full lips parted, mouth hanging slack as his hands fell to his sides with a pair of smacks. "Uh, no?" he asked more than answered, shrugging and shaking his head, mouth working as he tried to speak. "I mean, yeah. I mean, you do look good so I was serious about that, but that wasn't wha—"
"Why are you here?" the Werewolf interrupted gruffly, effectively shutting him up. Experience had taught him that once the younger man got started on a ramble, there were very few ways to actually get him to stop. His previous move had been to kiss the guy, but that was obviously no longer an option. Before that, he'd just slapped a hand over his mouth and scowled when Stiles retaliated by licking his palm. Not an option either since Derek was in no mood to get any closer.
Mostly because he knew that if he got within arms reach of the guy, he was hauling him in close and not letting go.
Definitely not an option.
Stiles' eyebrows raised in surprise before dropping back down. "I was here first, but you wanted to talk so." He wrapped it up with another gesture towards Derek before shoving both hands in the pockets of his khakis.
The older man rolled his eyes. Should've expected that response really and he cursed himself for not having done so. Then again, he was completely out of practice with Stiles interactions so it wasn't like he could be blamed really.
"I meant 'here in Beacon Hills'," he pointed out with an arched eyebrow that told the other male that he knew that's what Derek had meant and the Werewolf wasn't impressed with his fuckery.
"I've been staying with Noshiko in New York," he explained, fists jerking in his pockets at an attempted gesture, his habit of speaking with his hands still unbroken. "When she said they were headed here to visit a friend, she invited me to come along and I took her up on it."
Derek let out a laugh of disbelief, mouth hanging open as his jaw worked around and he shook his head. He felt his chest get tight and his stomach twist up, his ex's confession like a wrecking ball to the gut. He felt pissed, hurt, offended, a million things at once, his heart broken all over again as the truth slapped him in the face. "So, you only came back because other people were?" he double-checked in a venomous tone, narrowing his eyes at the other man.
"No," Stiles quickly objected, hands flying out of his pockets then almost immediately dropping. "I mean, I guess, kinda, but—"
"Did you plan on ever coming back?" he interrupted again, shrugging and shaking his head with his lips turned down at the corners.
"Yes!" the other man answered immediately, face so completely earnest it rivaled Scott's puppy dog looks. His heartbeat was steady, scent neutral, everything indicating he was being totally honest.
Yet the Werewolf still couldn't accept it as the truth.
He shook his head, pulling his arms in tighter to his body. "I don't believe that," he stated flatly. "I can't believe that. Otherwise you would've come back sooner and on your own, or you would've kept in contact or at least given a reason for leaving in the first place."
Stiles didn't respond, but the wince on his face as he turned to the side, refusing to make eye contact, said volumes. Derek was right and the other man was pretty much admitting it by not arguing.
Feeling like his point was proven, the older man changed the subject, keeping his narrowed eyes locked onto his ex. "Why did you leave?" he asked point-blank, only halfway expecting an answer.
Stiles cleared his throat, bouncing on his toes a bit before settling, head tilted down as he started a staring contest with the floor. He licked his lips, rubbed the back of his neck, hunched his shoulders up around his ears, clearly stalling. Derek opened his mouth to bark at him to quit and just fucking talk already, but it was rendered unnecessary by Stiles actually making words.
"I needed to get away," he said tightly, arms wrapped tight around his lean frame, putting new—or at least new to Derek—biceps further on display. "I had to figure some stuff out."
Derek scoffed, causing the younger man to raise his head and stare at him with a frown. "Why couldn't you wait until you'd graduated high school?" he demanded, taking a step toward him. "Why couldn't you explain that to anyone? Why did you just up and bail on everyone?"
"I panicked!" the other man snapped, stepping closer as well, hand flying to his hair and tugging. "I wasn't thinking clearly. About anything. I just wanted to go." His hands flew in the direction of the door as he wrapped up his louder than necessary explanation.
"You couldn't have panicked that much if you were able to come here and talk to my mom and write letters saying not to look for you," Derek pointed out, his own volume rising with the human's.
Stiles' eyes widened at that, his scent shifting to something shocked at the mention of the female Alpha. Apparently the guy hadn't figured that Derek would know he'd spoke to his mom, that he wouldn't figure shit out or somehow be made aware of the fact that the human had stopped by and chatted with her.
And he'd always thought Stiles was smart.
"I stopped by here Christmas Day, thinking I was gonna spend a nice day with my family, celebrate the holiday, maybe talk to my mom about what happened between us the night before and how I can fix it, but instead I got a whiff of you and was told that you left." He paused his rant, shoving a hand through his hair before letting out another dubious laugh. "I talked to my mom yesterday about all this and she told me that she tried talking you out of leaving, that she told you that you should at least explain things to everyone, to me, yet you didn't. Was that panicking, too?"
His anger was a palpable thing at that point, so intense he could practically smell it on himself. Or at least his mind believed that he did. He could feel his hands shaking with it as he crossed his arms again, his muscles so tensed up that the action was more difficult than it should've been.
The fingers on Stiles' right hand wiggled against his thigh, his scent closed off, his features flat but eyes turned down in sadness. "It's complicated," he murmured with a rough edge to his voice, bobbing his eyebrows in a dismissive move.
Derek reined in his anger, knew that throwing around his Werewolfness wouldn't help the situation, would only remind the human about why he'd disappeared in the first place. It was better to approach everything calmly, rationally, like the adults they both were at that point. Catch more flies with honey than vinegar. That old adage existed for a reason.
"Then uncomplicate it," he pleaded softly, removing the scowl from his face and looking at his ex with a softer expression.
The younger man rounded the corner of the desk and sank down into one of the chairs, burying his face in his hands. A sigh left him, his body sagging, reminding Derek of when he'd seen Stiles in a similar position during one of his many visits to the late Claudia Stilinski at the hospital during her last days.
"I'm sorry," the human muttered out, words muffled by his hands. "I thought it'd be better that way, to just have a clean break and be done."
For the second time, Derek felt the blow in his solar plexus, his breath leaving him in a rush. His eyebrows raised as his eyes widened, lips parted but no words coming out. He was out of them. He had no clue what to say to that, other than "ouch". Until realization set in...
"So," he started softly, quietly, not even sure if he was even being heard. "Does this mean you actually weren't planning on coming back?"
Stiles' scent shifted to something shameful and embarrassed and upset, hands dropping between his knees, fingers wringing together as a leg bounced up and down. "Yeah," he breathed out, lips pulling back on a wince, head hanging off slumped shoulders.
Double ouch.
His earlier anger came roaring back with a vengeance, muscles tightening up once again. He shook his head as he stared down at the floor, breathing out a "wow" without even being aware that he was speaking. "What the hell were you thinking?" he asked calmly, turning his head back to his ex, his volume rising as he continued. "How could you bail on everyone like that? On your dad, on Scott, on Lydia, on me? Didn't I mean anything to you?"
Stiles' head snapped up and at Derek at that, body scooting forward to the edge of the chair with a creak in the leather. "Of course!" he cried out, body twisting to face the Werewolf better. "Derek, you mean everything to me. Still do." His whiskey eyes flicked back and forth between two green ones, pleading with him to believe the words that'd been said, brow pulled into a begging expression.
"Then why did you leave?" he demanded, not letting the heat leave his words.
"I told you," his ex replied softly, body slumping again. "I was going through some shit."
"Shit you didn't think I could help with?"
"No, you couldn't."
Derek's emotional pendulum swung from anger back to disbelief and he wondered if he'd ever be able to experience a feeling other than those two ever again. "We were supposed to be partners, Szczesny—"
"Stop with the 'Szczesny'," Stiles interrupted in annoyance, tensing up as he glared at the older man.
"—We were supposed to have each other's backs," the Werewolf went on in his own aggravated tone. "We were supposed to help and support one another no matter what."
"And I told you, you couldn't help with this," his ex barked back, just as agitated. Served him right, really.
The response was just as honest as before, just as vague as before, and Derek found himself scrambling once again to try and decipher the words, to read between the lines. There was a lot he wasn't saying, that much was obvious, and any number of things could be found between each syllable that was actually spoken. But one thought stood out in Derek's mind, something that only seemed clear to him because he'd been there during the catalyst event that had led to Stiles ultimately leaving.
"Because I'm a Werewolf," he concluded flatly, quieter than his previous statements, not needing to put it into a question because he knew he was right.
Stiles had the decency to let the tension leave him, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck before gesturing to the other man. "Yeah."
It was what Derek had believed, but hearing it confirmed felt completely different. It was a nail being slammed into place on the coffin holding the remains of their relationship. It was a wolfsbane bullet straight through his chest but not instantly killing him, poison slowly seeping throughout his body and slowly ending his life. It was his soul being torn in two in such a visceral way that Derek expected to look down and be able to actually see someone reaching inside his chest cavity and ripping part of him out with their own claws.
For some reason, he thought of that stupid car insurance ad and its idiotic claim of "did you know that words really can hurt?"
He sure as hell knew now.
Nodding slowly, he licked his lips as a calm sort of resolve settled over him. His arms dropped to his sides, a rough "right" leaving him, swallowing hard but unable to rid himself of the swelling around his throat. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't be human enough for you," he stated thickly, feeling himself go numb all over. "Sorry my being a Supe made you panic so much that you had to run all the way to New York to get away from me and my freakish anatomy."
His anger took a second—or fifth—turn behind the wheel that was controlling his body, turning him around and making him stalk towards the door. His name was called out behind him and he looked back with his hand on the knob to see Stiles now standing by the chair, hand reached out towards him before he dropped it.
Derek tightened his grip, twisting the knob but keeping the door shut. "I need to get away and figure some stuff out," he snarked with a sneer, using the other man's earlier words against him. "I'm going through some shit." With that, he flung the door open and strode out, knocking into the small beta he'd spotted by Malia earlier. The lanky one got in his face, gold eyes glowing, but Derek just glared back with his own wolf eyes, adding in a flash of fang and a snarl. The lanky one backed away with his arm around the short one.
The older Werewolf snorted before stalking his way to the kitchen to grab a beer, grateful the room was empty and the path to the fridge clear. Only he never headed that way. His ears caught on to the song playing in the background, Taylor Swift covering "Last Christmas" and he mentally cringed at the fact that he was able to relate to that one, too. Weren't Christmas songs supposed to be merry and bright and not give a voice to the bullshit that was his romantic life?
Switching tactics, he slipped out the door and onto the back porch, the cold December air hitting his heated skin and making him shiver. No, not shiver, he was shaking, had been for quite some time. He wrapped his trembling hands around the wooden railing, exhaling long and hard, breath clouding in front of his face. Hanging his head, he tried in vain to calm his racing heart, to still his shaking frame, to bring himself back to something resembling normal. Wasn't happening, probably wasn't gonna happen for a while. He was too tired, too emotionally wrecked, too messed up for it to happen. He'd been slowly going through the wringer for the past couple weeks with this case, only to be shoved back in and wrung out at twice the speed that night. He wasn't entirely sure he could take much more.
The door opened, momentarily letting Taylor's saccharine voice leak out as she crooned about giving someone her heart "but the very next day, you gave it away". Relatable. Totally fucking relatable.
His mom's scent reached him before she did, leaning a hip on the railing to his right. "You okay?" she asked softly, concern dripping off every syllable.
Derek dropped onto his forearms, sighing as he stared out at the forest laying beyond the stretch of winter dead grass. "Not really," he muttered honestly, playing with the thumbhole in one of his sleeves.
She nodded as she took in his words, wrapping her arms around herself. "Did Stiles tell you anything?" Her voice was curious, making conversation, but there was still that inflection that told him she already knew what it was that Stiles could've possibly told him and that she wasn't just digging for information about what secrets he'd spill.
"He panicked," he ground out, jaw clenching as his eyes narrowed. Total bullshit really. Stiles had panicked hundreds of times over the years, had suffered countless attacks right after his mom had died, had a few in front of Derek that had left the Werewolf feeling helpless and whimpering over the other man's distress, even before he'd been aware of the Mate thing. Yet despite the numerous occasions where Stiles had panicked, not once had he run away further than the Hale home.
"Did he tell you why he panicked, explain everything fully?"
Derek snorted out a "no", head bobbing with the noise. "Didn't need to. I figured it out on my own."
His mom's scent turned sadder, along with a slight note of he could only describe as a mother's need to fix her children's problems, since he only ever smelled it when she was doling out advice or bandaging up boo-boos. He pushed himself back upright as she opened her mouth to speak, turning to her and cutting her off before she even got a word out.
"I can't handle this right now, Mom," he confessed lowly, letting the apologetic part of him leak out into his own scent. "It's just too much and I. I need to head home."
She hid her hurt behind a soft smile, nodding as she licked her lips. "I understand. I'm just glad you came at all."
The corner of his lips turned up in a small smile of his own, realizing how momentous a thing their current discussion was. Because after three years of nothing, they'd now had two conversations in two days, Derek finally letting go of what had held him back and letting him have his mom once again. And in turn, she'd gotten her son back and had him around for part of a holiday event and family tradition. Who knew? Maybe the next year he'd be around for more of them, would join them for Thanksgiving, then picking out the tree and helping decorate the house. He'd take part in watching Christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate and decorating cookies that always somehow disappeared into Malia and Cora's stomachs before they were finished.
His smile grew a little bit more, something warm growing in his chest despite the numbness he felt everywhere else. "I have to work tomorrow," he informed her, scratching at his jaw. "But I'll try and stop by at some point."
His mom's grin turned into something blinding, blue eyes sparkling in delight as she held both of his hands in hers, thumbs rubbing over the fabric that covered his hands. "Breakfast is at nine as always, our big lunch at two," she reminded him, voice wavering, thick with emotion, scent overjoyed and bringing him back to his childhood. She'd always smelled that way during the holidays, loved being surrounded by family and loved ones, loved seeing everyone's excitement as they opened their gifts, loved the traditions and the true meaning of the holiday: the togetherness and the spirit of giving.
He nodded, feeling a small amount of peace settle within, knowing that what he was doing was right and that from here on out, things were gonna be okay. "I'll see you at breakfast," he promised, kissing her on the cheek before bidding her goodnight.
She didn't let him leave that easily, pulling him into a hug and wishing him a merry Christmas, "even though I know you aren't that big a fan of the holiday anymore". He returned the sentiment, kissing her cheek once more before finally getting away, walking along the wraparound porch in order to get to the front of the house.
His escape from the property itself didn't go easy either.
Stepping foot onto the dead grass, he heard his name being called out as a demand from behind, freezing him in place. Anyone else he would've ignored and kept going, but there was no escaping Lydia Martin.
He turned to see her stomping down the wooden stairs, arms swinging with her determined strides as she stomped her heels on the way over to him. He noted goosebumps on her arms, visible to his wolf eyes as she got closer and he pointed to her bare skin with a confused frown.
"Where's your jacket?"
"Shut it, Hale," she barked, pulling to a stop and putting her hands on her hips as she glared up at him. "Information. Now."
He sighed, looking around for an escape and realizing he had none. Supe speed or not, getting away from her was only temporary. She'd track him down and hound him for answers and he'd never get a moment's peace ever again in his life.
"He said he panicked," he replied flatly, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.
The look she gave him was completely unimpressed, lips pursed in annoyance, tongue smacking against her palate as they parted. "Panicked?" she deadpanned, arms folding over her chest and hip cocking out. "He panicked and ran off to—" she trailed off, shrugging and shaking her head as she gestured about. "Where exactly? Where the hell has he been for three freaking years and why is he lying about this panic crap?"
"New York."
"He's been in the same region as me this whole freaking time?!" she screeched, arms flying about, dog tags jangling against her chest. Derek held his own limbs up in front of his face in a defensive manner, waiting until she'd calmed down before dropping them. She huffed then gathered herself, flicking her hair over her shoulder, smoothing her dress down, adjusted the dog tags so they were laying right and Parrish's info was on display for all to see. Lastly, she put a sugar sweet smile back on her face as she acted like she hadn't just flipped out in the middle of the Hale's front lawn turned parking lot. "Did he explain why he panicked?" she asked tightly, like she was trying to keep it all together when she was dying to throw another fit.
"No," the Werewolf answered, hands back in his pockets as he peered down at her, hating that he was having to repeat himself. "And he didn't need to. I figured it out."
She gave him an expectant look, eyes wide as she tilted her head towards him. "Well?" she prompted after a long silent moment. "Explain it to me."
He felt his ears heat up as he started blushing, the sensation spreading to his cheeks. "Yeah, I'd rather not."
She rolled her eyes, lips pursed again, eyes narrowed as she slipped back into Queen Bee mode. "I don't care what you'd rather do. Tell me."
"Lydia, seriously, it's not—"
"Tell me!" she demanded, stomping her foot.
"I knotted him and he freaked, okay?!" he blurted out, immediately looking around to make sure no one else was around to hear him before ducking his head in embarrassment. God, it was even worse to say it out loud than it was to just know it in his heart. He felt like crawling into a hole lined with mountain ash and shoving wolfsbane down his own throat.
Lydia remained frozen for a long moment, silent, eyes narrowed as she thought it over. "You," she started then paused. "Knotted him?"
He nodded, scratching at his jaw, head still ducked down slightly. "Yeeeeah," he stretched the word out, grimacing. "It's a thing Weres do when they—"
"I know what a knot is, Derek," she interrupted snappily, rolling her eyes again. "I'm not an idiot. I've seen porn."
His eyes went wide at that, finding it hard to believe that someone as innocent looking as Lydia, with her big eyes and porcelain features, would watch porn, much less knotting porn.
She shrugged a shoulder at his reaction, clearly not bothered by his shock over his shattered illusion over her innocence. "I just can't understand how you hadn't knotted him before," she stated, sounding genuinely perplexed as she gestured with an open palm. "I mean, I thought it wasn't something you could control between Mates."
"It's not," he agreed, hands back in his pockets. "At least not during full penetrative sex, and since it was our first time going all the way, I—"
"Your first time?"
Seriously, was there anything he could say at that moment that she would just accept as the truth?
"Yes, Lydia, our first time," he ground out, scowling. "And this conversation is difficult and awkward enough without you interrupting to fact-check."
She gave another not-bothered shrug, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. "Just be glad I'm not Erica. She'd be asking for full blown details and questioning whether or not Stiles' moles continue onto his dick. Which, by the way," she added on, holding a hand up. "I don't need to know."
"Good, because I wasn't about to tell you."
The truth was there weren't any on Stiles' actual cock, but a cluster of some on his groin that Derek once connected together with a marker to make a star. He didn't want anyone to know that though, thought that little grouping was their own secret and Stiles had smiled at the idea of it being known between just the two of them.
Thinking about his ex's dick at that moment wasn't helping make things feel any less awkward though.
Lydia refolded her arms, rubbed her lips together to smear her lipstick about then pursed them thoughtfully. "So," she began, smacking her tongue against her teeth. "What makes you think it was you knotting Stiles that caused him to freak out so much?"
Derek grimaced as he looked away to the side, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He was really hoping that subject had been dropped when she brought up Erica and the fact that she wasn't as invasive as the blonde Werewolf. But no. Her resilience and determination to get to the bottom of things was in full force and he wasn't leaving without her knowing everything, no matter how personal or how difficult it was to say it out loud.
But it was Lydia, a female who'd become his best friend, an extra sister who wasn't as obnoxious or as annoying as his real ones. He could trust her with pretty much anything and everything. Besides, maybe saying it out loud would be good for him, help him get it off his chest and relieve some of the tension and guilt he'd been carrying for years. And it would help her, too, allow her to better understand why her best male friend had run off and left them all high and dry, help her gain her own closure for that part of her life and allow her to figure out where exactly she wanted to go from this point on.
"Because," he sighed out, ducking his head, hand still working the back of his neck. His face was on fire with embarrassment and his stomach was rolling with anxiety over what he was about to say. "When I knotted him. He, uh, he freaked. He jumped outta bed and started yelling about how there wasn't supposed to be a knot." He paused, shoving his hands in his pockets as he swallowed hard. "His scent was terrified and confused and just. Wrong."
He heard Lydia's glossed lips part to talk but her voice wasn't the one that spoke next.
"It wasn't your knot I was freaking out about."
Lydia cried out in surprise as her entire body jerked from it. She spun around so fast that her hair flew in Derek's face as his own head jerked up to witness the owner of the voice making his way towards them from the porch stairs. Stiles remained the picture of calm, though his shoulders were hunched and his hands were shoved in his own pockets, Vans sneakers scuffing along the dead grass as he walked. His scent carried an overwhelming amount of shame, causing Derek's brow to furrow in confusion, the expression only increasing as the other man's words sunk in.
"Wasn't your knot."
The lone female in their trio hit Stiles in the chest with her balled up hand, repeating the action as she stomped a foot. "Dammit, Stiles, don't scare me like that!" she chastised, glaring up at him.
He glanced quickly at Derek before smiling apologetically down at her, the small curve of his lips softening his face. "Sorry, Lyds."
"Oh no," she warned, pointing at him with her left hand as her right went to her hip. "Don't you dare 'Lyds' me, not after you scared the crap outta me and not after you ran away to New York and didn't think to look me up at MIT or drop me an email to say you're okay or even say goodbye—" She trailed off as the anger left her, words no longer filled with venom but breaking with sadness. Her scent was full of sorrow, reminding Derek of the way she'd smelled when she first showed up at his loft, mascara running and smeared about her watery green eyes, the salty scent of sadness clinging to her like her Chanel perfume.
The shame in Stiles' scent intensified, lips moving as he muttered out apologies to his now crying friend. He wrapped his arms around Lydia's shoulders, hauling her in for a hug she didn't fight off but didn't quite return, instead burying her face in his chest with her arms tucked in between them. He ducked his head, pressing his lips to the top of her hair as he continued to apologize, twisting them both back and forth in a soothing manner.
Derek saw his chance, the two caught in their own bubble of tears and anger and remorse. Without making a sound, he slipped away and into his SUV, starting it up and pulling away without looking back.
Except for a quick glance in the rear view mirror, where he caught Stiles watching his Toyota drive off, still holding Lydia close.
Didn't matter. Derek didn't wanna talk to him, had heard enough, had gotten the answers he'd so desperately needed for the past three years. Just sucked that the truth coincided with his self-deprecating theories: Stiles had left because Derek was a Werewolf and he couldn't handle it the way he'd previously believed he could.
But god, how he longed to be wrong for once in his forsaken life.
He really should've expected that dream to happen. And while normally he woke up before the worst part, that night, he wasn't so lucky.
Also should've been expected.
He ground his cock further into his Mate, felt it being squeezed by Stiles' tight inner-muscles, making him groan against the back of his neck. The younger man was on slightly raised knees, hips moving back to meet the Werewolf as he thrust in, helping bring them together. His head hung from shaking shoulders, entire body trembling as he gasped from being filled once again, breathing out a swear.
Derek felt a semi-familiar pulse around the base of his cock, recognized it as his knot starting to plump up. He'd experienced it a few times before, the first time Stiles had sucked him off, the first time he'd rimmed Stiles, the first time he'd blown Stiles. In those circumstances, he'd been able to hold it off—although it was difficult as hell and his wolf wasn't all that happy about it—but this time he couldn't. He'd heard all about it during Supe Sex Ed, knew it was because he was with his Mate, that his wolf recognized his partner as such and was trying to breed them the way its instincts demanded it do. It was why he'd never formed a knot with anyone else he'd slept with in the past but now couldn't stop it from forming.
His eyes drifted closed as he gasped against Stiles' sweaty skin, dragging his nose up along his slender neck and nuzzling into his hair, inhaling his pure scent. His hand tightened its grip on the teen's hip, wolf relishing the fact that his human Mate bruised and didn't heal like he did, that the mark would stay there and show everyone that Stiles was taken and that no one should touch.
"Oh fuck, baby. Wanna knot you so bad. Wanna fill you up with my come and keep you full, hold it inside you with my cock as I tie us together."
The human's next groan was the loudest of the entire night, Derek's name slipping past his lips, hips lowering as he ground into the mattress for more friction. Apparently it wasn't enough, since one of his hands slipped out from under the pillows where it'd been gripping the edge of the mattress and slid under his hips. Derek lifted himself slightly to give him more room to work, wishing he could see his Mate touch himself, wishing he could see his face as he came apart—his favorite facial expression that Stiles wore—wishing he could see the thick ropes of come spurting out his cock. But knotting was better this way, easier, since they'd be tied together for twenty minutes.
His wolf howled with pleasure, the knot grinding at the tight rim and trying to push in. It wasn't quite fully plumped up yet, wouldn't be for another couple thrusts, and then they'd be tied together.
Stiles trembled more, gasping his next inhale, the air held in his lungs as he tensed up all over. His scent turned into panic, anxiety, fear, confusion, and his hand shot out from underneath his body towards the side of the mattress, grabbing hold of the edge.
"Stop!" he cried out, using his hold to pull himself away.
Derek immediately froze and lifted himself away, cock slipping out until just the head remained inside. Confusion furrowed his brow as he looked down at the leaner male, watched him trying to slide to the edge of the mattress.
"Stop, stop, God, safe word! Safe word, safe word, why don't we have a fuckin' safe word?" he rambled, despite the fact that the Werewolf had done exactly what he'd asked and had completely pulled out of him, despite the fact that he was now curled around the side edge of the mattress.
The older man tentatively reached towards the other, wanting to soothe away his fear and make him feel okay again, make him feel safe. But he wasn't entirely sure how welcome his touch was, wasn't sure about the protocol involving safe words—since he'd never had to use one—wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch—even if it was just an innocent hand on a shoulder—or if he was supposed to completely back off.
Dropping his hand down onto the mattress, he settled for cautiously calling the teen's name, pushing himself into a more upright position.
Stiles didn't respond, just shook his head as he sat up, too, his back to Derek. "I gotta go," he murmured, reaching down onto the floor and snatching up his boxers. "I gotta go, I need to go, I gotta go."
"Stiles?" he repeated, more firm this time, puzzled frown remaining as he watched his Mate snatch up his jeans and tug those on. "What's wrong? What's going on?"
Again his inquiry went ignored, the teen stalking about the room in search of the rest of his clothing, snagging socks and shoving them in his pockets without care, white cotton sticking out haphazardly. Next was his graphic tee, which was quickly put on with jerky movements, as well as backwards and inside out. Not that Stiles seemed to notice, still moving about in a rushed daze, muttering to himself about things being wrong and how he needed to go.
"All wrong, this is all wrong," he murmured to himself, hand rubbing over the top of his buzzcut before he jerked his head violently. "Not supposed to happen, not supposed to be like this. So fucked up."
"What's fucked up?" Derek asked, feeling his heart sink further with each word. His chest was tight, wolf whimpering over its Mate's displeasure, and his stomach was rolling around in nauseating waves. "Stiles, just tell me what's going on? Let me help fix it."
"You can't," Stiles finally acknowledged him, head shaking repeatedly, snagging his flannel shirt from the floor on the side of the bed where Derek was seated. "It's not supposed to be there, not supposed to happen."
Fed up with the mutters and the non-answers, the Werewolf reached out and snagged the teen's arm, holding him in place. Stiles' wide eyes locked onto pleading green ones and Derek could hear his heart pounding wildly from fear—but not from him, since it'd been at that rapid pace since the moment he'd cried out for Derek to stop—could scent his anxiety as strong as it had been right before a panic attack. But this time the older man was prepared, knew how to handle them, could calm his Mate down if necessary.
"What's not supposed to be there?" he calmly asked, rubbing his thumb along soft, pale skin, hoping his action was soothing but realizing there was no change in the other male's temperament. If anything, his panic kicked up a notch and his heart was pounding louder than ever.
He didn't answer immediately, turning his head away and pressing his lips into a hard line. His leg shook with impatience, face getting splotchy, his body still trembling but no longer from desire. No, this was worry and fright and something being completely and utterly wrong.
Derek's wolf got louder with its howls, its emotions being echoed by the human half of him. He wanted nothing more than to fix whatever it was that had caused his Mate to become so agitated, so upset. He wanted to soothe frayed nerves and calm racing hearts. He wanted to make everything okay and make sure that it never happened again.
But he couldn't do any of that until he had a fucking clue as to what was wrong in the first place.
"Stiles?" he prompted softly, gently tugging at his Mate's arm, peering up with pleading eyes.
"A knot, Derek," Stiles ground out, flicking wide whiskey eyes down to him, swallowing hard. "There's not supposed to be a knot."
It was like a slap in the face and a kick in the nuts all at once, the Werewolf immediately releasing his grip. Stiles didn't hesitate, didn't wait to explain, just strode off towards the door, snatching up his keys, phone, and shoes as he went. Not that he needed to say anything else or explain what he'd meant. Only one of them could form a knot and it was clearly something the human wasn't ready to deal with, couldn't deal with. It was a blatant reminder that despite physically looking alike, they weren't the same species. Derek was a Werewolf, a Supe, a monster and an abomination and whatever other shit anti-Supe groups spewed during their rallies and their meetings and in their propaganda reading materials. It was easy to ignore the fact that Derek was something other when he and Stiles were together, and chances were, the human did pretend that his boyfriend was perfectly normal and human. He'd grown up around the Hales and had become so accustomed to them and their behavior that he'd forgotten that they weren't the same species as him.
But a knot pressing at his ass was undeniable, unignorable proof that his boyfriend wasn't the same as him, that he was a monster and an abomination and could easily shred him on a whim. It was easy to act like he could handle it when his boyfriend's Werewolfiness wasn't shoved in his face, but when faced with the reality of it all, he realized he was kidding himself in that belief and ran off.
Derek smeared a hand over his face, looking down at his still naked frame. His cock had gone limp at the first inhale of his Mate's distress and for the first time, he found himself hating the organ. He snatched the top sheet and flung it over his lap, hiding the angering body part, staring out at an empty apartment.
How the hell had it gotten so fucked up so fast? Things had been going perfect between the two of them, the transition from friends to lovers seamless and easy. Derek had dropped the M-bomb before Halloween and Stiles had smiled brightly at it, taking to the term with flourish and using it as much as possible. Stiles had been accepted to Stanford and was making plans to drive back home every weekend to visit Derek and his dad. They had taken their time with the physical stuff, Stiles less experienced and more nervous because of it, Derek determined to make it perfect and not anger his future boss—aka Stiles' dad, the sheriff.
But when they'd finally started fooling around, everything just fit together and the two of them were never happier. They still took it slow, even if the teen had been annoyed by it, snarking that snails mated quicker than they did. Yet when it came to going all the way, the Werewolf let him decide when it would happen, knowing someone's first time was a huge deal and he didn't want his Mate regretting anything between them. And Stiles took his own time with that, waiting until he was one-hundred percent sure he was fully ready for that step, presenting Derek with an early Christmas gift of lube and condoms and the statement that tonight was the night, right before they headed to his family's Christmas Eve party.
He thought back throughout the entire night, searching for signs that maybe Stiles wasn't as ready as he claimed he was. But he found nothing to even hint at that. In fact, it was the total opposite. Stiles had been nothing but a tease all night, grinding up against Derek when they danced together, accidentally-on purpose rubbing up against the Werewolf's crotch with his hand, his leg, his ass, his aroused scent so strong even Malia had demanded Derek take the human home and just do him already.
They'd gotten naked in a hurry when they'd finally arrived at the loft, but after that, everything was at Derek's glacial speed—at least according to Stiles' grumbles. He'd blown his Mate as he fingered him, stretching him with four fingers until he came all over his stomach, Derek growling in pleasure. He'd licked the leaner male clean, let him recover from his orgasm, knew he was sensitive and that his recovery time wasn't as fast as the Supe's. And when they'd finally gotten to the main event and Derek had slid his cock inside him for the first time, it was still slow and easy, hyperaware of every hitch of his breath, every small noise, every blip of his heartbeat, every twitch of his muscles. He'd been overly cautious to the point of pain for both of them until they were both out of minds with arousal, being a thousand-percent sure that Stiles was being ready and prepared and okay with everything they were doing.
And he had been. Until the Werewolf's knot had appeared.
Derek flopped back onto his bed with a harsh sigh, hands clasped over his forehead as he stared up at the exposed beams of his ceiling, plan formulating in his mind. Tomorrow—or later that day, since it was well past midnight at that point—he'd stop by his family's house as planned for Christmas festivities and try to talk to his mom in private. It was gonna be embarrassing as hell, probably as awkward and as shaming as when she'd walked into his room while he was jerking off and massaging his knot when he was thirteen and popping knots was just another part of Werewolf puberty. But he needed to tell her the gory details in order to get her advice, so he could figure out how to really fix things between him and Stiles.
Because things were gonna be alright. It was still salvageable. Stiles needed some space to calm down and get his head straight, running off during a panic not a new thing for the human. And once his head cleared, Derek would be able to talk to him and they could work things out. Maybe they could have sex and Derek would just not press his knot inside, just hold it in his fist and make do with that. It'd worked for him as a teenager; surely it'd still work with his Mate's scent in his nose and body under or on his.
Yeah, it was all gonna be okay. After all, it was Christmas. What could possible go wrong on Christmas?
Derek woke up in an empty apartment, wolf eyes glancing about, noting the snow falling outside the giant windows to his right. He blindly grabbed his phone off his nightstand, blinking at the bright screen as he checked the time. 1:27 am.
He'd last seen Stiles exactly three years ago at that very minute.
At least, it would've been true had the guy not shown up earlier that night at his family's party.
1:28.
It was officially Christmas Day, but he didn't feel any more jolly than he had back then, when he'd been sick with worry that he'd completely screwed things up between himself and his Mate yet still hopeful that he could fix it all. Young and naïve he figured, placing the phone back on the nightstand, face down.
Flopping back onto his bed, he laid with one hand above his head, the other stretching along his side. As shitty as he'd felt back then, he'd give anything to go back, to do it over. He'd chase Stiles down at his house—if he even let the human leave in the first place—get him to explain further, talk it out and come up with some sort of solution between the two of them, one that didn't end up with Stiles running off to New York because he'd been so weirded out by his boyfriend's anatomy.
"There's not supposed to be a knot."
"It wasn't your knot I was freaking out about."
He flipped over onto his stomach, grabbing the other pillow and tucking it under his arm, cuddling it close. He wasn't even gonna try and think about what that meant, wasn't gonna think about anything. He was gonna shut his eyes and shut off his mind and fall asleep so he could wake up rested and refreshed and ready to take on the rest of his life. He'd gotten the closure Lydia had suggested he'd get, had gotten answers to three year old questions, had the peace of mind to move on with the rest of his life and no longer worry about the past.
His wolf whimpered in the back of his mind and he mentally told it to shut up also. He was too busy trying to ignore how his plan felt like a gigantic lie.
