RED
"So, you...?" Stiles heard his father's voice stammering around the question.
Stiles looked over the banister to where the two men were stood in the den's entrance. Deaton looked as unflappable as ever, while Stiles dad looked seconds away from a heart attack.
"What's going on?" John pleaded, as if he was more likely to get a sane sensible answer from the Veterinarian.
Deaton pressed his lips into a thin line, his face blank. Stiles knew that look, it was his avoidy look. He was about to give some weird vague answer and then leave without further explanation. Well like hell.
Stiles hurried down the last few steps, "Yeah, what's going on?" He snapped, rounding the banister at the bottom and marching determinedly over to the man. "And don't give me your cryptic Yoda crap," he snapped, " There's someone out there killing people, Cora's not dead and is currently puking up mistletoe of all things, and rambling on about some kind of druid or whatever, and I'm...We're sick of you keeping secrets. You know something, so talk! " When he was done, Stiles drew in a deep breath and glared at the older man. He could feel his father's eyes on him, but Stiles wouldn't allow himself to be distracted.
Deaton stared at him, eyes narrowed for a long moment, searching, before he straightened. With a resigned nod, he moved over to the couch and sat on the edge. Stiles shot his dad a bemused look, but didn't see the same bewilderment reflected back at him. But then why would he, as far as his dad knew Deaton was your friendly neighbourhood veterinarian who'd helped him out with the 'coyote' problem a year ago.
He had no idea that getting solid information from Deaton was like giving a tortoise a shot. Stiles' nose wrinkled as that idea played out in his mind. He was not sticking a finger up Deaton's ass. His fingers were reserved for his own ass. – And a certain tormented werewolf.
"So?" Deaton asked, clearing his throat.
Stiles shook his head to clear the mental image of his fingers in Derek's ass and stepped forward, positioning himself on the other side of the coffee table and folding his arms once again. "So…" He breathed out warily, " Spill. " he ordered.
Deaton raised a brow, unimpressed.
Stiles gritted his teeth to stop from sighing and fixed his eyes more determinedly, holding back the overwhelming desire to roll them, "Do you know who is doing this?" He snapped tiredly.
"No." Was Deaton's simple answer.
Stiles clenched his fists, concealed by the fold of his arms. Typical Deaton, never giving more information than he wants to. "Do you know...why?"
Deaton's lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke, "Specifically? No." Stiles opened his mouth to ask another question the man likely wouldn't answer, but was cut off when Deaton continued, "I suspect it's a ritual however."
Stiles exhaled, "I figured that out for myself." No thanks to you, hung loud but unsaid in the air. "But what kind of ritual? What's it for?"
"I don't know." Deaton shrugged nonchalantly.
"I don't believe you." Stiles told him sharply, unfolding his arms and taking a single step forward. "You always know; you just don't tell us? Why? What are you hiding?"
"His past."
Stiles turned at the sound of a familiar voice. His eyes widened with surprise as they fixed on Peter, "What?"
Peter stepped further into the den, eyes never leaving Deaton. "Go ahead, tell them." Peter sneered, " Tell them what you are. Tell them how you got my sister killed. "
Deaton shot to his feet, "I had nothing to do with Talia's death!" He responded angrily, "I wasn't even in town!"
Peter scoffed, "Conveniently. Why was that again? Oh, yes, the gathering." Peter hummed, nodding. "You place was here! " he growled, eyes flashing red, "Your duty was to protect the pack, not fuck off to the middle of nowhere to sit around a camp fire and sing Kumbya!"
stiles sensed the furious shift in Peter's body language, the way his feet moved and his fingers curled. Without even thinking about it, he moved quickly, shoving Deaton onto the couch and taking the full force of Peter's moving form.
"Stiles!"
He heard the horrified sound of his father's voice seconds before he and Peter crashed into the coffee table. Peter reared back to glare furiously at Stiles, eyes flashing blue. There was a brief moment of recognition before Peter's head snapped around to fix Deaton with a murderous stare and shoved himself forward.
There was barely a second before Stiles flinched away from the resounding bang of a gun being fired. Three bullets imbedded themselves in Peter's back, but the werewolf didn't even look over his shoulder at the Sheriff. Instead Peter's claws sank deep into Deaton's thigh and tore at the flesh as Peter tried to pull the man closer, a strangled yell of pain echoing around the room.
Shit. Stiles thought. If Peter killed Deaton they'd never get any answers. Scrambling to his feet, Stiles threw himself at the ex-Alpha, wrapping his arm around the man's throat and pulling hard. "That couch is only a month old!" he yelled into the man's ear, "I told Derek to Scotchgarded it, dammit!" he pulled harder at the man's throat.
Peter reared back with an angry growl, his claws raising to scratch at Stiles arm.
Gritting his teeth, Stiles endured the pain and kept his arm firmly in place. "Peter! Stop!" he orders loudly in the ex-Alpha's ear. "No more killing, remember!"
Peter roared brokenly, the pressure on his throat slowly taking affect, but not quickly enough. Before the teenager realised what was happening, Peter threw himself backwards, crushing Stiles beneath him, and knocking the air out his lungs. Peter took the momentary disorientation to yank himself free of Stiles grip. Twisting around, he curled his fingers around the teenager's throat, lifting a breathless the boy off his feet. The tips of the man's claws piercing into the sensitive flesh. The man's eyes were burning bright blue and his features had morphed.
Once upon a time, the sight would have filled Stiles with anxiety and maybe the smallest trickle of fear. Now, the only think he felt was his warm blood roll down his throat, and quite frankly it was too hot for this shit. With his teeth clenched, Stiles took a slow calming breath through his nose and drew his leg up, kicking the werewolf's stomach with all his strength. Peter doubled over with a grunt, but didn't release Stiles. Because of course he wouldn't just let him go. Peter was a cold blooded killer, right? He didn't just stop fighting when someone told him to stop. He kept going, ripping people to pieces. Stiles had seen the evidence with his own two eyes. He still had nightmares about it. All of which meant, Stiles was going to have to kick Peter's ass. Which was fine, really. He'd been wanting to beat Peter Hale to a bloody pulp since the night of the school dance.
As the memory of an unconscious Lydia filled his memory, he grabbed Peter's wrist with is right hand and squeezed hard before twisting it violently, feeling the bone grind and snap. The werewolf roared with pain and lifted his other hand to take a swipe at Stiles, but Stiles was faster, slamming his right hand into Peter's elbow, wincing inwardly as the sound of the break, as it bent in the wrong direction.
Finally, Peter released Stiles and staggered back, his now free hand cradling his arm, panting. That should have been the end, but the feeling of power and adrenalin pulsing through his body had him reaching out for Peter's shirt and yanking him back in, his right fist ploughing into the werewolf's nose. Even as blood began to flow, Stiles delivered another punch, and another.
He propelled Peter until the werewolf's back hit the wall. Stiles could feel he was the only thing holding Peter upright but didn't stop, slamming his fist over and over into the werewolf's face. "That's for Lydia!" he yelled, the red haze of anger, frustration and simple primal instinct, clouding his mind. "And Scott! And my Dad! And everyone you killed, you evil, psychotic son of a bitch!" he yelled furiously, over the sound of white noise in his ears. "For Laura, and Derek! For taking Laura away from Derek! Your own fucking niece, you sick bastard!"
He could feel the blood pumping in his veins, his heart racing. Could feel the smell the coppery scent in the air.
And then there was silence. Silence and darkness.
_(*-*)_/
Derek knelt beside the bed like a praying child, and perhaps that's what he was. Praying his sister would be alright. Praying that she'd live. Praying that she wasn't responsible for the deaths in town.
He still couldn't believe she was here. Alive. For now, at least, his traitorous mind whispered. Sounding hauntingly like Kate. He shook it off and forced all his attention on her face, his eyes scanning it, taking in all the changes that have come with the years of separation. He'd missed so much time with her.
A thousand questions were rolling around in his head, questions he needed the answers to. However, Cora was the only person that could give them to him.
And she's dying. Just like everyone you've ever loved. Kate's bitter vicious voice whispered, Because you're cursed Derek. Monsters like you don't deserve love the way normal people do. You destroy everything you love.
Derek shook his head and buried his face in his hands, his tears dampening the palms. He knew it was lies. A mixture of Kate's vile manipulation and his own guilt, but it was hard to ignore it completely. Underneath it, he knew there was truth. He did destroy those he loved. He broke them, burnt them, left them to be swallowed by the darkness.
He reached out a trembling hand, brushing it down Cora's cheek, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." He swallowed thickly against the lump in his throat, "I... I should have known better," he whispered, pressing his hand to her forehead, "I should have known what she'd do, and there's nothing I can do to change it. I wish I could. I'd trade my life for theirs in a second. I don't deserve my life, sweetheart. I don't deserve to be..." He shook his head, lowering it to the mattress as a broken sob ripped through his chest, causing him to let out a pained noise.
The roar that tore through the heavy silence had Derek's head snapping up, eyes wide. He hurriedly scrambled to his feet and rushed to the door, pausing to look back at Cora, torn. Then he caught the thick scent of blood in the air, heard another roar, muffled and wet. He heard Stiles voice, angry and loud, yelling.
"For Lydia!"
With a final, guilty look back at his sister, Derek sprinted out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The sight that met him as he reached half way made his stomach drop and he froze in shock.
"For Laura, and Derek! For taking Laura away from Derek! Your own fucking niece, you sick bastard!"
Derek's chest tightened at his own name, spat out so furiously by the teenager as he delivered yet another blow to the older werewolf's face.
Peter's face was unrecognizable, covered as it was in blood. If it weren't for the scent rolling off him in thick waves he'd have never known it was his uncle, and it was getting worse by the second as Stiles continued to lay into him. Punch after punch. The air dense with anger and that unique strange scent that Stiles gave off when he was building up to a seizure.
As if the mere thought was a summons, Stiles body crumpled to the ground and began to jolt violently against the hard wood. Derek leapt the rest of the way, rushing to Stiles side milliseconds after the Sheriff.
Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw Peter's body lying covered in blood on the floor, but he didn't turn to check on him. Instead scrambled to his feet and rushed to the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator door and grabbing the large bottle of milk. He didn't bother shutting it behind him, he simply sprinted back to the hall and Stiles side. The Sheriff was shoving his jacket beneath Stiles head.
"It's okay son, I'm here. You're okay. You're safe."
Derek dropped down across from the Sheriff and shoved the bottle of milk at him. The man looked up, meeting his eyes gratefully and then put it to one side.
"The seizure is too bad," John Stilinski said in answer to Derek's unspoken question. "When he's stopped, then I'll get him to drink."
"What the fuck!" Jackson's voice yelled behind him, but Derek didn't look, too focused on Stiles.
"Peter?" Lydia gasped, and Derek found his head snapping around to observe the horrified fearful look on the young woman's face. He watched as Lydia dropped down next to his uncle and tentatively reached out to stroke her fingers through his hair.
Derek's gaze flickered up to where Jackson was watching, eyes narrow with anger and hurt. Derek's heart beat a little fast as he waited nervously to see what the young beta was going to do. He could smell Isaac behind him, coming in from the kitchen, his scent thick with too many emotions.
A strangled breath pulled Derek's attention back to Stiles though, the others forgotten, He felt his heart suddenly stop as the teenager's body went eerily still. He reached out with a shaky hand and pressed it to Stiles' chest, exhaling a long relieved breath when he felt the boy's heart beating beneath his hand, slowly returning to a steady pace.
Derek's head fell forward and he sucked in a deep breath, as if he hadn't taken one in hours and closed his eyes, thanking whomever was up there watching over Stiles.
After a few seconds that felt like hours, Derek opened his eyes and looked up to see the Sheriff staring at him, brows pinched and eyes searching. Swallowing his racing heart, Derek straightened and snatched back his hand reluctantly. "We should... get him upstairs, let him sleep it off."
The Sheriff was silent for a long moment before nodding and moving to scoop his son up, only for Derek to press a hand to his shoulder.
"I... I can carry him." Derek offered.
With a cautious nod of his head, the Sheriff pulled his arms away and got to his feet. Derek slipped his arm beneath Stiles now motionless body and gracefully got to his feet. Turning he shot a look down at Lydia, who was still crouched beside Peter, blood covering her hand as it continued to card through Peter's matted hair, a wet choked groan coming from the man's throat. Behind her stood a silent Jackson, his eyes glistening in the burnt orange of the setting sun.
"Isaac!" Derek said, glancing over to where the teenager was hovering, a sickening nervous look on his face. "Isaac, help Lydia get Peter into Boyd's room," he ordered firmly, "so he can heal." Shooting another look over his shoulder, Derek's eyes drifted to the couch for the first time, noting how Deaton was sat bandaging his own leg, "Jackson, help Deaton."
Jackson tore his eyes from Lydia, "What?"
Derek nodded towards the veterinarian, then took the first step, ignoring any argument the beta made.
He didn't even think twice about taking Stiles to his room. Stepping over the threshold, Stiles in his arms, sent a shiver down his spine and his heart skipped a beat.
"Whose room is this?" The Sheriff asked from behind him.
"Mine." Derek answered matter-of-factly. "It's the only room available." he defended while lowering Stiles down onto the mattress. When he straightened, Derek stared down at the sleeping teenager and curled his fingers to stop from reaching out and brushing at his cheek.
Movement behind him brought him out of the moment and reminded him he wasn't alone. Stepping back, he allowed the Sheriff access to his son, and moved to the end of the bed.
The older man set the milk he'd brought up with him on the nightstand and let out a tires sigh as he stared down at Stiles. "So…" The Sheriff began guardedly, "I guess he... told you?" He looked over at Derek, brow raised expectantly.
Rolling his shoulders, Derek met the man's gaze unflinchingly, "Yes."
"I see." The Sheriff whispered, looking back at his son, "Everything?"
"Yes." There was an edge to Derek's tone that the older man clearly picked up on, because he looked at him again with a mixture of sadness, confusion… and fear.
"I'll leave you with him," Derek announced before the man could say anything more, "I need to check on Peter and my sister." He turned, marching to the door.
"Derek." The Sheriff called, stopping the werewolf before he vanished.
"Yes, sir?"
"Thank you."
Derek stared at him for a second before inclining his head and leaving, pulling the door closed behind him.
Once outside, he took a moment, inhaling deeply and leaning back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he listened to the sound of Stiles steady heartbeat, allowing it to ground him once more. As he stood there, Stiles words replayed in his head, along with the vision of the teenager's violent attack.
"...and Derek!"
"For taking Laura away from Derek!"
Derek drew in a shaky breath, and choked down his rapidly beating heart. That Stiles would deliver such a brutal attack to Peter on his behalf, on Laura's behalf, left a strange warmth in his heart. It had been so long since anyone but family had fought for him. Fought to defend him. Since anyone had cared.
_(*-*)_/
Stiles head felt like his brain had been removed and replaced by a bowling ball... and a steel band. There was a sour taste in his mouth, a mixture of copper and... ew, milk. Shit. The pieces slotted into place and he let out a frustrated groan. He'd been doing so well with taking his pills, how could this happen?
As the ringing stopped and the fog began to clear, Stiles became aware of a commotion, hushed angry voices muffled by distance. He held his breath and tried to listen.
"I tried to stop her!"
That was Jackson and he sounded desperate and angry.
"She can't be stopped," replied a weak voice. It was so low he almost couldn't make out the words, let alone who was saying them.
"Stay out of this." Jackson said in warning. "You've messed with her head enough already. Stiles should have killed you."
Stiles stomach dropped at the announcement, his mind reeling as the memories came flooding back. Peter.
The gun shots.
The anger.
The blood.
Stiles eyes snapped open and he lifted his hands to his face, staring at the blood staining his knuckles. "Shit."
"Stiles?"
"Dad? " He turned to find his father sat uncomfortably beside his bed. No, wait, not his bed. He blinked and looked around, frowning. "Where am I?"
"Derek's house." His father replied, "How are you feeling?"
"Usual. Like I've been run over by a truck." He continued to take in his surroundings. He had to be in Derek's room. It had been the only room in the house he hadn't helped decorate.
He looked at the space in the bed beside him, empty and untouched. Stiles couldn't keep his hand from reaching out and stroking the white sheets.
A loud band had him yanking his hand back as if burnt, heart pounding as he expected to see Derek. But when his head snapped around the bedroom door was still closed.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw his dad get to his feet and then watched as the man yanked the door open, his back straight and ready to face any situation. However, whatever was happening outside the room, and judging by the sounds it was a fight, it had his dad taking a hurried step back into the room.
That wasn't good. Stiles flung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Where are you going? Stiles?"
He ignored his father's worried question and headed for the door, reaching past his father for the handle. He could hear Derek's angry growl and yelling.
"Stiles, stay..."
Pulling open the door, forcing his dad to move out of its way, Stiles rushed out onto the landing. It was empty, the loud voices drifted up from the front of the house though, and despite the heaviness in his limps, Stiles hurried down and out into the dark.
He found Derek fighting to keep Jackson and Peter from killing one another. The pair clearly struggling to control their anger under the pull of the full moon. Peter's face was still battered and bruise but most of the damage had healed, and Stiles felt a mix of emotions at the sight of what he'd done to the ex-Alpha.
An almost deafening roar pierced the night sky as Derek took an angry swipe at Jackson, knocking him hard into a tree a few feet away, before the Alpha turned furious red eyes on his uncle.
"Enough!" Derek growled, body bent ready to attack once more, "Lydia is out there alone! We don't have time for this!"
"Lydia?" Stiles gasped, causing both werewolves to turn and regard him.
Derek straightened, his features melting back to their human form, though his claws remained extended at his sides. "Stiles?"
Peter's eyes flashed a defensive blue, his back straight. Stiles worried the ex-Alpha was going to attack him in an act of vengeance, but to his surprise, Peter's eyes returned to normal and his shoulder's relaxed, and most surprising of all, he seemed to incline his head, just a few inches. The gesture caused Stiles to frown, but he was too worried about Lydia to give it any more thought.
"Where's Lydia?" Stiles demanded.
"She wandered off ten minutes ago." Derek informed him, moving closer, "She was meant to be getting a glass of water but then we heard the front door."
Stiles looked up at the sky, "What time is it?"
"12:10." His dad said behind him, at the same moment Peter and Jackson replied.
"Shit." Stiles dropped his gaze to Derek, who mirrored his concerned yet resigned look back at him.
"I know."
"Alright, what's going on?" His dad asked, "Stiles?"
Dragging his hand through his hair, Stiles sighed. "There's been another murder." He replied flatly, meeting his father's confused gaze, "And Lydia's gone to find the body."
John stared at his son, "What?"
"And thanks to this jerk-off," Jackson spat furiously, "we have no idea where she is."
"Yes we do." Stiles contradicted, "She's at the museum."
"What?" His dad gaped, "How do you…?"
"Because it's part of the pattern." Stiles sighed despairingly, "Dad, you better get there, but don't call it in until Lydia's left." He ordered, when his father opened his mouth to argue Stiles added, "If you call it in, it'll be official and you'll have to explain why Lydia was there. We…" he looked over at Derek and the others, "We can't have the attention."
"Stiles…"
"Dad," Stiles stopped him with a raised hand, "we'll talk about everything later, first you have another murder to deal with. Okay?"
John didn't look the least bit happy, but finally he nodded, "I've got to grab my keys." He turned back into the house.
"I'll go with him," Peter and Jackson said at the same time, turning to glare daggers at each other.
"Like hell!" Jackson yelled, blue eyes flashing.
Derek rolled his eyes, jaw painfully tight and Stiles gave him a soft sympathetic smile. "Neither of you are going. I'll…"
"I'll go with the Sheriff," Isaac suddenly announced from behind Stiles, causing everyone to turn and look at him.
Derek frowned, "Are you…sure?" he asked, and Stiles frowned, looking between them.
Isaac's gaze flickered briefly over to Jackson, and when Stiles followed his gaze he caught a strange deer-in-the-headlights look on the beta's face. "Yeah," Isaac nodded, hurriedly taking the steps.
"Take my car." Derek said, rushing up the front steps to grab his keys from the table in the hall. Stepping up to Stiles side, he tossed them to the waiting teenager.
As Isaac marched towards the Camaro, Jackson glared a warning at him, but Isaac ignored it. Reaching the car, he turned to lean back against the door and folded his arms over his chest, lifting his head to stare up at the sky. Jackson let out a low growl and a huff of frustration.
Stiles turned a questioning look on Derek, "Later." The Alpha whispered back, "Are you okay?" he added quietly.
"Bit of a headache and…" he glanced down, lifting his hands and noticing the blood spattering his clothes, "I could use a shower."
Derek smiled, "I think I have a shirt that'll fit."
With a flutter of his heart, Stiles breath caught at the warmth in Derek's gaze, "Uh, thanks."
Heavy footsteps resounded behind him and seconds later his father reappeared. Stiles turned to meet him, "Isaac's going to follow you."
"I can't take him to a crime scene." John argued.
Stiles rolled his eyes, "He's there to collect Lydia and bring her home."
John stared at his son, before glancing at Derek. "Okay. – Will you give him a ride home?" he asked the Alpha.
Derek nodded, "Of course, Sir."
"I'm not going home."
Both his father and Derek turned to stare at him, "What?" John snapped.
"We need to figure out what's going on, and all my research is here." Stiles insisted firmly.
John looked like he wanted to argue, but then he exhaled a long breath and turned away from the pair without another word.
Stiles watched his father climb into the cruiser, Isaac already seated in the Camaro. "Is Deaton still here?" he asked as he watched both cars back away from the house.
"He's with Cora. Melissa's with him"
Stiles' head snapped around, brow raised, "What?"
"She arrived a few minutes after…" Derek trailed off, looking over to Peter.
"Sorry about that?" Stiles whispered, "Not for kicking his ass," he quickly clarified, shooting the ex-Alpha a look as Peter took a step towards the house, "He totally deserved it…" Peter narrowed his eyes at the teenager, but his lip curled at the corner and Stiles rolled his eyes.
"You don't need to apologise," Derek insisted, drawing Stiles attention back to him.
Their eyes met and Stiles felt his heart do a double flip, his stomach fluttering. "I… - I'd like that shower." He whispered, voice rough.
Derek nodded, "Sure."
_(*-*)_/
Stiles followed him up the stairs and along to his room. With each step, Derek tried harder and harder to calm his wayward heartbeat, but it was near on impossible. When they reached the bedroom, Derek headed straight for his dresser, yanking open the second drawer and rummaging through the few shirts. He should probably go shopping at some point. Stiles had already subtly brought up the lack of variety in his wardrobe.
He tugged out the black shirt he'd borrowed from Stiles almost a year ago. He had no idea why he hadn't given it back sooner, nor why Stiles hadn't demanded its return. Setting it on top of the dresser, Derek closed the drawer and opened the next, tugging out a pair of black jeans. He and Stiles were the same height, give or take an inch, so they should fit.
With the jeans in hand, Derek shut the dresser with his hip and snatched up the t-shirt before turning.
Stiles was stood by the window, staring out at the night sky, the curtains subtly moving beside him as a much needed breeze began to drift through.
Dropping the clothes on the bed, Derek strolled over to join him, "Rains coming." He said, breaking the silence.
Stiles sighed, "Thank god, I don't think I could take this heat much longer."
"Yeah." Derek agreed, folding his arms and staring out at the darkened forest.
"How's Cora?" Stiles asked quietly.
Derek lowered his head, shaking it slightly, "Deaton says it's not just the mistletoe that's making her sick. He says the…. Darach put some kind of spell or curse on her."
"Shit." Stiles gasped, turning his whole body to face Derek, his hand shooting out to grip his bicep, "I'm sorry."
Derek shook his head, "Deaton says there's a chance whatever it is, its tied to the Darach itself. Which means we need to find it and kill it."
Stiles gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, "And we will." He stated firmly.
Looking down at him, Derek raised his brow, "I don't think your father will be on board."
"Leave my dad to me. Once I explain the situation, he'll… well, he won't be okay with it, but… he'll understand. – How bigger problem is finding the thing." Stiles sighed, dropping his hand and sighing. He turned, perching his ass on the window seal and stared at the bed. "On the bright side, if Cora's here, we know she didn't kill anyone tonight."
Derek looked at him, then back out at the dark. "Yeah."
The room fell silent again, and out of the corner of his eye, Derek watched Stiles fish his phone out of his pocket and begin to tap away at it. He was probably checking in with his dad, or Lydia. A small spark of jealousy ignited in Derek at the thought of Stiles texting Lydia, even though it was only natural for him to do so. They were friends.
Scolding himself inwardly, he took one final glance at the full moon, and then turned to leave, "I'll be down stairs, making sure Jackson and Peter don't kill each other." – And before the pair start speculating just what he and Stiles are doing.
Before he could step away, Stiles grabbed his arm once more. When Derek turned to see what he wanted, Stiles was holding up his phone, a line of text filling the screen. What's going on between Jackson and Isaac?
Derek smiled and joined Stiles on the ledge, holding his hand out for the cell. He'd left his own in his jacket pocket, which was currently draped over a chair in Erica's room. Stiles handed the cell over and Derek typed out a reply. I think something happened between them while we were at the museum last night.
Stiles frowned as he read, his thumbs soon moving over the screen. They had another fight?
Derek smirked, shaking his head, Isaac had a hickey this morning.
When Stiles eyes widened in surprise, Derek couldn't help but laugh. Stiles mouth made a huge O before he turned the phone back to Derek. OH MY GOD! REALLY! WHAT ABOUT LYDIA?
Derek shrugged, I think something is going on between her and Peter.
No way. Stiles shook his head.
You didn't see her reaction to finding Peter unconscious and bloody. There's definitely more going on there than her wanting answers about what she is.
Stiles stared down at the phone, his mouth a thin line. Derek reached over, wrapping his hand around Stiles so as to take the phone, only for the teenager to turn his palm up and grip Derek's hand, his head falling to the Alpha's shoulder.
"I'm sorry." Derek said aloud, "I know you…"
Stiles twisted his head, meeting Derek's eyes without lifting it from its cushion. "It's fine." He insisted, "Whatever feelings I had for her are… Well, they're not gone but…they're not the same."
Derek's tongue swept across his lips and he took a deep breath, swallowing hard. "I…"
"Yeah?" Stiles pressed, his finger's tightening around Derek's.
"I'm glad." Derek replied quietly, his eyes flickering between Stiles soft brown eyes.
"Yeah?"
Derek nodded.
"Why?" Stiles asked breathlessly.
There was a long few moments before Derek answered, "I… I think you know why." He whispered, leaning forward ever so slightly.
Stiles exhaled a soft breath that played over Derek's lips, "Are you…sure?" he asked nervously.
Derek didn't answer, instead closing the gap between them and taking Stiles mouth in a slow kiss.
A/N: Well, there you are. It finally happened, they kissed. I hope you enjoyed it, sorry it was such a long wait. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, but if you choose not to leave feedback, I'd like to thank you for reading and sending me kudos. See you again soon.