"Morning, Stiles," Derek greets as he walks into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Derek," Stiles replies, he's watching Derek carefully out of the corner of his eyes, and Derek isn't sure why until he sees the poured bowl of cereal, spoon, and milk jug waiting for him on the kitchen counter.
He hates this. He hates that Stiles doesn't understand why Derek doesn't want to be waited on. He stamps down the frustration that's building and forces a smile because otherwise Stiles will misinterpret the anger. They don't need a repeat of yesterday's lunch.
"Is this for me?" he asks though he knows the answer.
"Yes, Derek."
"Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No, Derek."
"Would you like some cereal, too?"
"Yes, Derek, thank you."
Derek's confused at first when Stiles walks past the cabinet where the bowls are kept. Then he sees the second bowl and spoon Stiles laid out in the corner beside the microwave. It's something easily ignored if Derek didn't offer Stiles anything, but nevertheless a sign that Stiles was hopeful Derek would.
Baby steps.
Stiles catches Derek watching him and freezes.
"That's good, Stiles," he says, smile much more genuine this time. "Any time you make something for me, you can make yourself the same—more even, if you want, okay?"
"Yes, Derek, thank you."
"Thank you for having the cereal out," Derek replies. "I appreciate it."
"I'm glad, Derek," Stiles says, genuine smile of his own coming out.
"You don't have to stand over there. You can sit here if you want," Derek says, gesturing to the bar stool next to him. "Only if you want," he adds again when Stiles looks unsure.
Stiles comes to sit. Derek would like to think it's because Stiles wants to, but they both know it's because Stiles just wants to do whatever he thinks Derek wants him to do. Derek still doesn't know how to explain everything in a way Stiles can understand—hell, he's honestly still hoping the memories come along fast enough that they only have to deal with this Stiles a few more days—but he's got to start trying to talk to him. Peter's 'we can't all run away to Deaton's…' yesterday keeps playing on a loop in the back of his mind.
"I know yesterday was kind of stressful," Derek says.
Understatement.
"And I kind of made a beeline for the bed and crashed when I got back yesterday," Derek continues. "I didn't stop to ask if you were okay?"
"Yes, Derek, of course."
"'Cause it's okay to be pissed or freaked or confused or whatever. There was a lot going on."
"I'm okay, Derek," Stiles assures him.
No, you're not, but at least you think you are.
"Good. That's good."
Derek finishes his first bowl and pours a second. Stiles hands him the milk helpfully.
"Thank you, Stiles."
"I'm happy to help, Derek. Anything."
"I know, Stiles," he replies wearily, "and if I need your help, I'll ask for it, but in the meantime, you should do what makes youhappy."
"Yes, Derek."
"And don't let Peter bully you into doing what he wants. You have just as much right to everything in this apartment as him—the TV, the food, the books, whatever. You can do what you want regardless of what Peter wants to do. Treat this place like it's yours. You understand?"
"Yes, Derek," Stiles replies automatically; it's a lie, but Derek doesn't have the heart to call him on it. More to the point, he doesn't have the words to explain it any better.
The sound of a key in the lock takes both Derek and Stiles' attention from the conversation for a moment. Stiles tenses automatically, no doubt remembering yesterday's surprise visit.
"It's okay," Derek assures him. "It's probably just Isaac. I'm giving him a ride to Deaton's."
Stiles relaxes just a bit.
"Hey, it's just me," Isaac says, affirming Derek's words as the door swings open.
"Morning," Derek greets. "Had breakfast?"
"Cindy made oatmeal," Isaac replies, speaking of his foster mother, "and let's just say I'm not entirely sure it counted as food at all."
"Help yourself to some cereal."
"I can get it for—" Stiles begins to offer.
"No, Stiles, Isaac can do it himself," Derek says firmly.
He regrets it immediately as Stiles head tucks back down, and he murmurs meekly, "Yes, Derek."
"But it was nice of you to offer," Isaac says, "Derek just wants you to finish your cereal before it gets soggy. Right, Derek?"
"Exactly," Derek agrees with a nod, grateful Isaac's better at this than he'll ever be.
"So Scott's coming today too," Isaac says. "I know there's still only so much you can do; you were totally exhausted yesterday. He wanted to help though, so I figured it couldn't hurt."
"It'll be good to split it up. It was taking you and Jackson a while to heal by the time we got finished last night."
They'd hoped it would get easier with time, but, while at least the headaches with the memories seem to decrease in intensity, the physical wound still takes a decent chunk of time to heal. After being reopened so many times, Isaac's has still only healed to a thin, pink scar on the back of his neck.
"If you break something, it will heal more quickly," Stiles advises Isaac helpfully. "It will spike your healing so Derek can give or take more frequently."
There are so many things wrong with that statement—that Stiles remembers clearly how to expedite his healing so the alphas could continue their sick little experiment on him, that he's offering up the advice so flippantly now in what he clearly thinks is a normal, helpful-tip-sharing kind of way, that this is one of the longest coherent sentences he's uttered in front of Derek—but the worst by far is the fact that Stiles clearly doesn't understand the work they're doing with the memories is really just to help him; he offers the advice as a way Isaac can be most helpful to Derek as though that's the key point, as though Derek is using the betas for his own benefit, not that they've volunteered themselves so they can help a friend and packmate.
"Derek, I'm sorry," Stiles says, the too familiar terror back in his voice. "Of course you have your own methods with the memories; I didn't mean to speak out of place. I just wanted to help, Derek. I thought—"
"I'm not mad at you, Stiles," Derek replies as Stiles stars to slide forward off his stool, presumably headed to his knees again. "Please don't kneel."
"I won't, Derek," Stiles promises. "Thank you, Derek."
"Don't thank me, Stiles. Don't thank me for not wanting you to kneel at my fucking feet. You haven't done anything to make me mad. I'm pissed at them, not at you, you understand? I'm mad at them for doing this to you, for teaching you to be this way."
"But, Derek, I can learn to be different. If you'll teach me, I can learn. Whatever you want, Derek."
"Goddammit, Stiles, that's not the point!" he replies, fist slamming into the counter in frustration before he can think better of it.
Stiles scrambles backwards, toppling the stool in his retreat.
"Derek, you're not helping!" Isaac rebukes, stepping between Stiles and Derek. "Calm down."
"Fuck," Derek mutters, running his hands through his hair and trying desperately to rein in his rage. "Shit, Stiles, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not going to hurt you. I lost my temper; I'm sorry."
Isaac turns his back to Derek so he can face Stiles. He can see from where he sits that Stiles is quaking against the wall. Isaac lays his hands gently on Stiles' trembling shoulders.
"Hey look at me," he requests, voice soft like he's talking to a frightened animal. Stiles' eyes rise from the floor to Isaac's face, and Isaac continues, "I promise he isn't going to hurt you."
We've told him that a million times; he doesn't ever believe it.
"I know that you always assume your Alpha's anger is your fault," Isaac says. "You believe that because that's what the alphas taught you. They told you it was always your fault, but they lied. You didn't do anything wrong, Stiles. You haven't done anything wrong. None of it is your fault. That anger, the way Derek is always mad, it's never directed at you; it's directed at things that hurt you. I know it scares you, but it shouldn't. That's not anger he would use against you, that's anger he would use to protectyou, you understand? Because Derek wants to make sure nothing ever hurts you like the Alpha Pack did, not ever again. You're Hale Pack now, and he wants to protect you. We all want to protect you."
Holy shit somebody give this kid a counseling degree.
Stiles' eyes stay trained on Isaac a few moments more, absorbing the words, before he looks past Isaac to Derek.
"It's the truth, Stiles, I swear," Derek says earnestly. "Please believe it."
It's what I've been trying and failing to make you understand the past three days.
There's a flicker of hope on Stiles' face, and it's the most reaction he's shown to any of the assurances Derek's given him so far. It's another moment or two more before Stiles nods slowly.
"Yes, Derek."
Isaac's phone rings from the counter, making the all jump and shattering the moment of sincerity.
"Scott's ringtone," Isaac says. "He's probably at the clinic."
"We should go."
While we can still leave on a good note without him terrified of me.
"Think about what I told you," Isaac tells Stiles. "It's okay if it's confusing. I'll explain it to you as many times as it takes until it makes sense, okay?"
"Yes."
"Don't let Peter control the TV all morning. Find the cooking channel or something. We'll see you at lunch, okay?"
"You're really good with him," Derek says as they get into the car.
Isaac shrugs off the compliment.
"I mean it," Derek says again.
"They made me go to the counselor when I went back to school after the clusterfuck with my dad and running away and everything," Isaac replies. "Most of it was kind of bullshit, but some of the stuff she said made sense."
"You were repeating what she told you?"
"Some of it."
Derek pauses a minute before asking, "What about the part rationalizing why I'm pissed off all the time?"
Fuck, I walked right into that one; how could I be such an idiot?
"She thinks you're my foster brother, not my alpha," Isaac confesses. "Of course, now we know that Ms. Morrell's known about the werewolf thing all along, so maybe she did know it was you."
"You thought I was mad at you all the time?"
"You're kidding right?"
"What?"
"Well, yeah, what with the yelling, and the way you were at training, and the general lack of verbal communication, I kind of just assumed it must be me. My dad was always pissed at me, so why shouldn't you be?"
"Shit, Isaac."
"It's cool; I know you're not a total asshole now," Isaac assures him with a grin, trying to lighten the moment, but Derek doesn't seem to find it funny. "Hey, seriously," Isaac adds. "It's not a big deal anymore."
"I turned you to get you away from your dad."
"I know."
"And then I'm just as bad as he was."
"Not exactly," Isaac counters. "And you got better."
"That's so fucked up."
"Our whole lives are fucked up, dude. None of this is easy. You had your own shit to deal with. We all did. We all still do."
"That's not an excuse. I'm your Alpha."
"You were focused on keeping us alive; you didn't have time to think about everything else."
"All I managed to do was keep you alive," Derek replies, "but only because you were still in Beacon Hills. We both know Scott's the only reason you stayed."
"We've had this discussion before, Derek. What happened to Boyd and Erica wasn't your fault. They chose to leave. What were you going to do? Hold them hostage? You're not that kind of alpha."
"I should've known the Alpha Pack was so close."
"Stop it," Isaac demands. "Stop it, right now. We're not doing this. You're not doing this."
He can see the guilt written all over Derek's face even though Derek's gritting his teeth the way he does when he's determined to keep his face blank. Isaac wishes he'd just kept his damn mouth shut. Derek doesn't need this right now, no matter how honest Isaac's words are.
"I wasn't kidding when I said our lives are fucked up," Isaac continues in an effort to undo some of the damage. "All any of us are doing is the best we can. You're no exception, and you have the added pressure of being responsible for a whole pack. We areactually a pack now. You're not the same anymore; you run it differently. Why do you think Scott didn't leave as soon as the threat was eliminated? Jackson and Lydia stuck around too. If you were the same alpha you were eight months ago, everyone would be gone by now, but they're not going anywhere because it's honestly been good to be in the pack." At Derek's huff of disbelief he concedes, "Well, aside from the whole near-death bits with the alphas, but those weren't your fault. It'll be even better now with the alphas gone; it'll be easier. It already is—except for the shit with Stiles."
"Which we're going to fix," Derek insists. "Soon."
"Exactly," he agrees, and because everyone knows the best way to get Derek out of a funk is to give him a challenge so he has something to get his mind off of it, Isaac adds, "So stop beating yourself up when we both know you did the best you could, and you learned from your mistakes. We don't have time for that. We've got work to do."
Stiles makes the coffee and scrambles the eggs to have them ready at ten as Peter instructed he should do every morning. When Peter walks in smiling at five after ten, Stiles has his place already set at the bar.
"Excellent job, Stiles," Peter compliments.
"Thank you, Peter."
"I thought I heard a little noise this morning. Everything all right?"
"Yes, Peter. I just—I got confused, but Isaac said Derek wasn't mad at me."
"I'm sure he wasn't," Peter agrees, sipping at his coffee. "Did he give you any jobs to do yet?"
"He told me he would ask for help when he needed it, and, in the meantime, I should do what makes me happy," Stiles reports.
"Well, that's annoyingly vague for you, as per usual."
Stiles agrees, but he isn't quite bold enough to criticize his Alpha out loud.
"Isaac said I should watch the cooking channel," Stiles adds, trying not to sound too hopeful; no matter what Derek said earlier, he doesn't think he could work up the courage to watch something Peter doesn't want to.
"That's not a bad idea; I'm sure you could learn something from it. If you see something you'd like to cook. I'll get the ingredients for you."
"Thank you, Peter."
"Did Derek say when he'd be back?"
"Isaac said they would see us for lunch," Stiles replies. "I could cook something."
"Do you want to cook something?"
"Yes, Peter, but—but yesterday…"
"We went a bit overboard yesterday. Today we'll keep it simple, and it should be fine."
"Yes, Peter."
"Dude, something smells awesome," Isaac says as they walk in the apartment.
"Spaghetti," Stiles answers turning to greet them with a grin. "I made lunch." His eyes glance to Derek worriedly, "I wanted to, Derek."
"I'm glad you did," Derek replies, needing more than anything to keep that smile and get rid of the uncertainty on Stiles' face. "That's awesome. We're starving."
Stiles grin widens. "I made plenty. I didn't know if Scott and Jackson would come too."
"Maybe another day," Derek replies. "I'll give you a heads up when they're coming."
I'm not sure they really want to see you like this anymore anyway, and I'm not risking overwhelming you.
"Hey, Lydia sent you something," Isaac says.
"Lydia?"
"The human that came with Jackson yesterday," Peter supplies helpfully. "Remember the overenthusiastic red-head with a tendency to cry a lot?"
"She sent me something?"
Stiles looks between the three of them trying to understand what he's missing.
"She sent it with Jackson this morning," Isaac expounds. "I think she felt bad for catching you off guard yesterday. It's some pictures and stuff; she wrote little explanations for you."
"Yeah, that shouldn't be horribly confusing at all," Peter mutters.
"She's trying to help," Derek retorts.
It's a nice gesture, and a damn good idea overall. Lydia must've worked almost constantly after she left here yesterday. Derek can understand that though, needing to feel like she's doing something to help. He's not entirely sure how Stiles is going to react to it, but he hopes it helps on some level.
"I'll stick it on the couch, okay? You can take a look later if you want," Isaac says.
Stiles clearly isn't sure what the hell the correct reaction to any of this is, so he nods and turns his attention back to the pasta sauce.
"So what'd you do this morning?" Isaac asks, moving them past the awkward silence.
"We watched the Food Network," Stiles replies.
"Highly educational," Peter adds. "Stiles paid excruciatingly close attention. He's preparing lamb for dinner."
"Because Stiles wants to or because you want him to?" Derek asks.
"Stiles wants to," Peter replies. "Don't you, Stiles?"
Stiles hesitates, looking unsurely from Peter to Derek; he's picked up on the fact that Derek's not thrilled with this plan but doesn't seem sure how to proceed.
Fuck, I should've just gone with it.
"Yes, please, Derek?" Stiles answers cautiously.
"That would be great, Stiles, thank you," Derek replies with a glare to Peter once Stiles' back is turned.
You know damn well he's going to follow your lead on questions like that. I can't tell him 'no' without feeling like an asshole because he doesn't understand. Dammit Peter, step enjoying this so much. I know he used to be a snarky ass to you, but you kind of deserved that. It doesn't mean you turn him into your personal chef now.
Peter shrugs unapologetically before asking, "Are you actually going to be back for dinner tonight?"
"Things this morning were good, so we'll keep at it and see where it goes. We overdid it yesterday, so we should be home earlier tonight."
"Especially if Stiles is cooking lamb," Isaac adds.
"So your control's better?" Peter asks.
"It's getting there."
"I want to help," Stiles blurts. It's clear he's worked himself up to get the sentence out because it was practically all one word. He tenses for Derek's reaction as he continues, "I know you said you would ask for my help if you needed it, Derek, but I want to help. I'm pack, Derek; I should help, too."
The whole point of doing this at Deaton's is to keep you out of it. I can't do that to you, Stiles. I can't. Not until we're absolutely sure it can help. I can't see you hurt on top of everything else. It's hard enough to hurt the others.
"I appreciate that, Stiles," Derek says, "I really do, but the truth is I can barely keep it up alternating between three of them. If we need a fourth, I'll ask you."
"Yes, Derek."
"Besides," Isaac adds. "None of us can cook as good as you. We need you here."
Derek nods. "Right."
"Yes, Derek. However I can be useful."
"Thanks, Stiles."
"Of course, Derek."
Derek and Isaac insist on helping to clean the kitchen before they leave for the clinic. Stiles still doesn't understand Derek's reluctance to be waited on. Perhaps it's an assertion of power, a reminder that he doesn't need anything from his betas. He's the Alpha, though, and Stiles knows his place; he doesn't need this reminder. Anything he does for Derek is something he's allowed to do to feel useful, not something the alpha truly needs his assistance to accomplish.
Once they're gone, Stiles finds himself on the couch staring at the black book Isaac deposited there earlier. Stiles knows it's called a scrapbook; it should be filled with pictures of things. Beyond that he has no idea what to expect when he opens it. He debates a while just placing it to the side to be forgotten, but Derek wouldn't have had Isaac leave it if he didn't think it was something Stiles should see.
He opens the cover slowly. On the first page is a handwritten note.
"Dear Stiles,
I know this is all really confusing for you, and I hate that. I know being there in person wouldn't be any use to you right now, so this is the best I can do. I really do hope this helps, even a little. We're all pulling for you.
Love, Lydia"
He turns the page to see his face staring back at him from an array of pictures.
Wait, no, that isn't me.
The boy in the pictures looks too different. There's something—his eyes maybe? Or his face? Or the way he stands? Stiles can't entirely put his finger on it—too foreign for this to really be him. He wonders for a moment if this could be some elaborate trick, but there's no lesson to learn from this, no benefit he can see for Derek. This only adds to his confusion, which won't help him assimilate into the pack the way Derek wants him to.
He wonders next if there's been a mistake somehow. They all think he's this boy in the pictures, but what if he's someone else entirely? What if he hasn't lost any memories? Maybe this boy they all seem to care so much about is somewhere else out there, and they just haven't found him yet.
Maybe I'm not Stiles.
But Stiles is the one Derek will keep in his pack, the one Derek wants to protect, the one they're trying to get back. Stiles is the one with a place here.
So then what happens to me if I'm not him?
Even if this isn't a mistake, even if these pictures are all things he remembers when Derek 'fixes' him, Stiles can't begin to fathom being the boy in these pictures. This boy is who they want and who they miss—the boy making faces at a camera, the boy ice skating with Lydia, the boy dousing Scott with a water gun—not the serious, well-trained beta he's become.
"It's a lot to take in," Peter says quietly, coming behind the couch to lay a hand on Stiles' shoulder.
"What if I can't be like this?" Stiles asks fearfully. "What if it doesn't work when Derek tries to fix me?"
"You don't have to worry about that, remember?" Peter replies. "You're useful just as you are."
Stiles draws a shaky breath, calming himself with the promise in Peter's words, and nods.
"Yes, Peter."
"Come," Peter beckons. "Let's see if we can't give you a little clarity."
Stiles feels relief wash over him as he closes the books, casts it aside, and follows Peter down the hall.
Something simple. Something that can always be simple.
"How is he, Derek?" the sheriff asks over the phone.
Derek's been ignoring the calls all day, but reminded him that if Derek didn't answer the sheriff might go to the apartment which would be so much worse.
"Better," Derek tells him. "Still a long way to go, but he's better. He's okay for now."
"And the memory control?"
"We've got good progress. A day or two more and I should be able to start giving him memories. We can start getting Stiles back."
The sheriff lets out a mirthless laugh, "Oh, son, I think we both know we're never getting Stiles back, not really."
The sheriff sounds wrecked, not that Derek would expect anything less. The man spent months with the pack tirelessly searching for his son, holding out hope that they'd find him alive.
Well, we found him alive; the problem is you still haven't really gotten your son back.
"I know you're going to try," the sheriff says earnestly. "But if this really goes the way we want it to, if he does get the memories back, the bad will come with the good. We don't get to reset to the Stiles that disappeared; we get the one the alphas had for four months."
You think I haven't thought about that? We're going to trade one mindfucked Stiles for another. I just hope to God we're trading for the lesser of two evils. I can't think about that; it's all I can do to handle one problem at a time. I have to hope we can get most of him back through the memories and that we can figure out the rest as it comes.
"He'll be okay," Derek insists.
Eventually at least. He has to be. He's Stiles.
"I hope you're right."
"I'll call you if there're any updates."
"When can I see him?"
"He attacks anything that isn't pack on instinct," Derek replies. "It's not safe yet, not for you or for him. You've seen what he'll do to himself to control the shift."
"You can't teach him to control it like the rest of you?"
"He doesn't have any memories to use as an anchor."
"You could try."
Controlling the shift is so far down the list of priorities I can't even tell you.
"Sheriff—he's—look he's—he'll be fine, but there's only so much we can throw at him at a time."
There's only so much I can handle with him at a time. I'm still trying to make it through meals without me losing my temper and him panicking. We're nowhere near anything as complicated as teaching him how to control the shift.
"As soon he can control it, as soon as it's safe—"
"You'll be the first to know."
"Derek?"
"Yeah?"
"Just—help him."
"I'll do everything I can," Derek promises.
"Clothes off," Peter instructs as he begins to remove his own.
"Yes, Peter."
Once Stiles stands completely naked he adds, "Good, now on the bed on your hands and knees."
"Yes, Peter."
Stiles stays still, breathing deeply in an effort to relax and move readily however Peter guides him; he's still just grateful Peter started this continuation of their arrangement with no command to run or fight until forced to submit like so many of the Alpha Pack preferred.
Stiles is caught off guard when it's Peter's fingers that penetrate him first, but he knows better than to pull away at the shock of it. He's glad he didn't because he quickly understands and appreciates that Peter's trying to work him open gradually. He still can't stop the sharp gasp of pain that escapes him when Peter finally settles himself deep inside of him, but the intrusion just aches and stretches unpleasantly; it doesn't tear and rip at him the way it always has before with the alphas. He finds himself marveling again at how differently Peter goes about making use of him than any of the alphas ever did, hurting him as little as possible even in this show of dominance. It's more kindness than Stiles dared to expect.
"Go and shower," Peter instructs once he's finished with Stiles. "Shower well," he adds. "You don't want Derek to catch too much of my scent on you."
Panic surges through Stiles at the ominous tone in Peter's voice.
"I don't understand, Peter."
"Derek is your Alpha," Peter replies. "We both know that you respect his place as Alpha. Derek knows it too."
"Yes, Peter."
"But you know how possessive alphas are, don't you, Stiles?"
He flinches slightly at the unbidden memories the question draws to the surface.
"Yes, Peter."
"So you know what I mean when I tell you that if Derek, your Alpha, catches my scent on you, those possessive instincts will kick in, and he'll have no choice but to remind you who you belong to. He'll have to remind you that he comes before the Second and that you must be loyal to him first."
"Yes, Peter," Stiles replies somberly, the picture of the scene all too vivid in his mind.
He's never had a Second before. The alphas all had equal entitlement to the betas in his last pack; any possessive claiming was just for show, just a game his alphas had indulged in whenever they required distraction from the ongoing fights. He can't help trembling at the thought of how much worse a true demonstration of possession and dominance must be.
"Derek said himself if he needed something from you, he would ask, and he's told you dozens of times that he doesn't want to hurt you," Peter continues. "So if he hasn't asked, then he doesn't need or want this from you, Stiles. That means Derek finding out would force him into something he doesn't want, and it would force him to hurt you which is another thing he doesn't want. Is that a position you want to see your alpha in? Forced to do something that would make him unhappy because of you?"
"No , Peter. Never."
"Do you remember yesterday when I told you that Derek didn't need to know that you struck at me while you were fighting with Jackson?"
"Yes, Peter."
"Derek didn't need to know because you didn't need to be taught a lesson. You already knew that it was wrong, and I didn't want to see you punished for a rule you already understand. Do you see that?"
"Yes, Peter, thank you."
"This is no different. Derek doesn't need to show you what he has a right to do as your Alpha; you already know, and you would obey him anything he asked, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, Peter."
"That's good, Stiles. I know that you know your place, and I don't want to see you hurt for something you already understand better than any other beta in this pack. Do you understand why this is something that Derek doesn't need to know about? You see what I'm trying to do for you? You see what I'm trying to protect you from?"
"Yes, Peter. Thank you."
"Good boy," Peter says, smiling down at him and running a hand through his hair. "Now, go shower. You'll need to start dinner soon."
"Yes, Peter," Stiles replies, scrambling to obey.
"Why the fuck isn't the control getting any more precise?" Derek rants. "This is such bullshit!"
He wants to shift and fight something. He wants a battle he can sink his teeth and claws into. He needs something to feel like he'sdoing something and not just running in circles putting his betas through the pain for nothing.
"This is exhausting," Scott says. "Especially for you. Maybe we just need to call it a day."
"Stiles is cooking anyway," Isaac adds. "We have to at least take a break. He'll be disappointed if you're not there."
"Stiles is cooking?" Scott asks.
"It's one of the few things he learned from the alphas that seems normal enough. It gives him something to do while we try to figure this out," Isaac replies. "You two could probably come too if you want."
No. Say 'no'.
"Last time I was in the same room with him, he tried to eat Lydia and then stabbed himself with a fork; I'll pass," Jackson replies.
"Don't be an asshole; he couldn't help that!" Scott replies defensively.
He's not being an asshole. He's got the same kill-it-with-cynicism defense mechanism everyone else in this pack has but you, Scott.
"You want to come then, Scott?"
"Um—I think this version of Stiles kind of thinks I'm a bad influence? I don't know, I just—I don't know what to do with him like this? The other day talking to him was bad enough, but apparently that was the tip of the iceberg? I don't want to push it."
Neither of you want to see him like this. Fair enough. I don't particularly care to go home to it either. Unless I figure out how to get this frustration out, he's going to think I'm pissed at him all night anyway and Isaac or Peter will have to convince him I won't beat him within an inch of his life while I back away helplessly just getting more pissed because I can't control my temper well enough around him.
"We won't overwhelm him tonight," Derek agrees. "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe later, once we can start giving him memories."
Maybe once we get him back to normal—or normal enough.
"What if this doesn't work in the next couple days?" Isaac asks. "What if—"
"It will; it has to," Derek replies firmly.
"We can't stall and leave him sitting at the house with Peter forever."
"It won't take forever. It's getting better. I can at least keep to recent memories now. The control is coming it's just—"
"Not strong enough," Deaton chimes in, walking into the back. "I don't think anger's going to get you were you need to be with this, Derek."
"If it can stop the shift, it should be more than enough to—"
"I've been thinking," Deaton interrupts and Derek bites back a groan of frustration.
Advice from Deaton's really a fifty-fifty shot at getting something worthwhile. Half the time he gets all Philosophical Yoda on them and Derek stifles the urge to strangle him to make him shut up. The other half he's actually getting to the point and passing along really useful stuff.
"You have a very physical reaction to your anger, Derek, and you use it to control a physical change."
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
"And?' Derek prods.
"Memory control is different. It's not physical as much as it is mental and emotional. Maybe you need a different catalyst to reallymaster it."
What the fuck does that even mean? What the hell else would I use? Anger is the strongest emotion I've got.
"The anger is working; I just need more time. It'll be fine."
Deaton shrugs and walks past them into the back kennels. "It's just an idea."
Derek's pissed and exhausted now. Scott, Jackson, and Isaac aren't exactly looking great or healing quickly. Derek thinks there's some merit to Scott's earlier suggestion
"Okay, Scott's right. Let's call it at day. We'll pick it up again in the morning."
It's past eleven when Isaac walks back to Derek's. He's sure Derek's fast asleep after the day he had and the run he took to try and work off some of the frustration so Stiles would stop quaking just from being in the same room as Derek too long. Peter's probably in his room so Isaac's really only worried about startling Stiles. He tries to make just enough noise to alert Stiles to his approach without waking anyone else.
"Stiles?" Isaac says quietly as he opens the door to the apartment. "I dunno if you're in here, but don't worry; it's just me."
"I'm here," Stiles confirms, and Isaac jumps as Stiles moves forward out of the shadows. "It's late. I didn't think any of you came over this late."
"My foster parents are pissed at each other," Isaac replies. "They're not actually yelling, but the whole werewolf hearing thing doesn't really lend itself to tuning out arguments. The house is just four or five blocks from Derek's, so I crash here sometimes."
"Oh."
"I know you've got dibbs on the couch, but I thought I'd steal the recliner if you don't care?"
"That's fine, Isaac."
Stiles turns to walk back to the den, and Isaac follows. Stiles has the TV muted, but it's tuned to the Food Network. Isaac's still proud of thinking of that particular programming suggestion. There's a half-eaten jar of peanut butter on the end table. Derek says it's the only thing in the kitchen Stiles will take without direct permission.
Well, at least he took one of Derek's have-this-if-you-want-it commands to heart. That's progress, right?
"You want to watch something else?" Stiles asks. "Peter and Derek seem to like the sports channels better."
He offers the remote but Isaac doesn't take it.
"No, this is fine. I'm probably going to be asleep in five minutes or less anyway. I'm kind of beat."
Stiles eyes widen in alarm, and Isaac rushes to clarify, "No, not hurt. I meant 'beat' like tired, not 'beat' like actually beaten. Sorry that was maybe the worse word choice ever. Especially if I'm talking to you. My bad."
"You are hurt though," Stiles says, "from the memories at least. Your neck still has the mark on it."
"It's not so bad. It'll be worth it."
"I wish Derek would let me help," Stiles confides quietly. "Taking the memories hurts all of you. It makes everyone so tired, especially Derek, and he comes back angry even if he tries to pretend he's not. Strategically it's nothing but a disadvantage to the pack. I wouldn't help much, but it would lessen the effects among the betas at least."
"Not everything's about strategy, Stiles."
You don't get that now, but you will. Eventually.
Isaac wakes to the sound of quiet whimpering.
"Stiles?"
Stiles is curled in a ball on the couch, one fist jammed against his mouth, stifling the noise even though he's fast asleep. There's no doubting he's in the middle of a nightmare. God knows he's got enough fodder for nothing but nightmares the rest of his life.
"Stiles," Isaac says, moving to wake him. "Hey, Stiles, wake up."
He jolts awake with a strangled cry when Isaac shakes his shoulder.
"Hey, shhh, it's okay. It's just me. You're okay," Isaac assures him.
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, Isaac. I didn't mean—"
"It's okay. You looked like you were having a bad dream. You all right?"
"I'm fine; thank you, Isaac," Stiles replies, "You should sleep. You were tired."
Stiles is shaking and looks on the verge of tears. There's no way Isaac's going to just drift back to sleep and leave him awake to try and calm himself alone. Stiles needs a good distraction, and Isaac has just the thing.
"Nah, I'm awake now," he tells Stiles. "It's morning already anyways. A little coffee and I'll be fine. Hell, I might even make breakfast."
"You cook?"
"Not as good as you," Isaac replies and is rewarded by the small but proud smile on Stiles' face, "but I can handle pancakes."
"Pancakes?"
"Yeah, do you remember pancakes?"
"I know what they are."
"But you don't actually know what they taste like?"
"No."
Dear God, your life is so pathetic on so many different levels.
"Then we're definitely not going back to sleep. We're making pancakes," Isaac informs him offering Stiles a hand up from the sofa before leading the way to the kitchen.
"Derek usually just wants cereal," Stiles tells him.
"Usually, "Isaac concedes, "But I happen to know that Derek is, in fact, a huge sucker for blueberry pancakes." His mom used to make them on Sunday mornings; I've seen the memory myself. "Which, if we're lucky, means he probably has the stuff to make them stocked in the kitchen."
"There are blueberries," Stiles affirms. "Peter bought more after I made the pie."
His eyes flicker over to the stain that's still on the wall. Isaac's seriously considering drawing a smiley face into the biggest splotch in an attempt to get Stiles to stop staring at it guiltily every time he walks in the kitchen.
"Awesome, I'll grab all the stuff from the fridge; you grab the mix from the pantry and find us a pan."
Pancakes.
Stiles doesn't remember what they taste like, but if it's anything nearly as heavenly as the smell they make when they're cooking, he's going to love them. Even better, if this really is something Derek prefers for breakfast, Stiles might get away with making them often.
Don't get ahead of yourself. Derek hasn't even found out you're doing this yet.
"Okay, moment of truth," Isaac says as Stiles takes the first few out of the pan. "You have to try one before you keep going."
Stiles hesitates just a moment.
Any time you make me something, you can make yourself the same, Derek had told him. This is okay. This is allowed. Isaac's not trying to get him punished.
"Go on," Isaac encourages.
Stiles picks one up and takes a timid bite, followed quickly by a much bigger one because it's even better than he thought it was going to be.
"Awesome, right?" Isaac asks, grinning.
"Awesome," Stiles agrees wholeheartedly with a mouth full of fluffy, golden deliciousness.
Stiles continues to nibble at the pancake as they set back to work making more. By the time they hear Derek stirring down the hall, there's a sizeable stack. Stiles tries not to worry that Derek won't like this. He replays Derek's permission in his head over again a few more times. There's no logical reason he should be in trouble, but, nevertheless, anxiety builds as he hears Derek approach.
"Pancakes?" Derek asks hopefully as he comes into sight, the bright smile on his face completely dissipating Stiles' worry.
"Yes, Derek."
"Blueberry pancakes," Isaac expounds.
"You two are officially the new favorite betas, just don't tell the others."
"You mean we weren't before?" Isaac asked. "I'm hurt, Derek, really."
Stiles can tell from the tone of Isaac's voice and Derek's continuing smile that they're joking, and, while Stiles doesn't entirely understand what's amusing, he follows their lead and smiles along with them.
"Shut up, and pass me the syrup," Derek quips back. "These look perfect, Stiles," he adds. "Great job."
"Thank you, Derek."
"Hey, a little credit to the batter maker," Isaac cuts in. "It's a delicate art."
"It was Isaac's plan," Stiles admits.
"Well, thank you both then. This is awesome. It beats the hell out of cereal."
Stiles can't help smiling again. This is the most happy and relaxed he's ever seen Derek. He's not sure what set it up exactly. Does Stiles owe it to Isaac's presence? Or the pancakes? Maybe he's just incredibly damn lucky today.
I'll ask Isaac later. He said he'd explain why Derek's angry as many times as I needed. Maybe he can explain this too. Maybe he can help me understand how to help keep Derek this happy.
Because Stiles wants more mornings like this. He wants Derek to grin across the kitchen at him. He wants to revel in how glad Derek is to see both his betas enjoy the pancakes just as much as their alpha. He wants this calm to keep pushing back the anxiety that usually consumes him.
And Derek says it's okay to want things.
Isaac gets Derek talking about the Mets. Stiles knows they're a baseball team but nothing beyond that. Stiles takes in their words but mostly just enjoys the animated way they talk about it and the fact that their voices rise out of excitement, not anger. Derek promises they can all go to a ballgame when Stiles feels up to it, but assures him there's no rush.
Stiles soaks in the pleasure of having Derek sit here with them, taking clear pleasure in the contentedness of his betas, not in their pain. Stiles thinks he's starting to see some of the truth in what Isaac said yesterday about Derek wanting to protect his pack.
Derek's glad that that we're enjoying this. He's glad that I'm not afraid. If I were hurt, I'd be afraid. If I'm afraid, Derek isn't glad; he's angry. Protecting me, protecting the other betas, makes us feel safer. It makes the pack unafraid so Derek can be glad of it?
He still doesn't fully understand why Derek would allow his contentedness to revolve so heavily around the state of his betas, but it's more clarity on the topic than he's had before. It's the most logic he's been able to apply to any of the explanations they've offered about how the Hale Pack works.
There's plenty of wrath in Derek; Stiles has seen bits of it even if he's never fully incurred it. His interactions with Derek should always reflect the respect he owes his Alpha and the understanding that he is at Derek's mercy while he's in this pack. Nevertheless, this morning reveals more clearly a new dynamic to be taken into consideration as he tries to please his Alpha. Understanding what Derek wants is a process so much more complicated than Stiles had first hoped, but he has something simple with his Second to hold on to while he figures it out his Alpha. He can take time to learn what he needs to do and how he needs to act to recreate good moments like this one.
I'm going to figure this out. I'm going to find ways to show Derek I'm not afraid so he can be glad of it. I'm going to learn how to make him smile like that as often as I can.
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