Inamorato V
Stiles is a dreamer. It seems that it's one of the few ways he's able to keep his ADHD under control. But something soon starts to make his dreams restless, make them more vivid and panicked. Little does he know that his mate is looking for him. He's caused the leather-clad werewolf out of hiding and would stop at nothing for his inamorato.
Reminding everyone, THIS IS MY FIRST TEEN WOLF FIC.
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Chapter 5: Frayed
Derek got home and immediately knew something wasnt right. He could smell it.
He smells Kate. It's an unmistakable scent, one he used to adore. It's the smell of basil and mint. She smelled lke herbs, fresh and clean. But now, he's snarling with his teeth bared as he stalks around his house. There's something else mixed with the mint and the basil...it smells almost like...wolfsbane.
Derek growls and runs out of the house as a bullet ricochets off of the wall to his right. The wolf inside wants to break free, Derek can feel it. The inside of his chest burns as the wolf tries so desperately to claw its way out. Derek fights it though, finding the gate in the woods that leads into his basement. He uses his claws to shred through the overgrowth on the wrought-iron gate before he hurries inside and sprints to his basement.
The scent of mint and basil is strong, mainly because the last time Derek was here was when he was with Kate. She'd brought him down here and chained him up, half naked, while she electrocuted him with a car battery.
The memories are vivid and Derek has to brace himself against the wall to anchor himself so that he doesn't shift. Honey brown eyes flicker in and out between hazel ones, the feel of rough hands gripping his shoulders quickly fading into the soft touch of her manicured fingers. The crisp scent of rain and snow is overwhelmed by mint and basil as his wolf howls and snarls rabidly inside of him.
His mind is flooded with the memories of that night, the electricity flowing through his bones, her tongue licking slowly up his torso. The dull ache in his chest became a searing pain and only once he'd shifted did he know the scent of basil and mint was in his head. Only once he'd made his way back to his house did he realize no one had been there at all, but that his mind was making him hallucinate as his fear of love slowly began to ebb and wane at his sequestered heart.
—
Stiles is still slightly upset that Derek had left in such a haste. He'd come out of the bathroom in his jeans and no shirt—which may or may not have intensified his morning situation—and just left. Stiles could still smell Derek in his bedsheets. It was a consuming aroma of musk and ash, somehow fitting for Derek. 'Probably because he lives in a fucking crematorium,' Stiles thinks, making his way into the bathroom. He splashes water on his face and—'what the hell is this?'
Stiles picks up a bottle of aftershave and examines it. 'Armani.' He unscrews the lid and smells it, the scent making him a bit weak in the knees. 'God, that's why Derek always smells so delicious.' He notices a blue toothbrush next to his in the holder. Suspicious, he opens the drug cabinet and sees a razor and a small can of shaving cream nestled in the corner of the top shelf, right behind his bottle of Adderall. There is a small note taped onto his medication and a small smile creeps onto his face as he reads it in Derek's voice. You need to learn to take this shit. Take it. Right now.
He does—for Derek's sake—take his Adderall. In the back of his mind he has a feeling Derek's going to be back.
Stiles treads downstairs and spots Derek's leather jacket still hanging on the back of one of the dining room table's chairs. "Shit."
And then his cell phone rings. It's sitting on the kitchen counter and once he gets a glimpse of the caller ID, he knows he's in deep shit.
"Hey, Dad."
'Stiles, you have some explaining to do.'
"I-I don't know what you're talking about."
He hears his father sign on the other end of the line. 'Did you not think I know what Derek Hale's car looks like? Stiles, he's an alleged criminal!'
"Yeah, Dad, alleged. Not convicted."
'That's not the point. I've been so wrapped up a the station lately because people are dying, son. I know I haven't been home much but that's not an excuse,' the sheriff takes a deep breath, 'The point is, you're taking advantage of all of the time I'm working to be involved with a criminal.'
"OKAY, Dad, you can just—stop, stop right there. I am not involved with Derek if what you're implying is sex. I can't believe you even said that. He's a sulking, self-absorbed sourwol—puss that doesn't care about the feelings of others! I—" Stiles scoffs, running a hand through his hair, hoping he doesn't sound too panicky. "I can't believe you would even think that I was having sex with Derek Hale." Although to Stiles, sex with Derek Hale does sound fucking mind-blowing.
'Then why was he sleeping with you, huh?'
Stiles struggles to formulate a reasonable lie. "His house got reclaimed by the county and he doesn't have a place to stay. And I didn't think you'd want him on the couch because knowing you, you'd think he frigging broke in."
Stiles can practically hear the gears turning in his father's head. 'Well, just—warn me next time, alright? We'll blow up the air mattress for him in your room. I like watching TV on the couch when I get home.'
"Thanks, Dad."
'I still don't like him.' And he hangs up.
Stiles lets out a huge breath of relief and has a silent celebration in his mind, reminding himself to call Derek later and tell him that hey, I need you to keep sleeping over at my house.
He grabs a pop-tart from the cabinet and lounges on the couch with the case file he'd left on the table last night. He was sure his father would've asked about why the file was out.
Skimming through the autopsy photos, Stiles grimaces as he comes upon a particularly grusome one. It looked as if the creature had dug its claws into her lower abdomen and slashed upward with great force, vicerating the lungs and tearing through the ribcage with ease. There were two large puncture wounds on her upper chest, just under her collarbone where it appears that something stabbed her. 'Probably with those fucking horns on its head.'
Three hours later, Stiles is still on the couch in his boxers. He's typing notes into his laptop, anything he finds important in the case file, anything his mind thinks of. Papers litter the coffee table and Stiles's leg is bouncing frantically, making it harder and harder for him to type. He resigns and sets his laptop on the coffee table, stretching his legs out. Standing, he makes his way up the stairs, tripping over his own feet in the process. He's feeling really anxious and he's already identified all his ADHD symptoms that tell him when he needs to take more Adderall. He knows if he doesn't, he'll start babbling to himself because he talks entirely too much as it is and once he's onto something, there's no point in stopping him.
He opens the drug cabinet in the bathroom and takes his meds, his eye catching the note that was still stuck to the bottle. 'Derek's handwriting is so...pretty.' Stiles admires the way Derek's letters curl and flawlessly flow into the next. He wishes his handwriting was neat cursive like Derek's, but unfortunately, his thoughts stream entirely too fast and he's forced to scratch down everything he can remember at the moment.
Stiles moves into his bedroom, seriously considering not wearing pants for the rest of the day, but decides against it when he thinks about the possibility of Derek returning. He opens his top drawer and pulls out a pair of jeans when he notices something tucked in the corner of his drawer. It's a small velvet box, for jewelry. 'Is this something I bought for Lydia's birthday that I forgot to return?' He pulls it out from his clothes and opens it, a small triskele necklace displayed on the cushion. It's silver—extremely tarnished—but silver nonetheless. The cushion it sits on isn't white anymore, but yellowed from age and there's an imprint of the triskele in what looks like soil reminants. He knows, it's definitely not his. The only person he can think of with a triskele thing is—
"I'm staying again tonight."
And if that didn't scare the fuck out of Stiles, then nothing would.
"Derek!" Stiles almost goes into cardiac arrest and end up falling over his own feet to land on the floor in front of Derek. He looks up at the werewolf and scowls, standing. "Jesus Christ! Don't you know how to knock?"
"I did. And you didn't answer. So, I let myself in." He snatches the velvet box from Stiles's fingers. "And leave this in here," Derek nestles the box back into the drawer."I need it to stay safe."
"What is it?"
Derek sighs and closes the drawer as Stiles tugs on his jeans. "Its a family necklace. It was my mother's, and then my older sister's, and now that they're both gone, I guess...I guess it's mine." His face softened a bit while he reminisced, but immediately hardened again, avoiding looking at Stiles's naked torso. He moves to walk downstairs, glaring at Stiles as he walks out of his bedroom, "And put a shirt on."
To Stiles, Derek seems grumpier than usual, and Stiles takes that for meaning "something's wrong with Derek". Sign number one was whenever Stiles asked why he came back, Derek growled and issued a threat that usually involved maiming, ripping, or clawing. Sign number two was when Derek brought a duffel bag up to Stiles's bedroom and slid it underneath his bed.
Stiles finally says something when sign number three almost gets him killed. He'd been waiting for Derek to just sit the fuck down already because Mr. Moody Broody was pacing the entire house for nearly an hour. Stiles needed to talk to him about the case file, so he stood and walked into the kitchen where he came up to Derek, whose back was facing Stiles. Derek was still, rigid. The glass of water he was holding slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.
Stiles put a hand on Derek's shoulder and spoke in a concerned tone, "Der—"
Derek spun around viscously, large, wolfy hand around Stiles's throat, pressing the teen up against the wall about a foot off the ground. His eyes were full blown scarlet and his canines were too sharp for Stiles's liking, causing the boy to squirm under Derek's hold.
"D-Der...ek..." Stiles's hands clutched around the one of Derek's that was crushing his windpipe in an attempt to relieve the pressure. His honey brown eyes searched Derek's crimson ones for any sign of the human alpha, the "I'm going to threaten you and not kill you" Derek, rather than the "I'm going to threaten you and actually kill you" Derek.
Stiles was gasping, feeling Derek's claws dig into the back of his neck. "D-Der..." His eyes locked with Derek's and suddenly the red faded to jade and Derek's expression went from lividity to horror in record time. He dropped Stiles to the floor and fell to his knees, knuckles white as they fisted his dark hair. He hadn't seen Stiles. He'd seen Kate. He was choking Kate up against the wall.
Once Stiles had caught his breath, he reached out and put a hand on Derek's back reluctantly, between his shoulder blades. He felt Derek flinch, but the older didn't show any sign of removing Stiles's hand.
"Hey," Stiles coaxes, "are you okay?"
"Peachy," is the reply.
"Derek, I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened, alright? So just—just go with it, would ya?"
He seems to contemplate it before clenching his jaw and standing, finding the broom in the garage to sweep up the glass shards. "Sorry about the glass."
"Whatever," Stiles brushes it off. It's not like they don't have other glasses.
Derek carefully sweeps the glass up, in almost a tender way, occasionally glancing up at the teenager that was staring down at him, leg shaking, heartbeat racing. He throws the glass away and approaches Stiles, who's quivering ever so slightly. "You alright?"
"Yeah, why?" Even the teen's voice in quivering.
"Because you're shaking and your heart's beating really fast—for Christ's sake, stop bouncing your leg."
Stiles does, only for a moment, before he starts up again. "I can't. I—shit, it's happening again."
"What's happening?"
"They're just side effects of the Adderall. I get anxious and I start shaking like a fucking teacup chihuahua." He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. "It happens every so often. It usually goes away if I eat something." There's usually another side effect that happens, but Stiles knows if he says something, it may jinx it. And Lord knows Stiles doesn't want that last side effect to kick in when Derek's around because he'll be able to smell it with his stupid fucking werewolf nose. Derek moves to the couch while Stiles makes himself a sandwich and sits next to Derek, not too close for comfort and not too far to be awkward. His leg starts bouncing again and Derek reaches over and pushes Stiles's knee down and holds it there.
"Stop."
'This seriously cannot happen right now. Stiles, control yourself. Control yourself now.' This is what Stiles was worried about when he was prescribed the Adderall. The doctor had told him, "Certain side effects happen to certain people depending on how your body handles the medication." Stiles remembers asking the doctor about the "sexual problems" side effect and he'd responded, "It's an uncommon side effect and usually decreases libido, while in very few cases increases it." Well, apparently Stiles was a rare case because whenever he was particularly stressed or hasn't taken his meds in a while, the side effects happen, including the one where he starts craving sex.
Stiles squirms away from Derek's hand and gives an uncomfortable smile to Derek's butthurt expression. "I'll be right back. Feel free to look through all the notes I've gotten," he says, standing and pushing his laptop into Derek's hands. He quietly goes upstairs and locks himself in the bathroom, sitting on the cool tile, back against the door. HIs heart is still pounding as he lets his mind wander to where else he'd love Derek's rough hands to be.
Derek has learned not to question the actions of Stiles, mainly because the kid has ADHD and half of the stuff he does is nonsensical anyways. He'd practically run upstairs, muttering something about fucking goddamn side effects messing around with my goddamn horomones. And then Derek smells it, wafting down the stairs. He can feel the pheromones coming from Stiles wrapping around his body, enveloping him and making his wolf claw the inside of his chest in a frenzy. The scent of Stiles changed from rain to a strong pine, and it was driving Derek crazy.
Derek calms himself down by heading out into the backyard, the scents of the forest clearing out his nose and appeasing the wolf. He sits on one of the chairs on the patio and opens the laptop that's still in his hands. There's notes on two case files in the document, the second case being the one Stiles heard his dad talking about, a suicide.
"Looks like it wasn't a suicide after all," Derek murmurs to himself, scrolling through the notes on the man's case file. 'Lahey. Has a son, Isaac. Why does that sound familiar?' He scowls at the screen and notices the injuries on the two bodies are different. The man had a large puncture wound to the side of his head, where one of the Erchitu's horns went straight through his temple, killing him instantly. The girl on the other hand, had slash marks up her chest and puncture wounds just under her collarbone. He's intently studying Stiles's notes, when he smells the teen's presence before he sees him.
"Isaac goes to school with me. He's on our lacrosse team." Stiles was wearing a different set of clothes than before and Derek assumed he'd just rubbed one out upstairs to satisfy his issue. Derek could still smell the lust and arousal on him though, but it wasn't nearly as potent as before. Stiles drags the other patio chair over next to Derek and he plops down, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He turns his head to the right and studies Derek's face.
"Derek, are you alright?"
Derek looks down and notices he's torn his jeans where his hand was resting on his thigh a moment ago. "I'm fine," he grits out.
Stiles clenches his jaw and faces Derek, hands flailing. "Look, if you're gonna stay here, you gotta talk to me, dude, alright?" He's shocked when Derek turns to him, eyes crimson. He scans Stiles, making sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. "Derek. Come on. We're a pack now."
No matter how many times Derek denies Stiles being in his pack, he doesn't correct him because he knows that, well, Stiles is in his pack. "I can't stay at my house," he answers, eyes dissolving back to their jade color. "I got home and I thought Kate was there. I smelled like her and she shot at me and it turns out, I hallucinated the whole thing." He closes the laptop and hands it back to Stiles. "And then with you in the kitchen, I..." Derek huffs, "I thought you were Kate." He pinches the bridge of his nose—something Stiles has taken as a nervous habit—and stands. "I have to stay here for a bit."
Stiles knows Derek isn't asking, which he's slightly grateful for considering that otherwise, he'd have to ask Derek to stay over and Jesus, that would've been an awkward conversation. Stiles nods and follows Derek into the house. It's later than he thought, around eight in the evening, and Stiles knows his dad's going to be home soon. 'Best prepare Derek for dinner.'
"Hey, Derek. Put on some new pants. You're meeting my dad."
Derek growls, listening to the teen because he was nice enough to let him stay. So, he rummages through his duffel bag in search of another pair of jeans. 'Did I not pack fucking jeans?' He throws all his clothes out of the bag and sifts through his clothes, finding a few pairs of basketball shorts and sweatpants. 'That's right, I fucking tore my other pairs to shreds.' "Stiles," he grunts, shoving his clothes back into his bag, "I need to borrow a pair of pants."
Stiles peeks his head into the room and reaches into his top drawer, tossing the biggest pair he has at Derek. "I'm gonna go pick up dinner. You like curly fries?"
Derek glares at Stiles.
"I'm gonna get them for you anyway." Stiles leaves and Derek listens to the rattle of his jeep as he pulls down the street.
—
The sheriff takes a bit of his burger, making a face and giving his son an accusing stare. "Oh, what the hell is this?"
"Veggie burger," Stiles says, passing the containers of sauces around the table as well as the drinks.
Stiles gives his dad a look as the sheriff puts his burger down. "I asked for a hamburger."
"Well, veggie is healthier. We're being healthy." He hands his father the side to his burger.
The sheriff sighs and reaches over to open the lid to the side, revealing celery and carrot sticks. "Why are you trying to ruin my life?"
"I'm trying to extend your life, okay?" Stiles motions to the food. "Could you just eat it, please? And tell me what you found."
Derek was wondering if this is how dinner went every night, Stiles bringing home healthy food for his father and shit food for himself and then prying about police information.
"No, I'm not sharing confidential police information with a teenager and a uh, friend of his."
Stiles sips his drink and glances at Derek, then back to his father, craning his neck around his dad to spot a file on the counter. "Is that it on the counter behind you?" The file had spilled open and photos of evidence had tumbled out. The sheriff turns around and Stiles stands a bit to get a better view.
"Don't look at that."
"A'ight," Stiles responds, looking to Derek again, who's munching on his curly fries.
"Avert your eyes."
"Okay." Stiles sits back down, but his eyes are still locked on the photos.
The sheriff glares at him. "Hey."
Derek is amused, sitting back and watching everything unfold, the Stilinskis seeming almost oblivious to his presence.
Stiles stands up again, looking at the file. "Just—it's just—I see pictures attached to evidence pictures attached to people's pictures."
"Okay, okay, stop. Fine." Thoroughly irritated, the sheriff sighs. "I found something."
Stiles raises his eyebrows expectantly and shoots Derek a look. The sheriff also looks toward Derek, but it's more of a protective parent look. Derek is slightly confused but then notices how the sheriff kind of looks him up and down and realizes what he must see. 'I'm in Stiles's pants...shit, he thinks we're having sex. That's why he's been giving me that look for the past half hour.'
The sheriff proceeds to open the case file and skim through the photos and Derek tunes him out because most of the stuff the Beacon Hills Police Department had figured out was complete bullshit. "So you think it's a serial killer?"
The attention shifts to Derek. "Yeah," responds the sheriff. "All three victims lived on the same street."
"Whoa, whoa, three?" Stiles scrunches his face up in that adorable confused look Derek loves so much. "Who's the third?"
"His name's Matt Daehler. He just moved in on the block, into the Whittemore's house, directly across the street from the Laheys."
"Matt was on the lacrosse team with me. And Isaac is."
"One's an incident, two's a coincidence, and—"
"Yeah, Dad. Three's a pattern."
Derek knows he has to talk to Isaac. Maybe the kid saw something. He puts another fry into his mouth because damn, now he knows why Stiles loves them so much. 'Speak of the devil,' he thinks as the teen takes everyone's garbage and dirty dishes back into the kitchen to wash.
"Mr. Hale, nice to see you."
Derek simply nods, "Sheriff." The two weren't necessarily friends, considering last time they'd talked was when Derek was being arrested for the murder of his sister. "And please, call me Derek."
"Well, Derek. I'm warning you now. If you hurt my son, I'll—"
"Sheriff, are you implying that I'm dating Stiles? Because I can assure you that we," he gestures toward the kitchen, "are not dating."
The sheriff isn't convinced though, his eyes narrowing. "Well, whatever you two are doing, just...take care of him, alright?"
"Of course." Derek feels a warmth spread through his chest, knowing that now, he's solely responsible for Stiles when the teen wasn't with his father. Derek knows he has to be extremely carfeul, extremely alert. Stiles's life is in his hands now, and if he gets hurt under Derek's care, the wolf won't ever forgive itself.
"There's an air mattress in the closet upstairs. It's all yours." The sheriff stands and migrates to the couch. "And I'll see what I can do about the city reclaiming your family's land."
Derek is in shock. "The city did wh—"
"Shut up Derek, I'll explain in a few minutes, okay? Just say thank you and get your werewolf ass upstairs." Stiles whispers it all so fast that Derek barely understands it.
"Uh, thanks, Sheriff." He waits for the nod of acknowledgement and books it up the stairs.
Stiles follows suit, giving a good night to his father as he passes him. He walks into the bedroom to see Derek in a pair of basketball shorts and a wifebeater. 'Holy shit, Derek Hale has normal people clothes.' Stiles leans on the doorframe and watches, amused, as Derek attempts to blow up the air mattress. "I'm letting you know now, there's a hole in it somewhere and we can't find it to patch it. So, you pretty much wake up on the floor anyways."
Derek grits his teeth and rolls it back up, tossing it in the corner. "Then where am I gonna sleep?"
Stiles crosses his arms and nods toward the bed. "Pick a side, roomie."
Derek doesn't argue, but merely walks out of the room and into the bathroom. Stiles takes that opportunity to strip himself of everything but his boxers and climb into bed, body slightly achy from the toll of the side effects and Derek fucking choking him. Derek returns to the room and he glars at Stiles. "Can you please put some fucking pants on?"
"Hey, Sourwolf. You're intruding on my turf, alright? Once again, my house, my rules, buddy."
Derek huffs but climbs in next to Stiles after taking off his wifebeater and tossing it on top of his bag. Stiles looks at him questioningly, but holy shit, Stiles likey. Derek glares at Stiles, pulling the blankets over his lap. "I have a limited amount of clothes and I don't want to have to use all your laundry shit."
Stiles shrugs and pulls the chain on his lamp, and just like the night before, Derek's sitting up, leaning on the headboard. "Derek," Stiles says, "don't do this again. For the love of Christ, go to fucking sleep." Stiles rolls over and he hears Derek sigh.
"Hey, Stiles?"
"Hmm?"
"What did you dream about last night?"
Stiles had two dreams te previous night. The first was the same dream he'd had about the Erchitu before, the second was one that he wasn't planning on sharing with Derek, especially since said werewolf was the one in the dream snarling at Stiles to just fuck him already. Just thinking about it got Stiles a bit hot under the collar. "Uh, it was the same dream as before."
Derek seemed to accept the answer, even though he could tell that there was something Stiles wasn't telling him. He could smell Stiles's nervousness, his arousal. He just lets it go, knowing it probably isn't worth it to pursue it. He's got so much on his mind that he isn't even tired. He hears the sheriff downstairs, snoring on the couch while the baseball game is still playing on the TV. He hears Stiles's soft snores, knowing that the poor teen was exhausted from a rough, stressful day of Adderall and murders.
And two hours later, Derek's still up, thinking. Stiles had cuddled up to him about an hour ago and Derek had slid down into a laying position so that the teen's neck wasn't in such an uncomfortable position. He mindlessly runs his fingers through Stiles's long hair, the monster on his mind. Stiles was starting to get restless, his face scrunching in a painful expression. His mouth opens, as if to scream, but nothing comes out. Derek's eyes flash red and he's ready to slash anyone or anything's throat that comes near Stiles. His arm wraps around the teen and he pulls him into his chest as tears fall down Stiles's cheeks. Derek thumbs them away, admiring how Stiles's glows in the moonlight.
"D-Don't leave," Stiles whispers, head snuggling closer in the crook of Derek's neck. Derek listens to his heart, noting its steady rhythm. 'He's still asleep.' He uses his free hand to wrap the blanket around Stiles's bare shoulders. "Stay...please...Der..."
"I'm not leaving you, Stiles," Derek whispers back. 'Fuck it,' he thinks, pressing a chaste kiss to Stiles's forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
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—A
