Aftermath: Part 3

Scott flopped back against the pillows, oblivious to the effect his words had on his friend. "I've got to get her back, Stiles! But how? She told me she doesn't trust me. And why should she? I haven't told her the truth about anything since I met her."

"Now that you know her parents are werewolf hunters, Scott, I think you can safely assume that sharing, honesty, and openness are not the way to go with this girl. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to girls." Stiles smiled at his friend. "You won't catch me going the honesty route with Lydia. No sirree. The less she knows about me the more likely it is that she'll go on a date with me."

"My advice – lie! If you want this girl, which is such a bad idea that I can't even enumerate all the ways it's bad, then lie your ass off." Stiles held up his hands. "No! I take that back. It's not just a bad idea, it's a lethal, life threatening, and terminally fatal one for you to pursue." Stiles stared at the vacant, smiling, unfocused look on his friend's face and despaired. Scott hadn't heard anything he had said.

Stiles zoned out as Scott went over for the ten thousandth time his relationship problems with Allison. As his mind drifted, lulled by the monotonous tones of Scott's voice, he realized with surprise that he hoped that the analogy he'd drawn between the movie and their real life situation wasn't too exact. He didn't want Derek dead. His mind skittered around like a drop of water in a hot skillet, refusing to come to grips with the truth behind this reality. He really, really, really wanted a reason that didn't require admitting he felt anything for the wolf.

"***we're meant to be together***"

With relief he finally fastened on their undeniable need for the strength and experience of the Beta in the coming battle with the Alpha. If Stiles thinking he could hold Derek off was laughable, the idea of Scott and Stiles going up alone against the Alpha was hysterical. That was reason enough for Stiles not to want Derek dusted as the young vampire leader in The Lost Boys had been. It could be viewed as a simple matter of life or death.

"***my soul mate***"

The boy rested his chin on the back of the chair. Maybe he should just man up and try to deal with yesterday. He swiveled restlessly back and forth in his chair. Derek claimed that he had the hots for the werewolf. The chair stopped. No, that hadn't actually been what he'd said. Derek had said that he could tell that he, Stiles Stilinski, was aroused whenever Derek and Scott were in the room with him.

"***don't know what we want***"

A jolt went through him. Maybe he meant that Stiles was turned on by the thought of Derek and Scott together. He examined that concept gingerly and put it quickly away in the same place that he kept the idea of his mom and dad having sex. He shivered and then returned to the only slightly less repulsive idea that Scott turned him on.

"***our undying love***"

Stiles knew beyond question that Scott didn't turn him on. Scott was, as he'd told him earlier, like a brother to him. It would be totally gross if he felt that way about his brother. If anyone stoked his fire it would have to be Derek, assuming Derek was telling the truth about what his nose told him.

"***they won't listen***"

Could he believe anything Derek said? Derek hadn't told him, after all, what the result of his sniff test had been. This could be some sort of mind game that Derek was playing with him. It might even be that Derek was the one with the hots for a certain high school boy of his acquaintance. This could all be only a case of transference. Stiles found that a mind boggling idea. Derek had never indicated that he even liked him. Stiles thought that not ripping his face off probably did not count as a sign of Derek's affection.

"***say we're too young***"

Stiles searched his memory of their brief history together. Had there been any instance when Derek had shown anything other than contempt or, on one of Stiles' good days, a bored indifference to his existence? Derek had been willing to let him take a knife to his arm when he'd been shot with wolfsbane. That had indicated either a trust in Stiles that was surprising or the sheerest desperation. Who knew? With someone like Derek, digging a bullet out of your massively infected arm with a pocket knife might have passed as a first date. Too bad he hadn't shown himself to be up to the challenge. Wimping out in a life or death situation couldn't have won him any friendship points with the werewolf.

"***my heart's desire***"

The only other thing that Stiles could think of was the warning that Derek had given him at the hospital when he'd been about to meet the Alpha. There had been urgency and a note of panic in his voice that night. That might have been an indication of more than casual concern or, then again, it might not have been. Maybe he was only concerned about losing his ride back to town if the Alpha ate his driver. How could one tell?

"***no one understands***"

A change in Scott's voice penetrated Stile's consciousness. He raised his head to check on his friend and cursed his luck. Scott was staring at him expectantly. He must have asked a question and was awaiting an answer. He tried to remember if he'd heard anything Scott had said. Nothing came to him. He'd have to wing it.

"Scott I can't tell you what to do. I have certainly tried and it hasn't made any difference. You're the only one who can make that decision. And you know, Scott, in the end you'll just do what you want to no matter what I say." Looking at Scott's happy face, Stiles knew with total surety that his best friend was going to keep seeing Allison until the end. He just hoped it wasn't Scott's end.

"Well, you know, Stiles, Allison isn't like other girls. I know she really loves me but with her family against me. I just don't know. If…"

Scott was off again and Stiles tuned him out once again. He had more important things, his things, to deal with. Last night Derek had claimed he felt nothing for Stiles other than curiosity. He hadn't touched Stiles. In fact, the touching had gone the other way. He had touched Derek. But only, he reassured himself, because the wolf was intruding on his personal space. He was trying to hold him off. This was a joke, of course. He couldn't have held Derek off – not with one hand, two hands, or fifty hands. He flinched at the memory of his limp-wristed performance. He hadn't stood a chance of deterring a determined werewolf. That meant that Derek hadn't wanted to touch him. This was kind of disappointing if he let himself think about it. Lydia didn't know he was alive and Danny thought he was deranged. Sheriff Stilinski's son couldn't get a rise out of even a horny werewolf.

All Derek had done was breathe on him – not exactly an act of passion. Even when he had Stiles backed up against the wall he hadn't done or said anything overtly sexual. Stiles allowed himself to remember the heat he'd felt radiating from Derek's chest and the beat of his heart as his hand pressed against the man's chest. He found himself suddenly in need of changing position in his chair.

He wished now that he'd kept his damn eyes open. Staring into the twin furnaces of blue fire that were Derek's eyes, that wouldn't have been hard. Sure. Who was he kidding? He'd have been lucky not to pee his pants if he'd dared do it. It would have answered his questions though. He wouldn't have needed words. His eyes would have told him if Derek Hale wanted him.

Stiles stopped his swiveling and found he was facing The Lost Boys poster. A smile smoothed some of the tension from his face. He thought about the real reason why the poster had gone up. It hadn't been the analogy to their situation, as neat as that had been, but rather the need to hide the holes made by Derek's claws in his wall. Something had cracked the man's control, had allowed the wolf inside him to surface. That something could have been desire. Desire for Stiles!

Slowly the smile faded. Or there was another possibility, one less flattering to his ego and more dangerous to his wellbeing. Derek had gotten a positive response from his little smell-o-meter act and his claws had extended in disgust. The wolf might be a homophobe. Stiles grimaced. He'd just self-identified as queer. How, he wondered, had he gone from being straight Stiles, hopelessly in love with Lydia, to gay Stiles, hopelessly crushing on a wolf?

Stiles rested his head on his arms. What was he going to do? Or rather, he knew what he was going to do. He just didn't know how he was going to go about it.

He wondered what Red Riding Hood's secret was?