So look, I know that it has been absolutely ages since I uploaded, but I have been so busy… and lazy. So please forgive me, and enjoy. This isn't the best chapter, but it is necessary for the good stuff to come next time.

Stiles had always prided himself on being smart.

And ok, yeah, he was never going to reach Lydia Martin levels of smart because he was convinced that no one else could ever reach that level of intelligence without some kind of radioactive accident. But still, he was on the better side of average when it came to his mental aptitude, and he could only dream of the genius he may have been had he not been cursed with ADHD, the ultimate distraction tool. But even that made him proud in some way because it was one thing being bright when everything is in your favour, but when you excel despite your brain trying to screw you over, well that was an achievement.

So yeah, he may not have been sporty, or muscled, or a freaking werewolf, but he was smart. And around people like Scott, he could sometimes convince himself he was a downright genius, because while Scott is lovely, he's also a complete potato.

Brains were all he had, that and his sarcasm, which made the fact that it had taken him so long to figure out the pieces of the puzzle, that much more frustrating.

In retrospect it was all so clear. Annoyingly so. It was the only option that made any sense once the wolf pack idea had been dismissed. And he really should have seen it coming because, in all seriousness, when had Stiles' life not revolved around Derek Hale and his little moon problem since they'd met. Why had he expected this to be any different? Because he was a naïve idiot, that's why.

He'd figured out that the whole thing was linked to the pack, and the leap from the pack to the Alpha should have then been obvious, but it just hadn't occurred to Stiles until Derek had spent the evening's cuddling the looming whiteness away, and keeping Stiles relatively sane. He should have guessed earlier that that was a clue. It wasn't like Scott's hugs were chasing away the white outs, hell, those days Scott's presence was barely doing the trick. But Derek? Every time Derek showed up Stiles could breathe a little easier, think a little clearer. He really should have seen it earlier.

So, as it turned out, Derek freaking Hale was Stiles' destiny. It was his fate to land the Alpha, or at least try to. And while part of him wanted to jump for joy that someone (something?) else thought that they should be together, he also wanted to curl up and cry because there was no way this wasn't going to end in some sort of death, the way he figured it, he just got to choose if he wanted to wait fate out or if he wanted to speed up the process and confess his undying, destiny driven, affections for an emotionally constipated Alpha werewolf with an unhealthy tendency to threaten Stiles with throat mutilation. And yeah, that was his life now, weighing up the pros and cons of different deadly scenarios. Fantastic.

He missed the good old days when he simply pined over Lydia from behind a bush. Things had been so simple back then.

But no, life had taken an unfortunate turn to the supernatural, dragging Stiles and his sanity down with it, which would go some way to explaining why he was currently standing on the creaking, rotten wood of the old Hale porch steps, contemplating whether or not it was still considered polite to knock if there was no door.

He was just about to raise a fist to tap at the door frame when a hand on his shoulder caused him to whip around. He couldn't say he was overly proud of the noise that came out of his mouth as he did so, but he felt it was justified considering the sudden werewolf presence behind him and life's tendency to screw him over. And if he happened to take a completely clichéd and ridiculous karate stance out of pure instinct, then he was just glad that Derek was kind enough not to laugh in his face.

And wow, 'Derek' and 'nice' in the same sentence really went to show how drastically Derek had actually changed since they had met all those months ago, and if Stiles wasn't mistaken, he could clearly make out concern etched into the lines of his face. His face was actually displaying emotion that wasn't furious anger, it was a miracle.

A hand on his arm drew him back from his mental ramblings.

'Stiles? Are you alright? What's happening? What's wrong?'

His voice was calm and steady, commanding like he was completely in control, but there was a faint ring of red around his pupils, and his grip was slightly too tight around Stiles' arm for the effect to be complete. He was worried, and that really shouldn't have made Stiles as happy as it did.

Placing a hand over Derek's, and relishing the way the skin on skin contact quietened the buzzing in his head and forced the looming whiteness away, Stiles encouraged the fingers to loosen their death grip on his hoodie. Catching on, Derek dropped his hand from Stiles' arm, apparently not noticing the way Stiles' hand half-heartedly tried to keep hold of it, and glared in that way that Stiles now knew meant 'I'm worried, spill or the claws come out because I am emotionally stunted and anger is the only emotion I am comfortable with.'

'Look Derek, I'm fine.' There was a quirk in Derek's eyebrow that told Stiles he wasn't being believed. 'Ok, maybe not fine, but there is no new immediate threat. I just – I just need to talk to you for a minute. I think I've figured out what I am supposed to do, but it – you might be involved. Can we go inside?'

For a long moment Derek stared at Stiles' face as if trying to work out what was happening without having to sit through the conversation. The weight of the glance, and the resumed buzzing, meant that Stiles couldn't help but fidget under the gaze, which seemed to only make the gaze heavier. It was excruciating.

It was only when he started chewing on one of the drawstrings of his hoodie that Derek snapped out of his creepy staring with a low growl, placed his hands on Stiles' shoulders, used his grip to spin Stiles on the spot, and then shoved him through the gaping hole of the door-less door frame.

Stiles' last thought as he stepped into the worn down, crumpling hallway of the house, was that, no matter what actually happened, this was going to be interesting.

Short I know, but the next chapter is the reveal. So I wanted to cut it off here and leave that for next time because I felt my writing wasn't flowing too well today and I want it to be good. So bear with me.