A/N: Totally didn't mean to go this long before updating, I swear. I just got busy with spring cleaning, and then last week, my dog was put to sleep in a spur of the moment decision and it just totally devastated me 'cause he was pretty much my best friend and my shadow. So, sorry about the delay of this being posted. My bad.

Don't think I need to put any warnings or cover my ass here. Feel free to follow me on Tumblr (kitstiles) and/or Twitter (CharWright5) to see me Stilinski-type flail over supernatural creatures, superheroes, a made for TV boy band, baseball, and whatever else has caught my flighty attention span that week. Oh, and you can also witness my mad ranting and yelling over my writing—which will probably get more hysterical and deranged soon since I'm dumb enough to think I can handle three Big Bangs during one summer despite the multiple anxiety attacks I had over one last year, plus the fics I'm already working on and posting. I also tend to post sneak peeks and snippets of whatever I'm working on at that moment sooo...yeah.

Lemme know whatcha think of the chapter. Reviews to an author are like the moon to a werewolf: they power us, or some cheesy crap like that, I dunno, I'm tired.

Enjoy the update guys!

Derek paced the length of the attic, hand tugging his black hair as he struggled to clear his head and make sense of what had just happened. His claws and fangs had retracted, making him feel semi-normal once again, but he still felt shaken to his very core.

And over a fucking scent.

He went over every second that had passed between the time he opened the door to when Scott had tried to call him off. He agonized over every detail, from the way Stiles smelled, to the way he'd seemed so into it, to the way his body had gone limp and pliant in Derek's arms, only for it all to have been misinterpreted by the Alpha.

God, he'd fucked up. Stiles hadn't reacted that way because he'd wanted more; it was just his nature. The guy was an Omega, was genetically designed to submit and do whatever it was the Alpha wanted, regardless of their own desires. And Derek had taken full advantage of that, had given into primal instincts to take the Omega down and have his way with him, no matter what.

And even if Stiles had been the slightest bit turned on, it was probably just due to his own instincts of having a mature Alpha's scent in his nose and body pinning him in place. He couldn't help how his body had reacted anymore than Derek could—which was pretty much not at all. Stiles might've thought that going limp and letting the Alpha do whatever would help him out, would lessen the chance of getting hurt—or worse. Derek was well aware of what happened to Omegas when they disobeyed, had heard countless stories, had seen firsthand a coworker of his dad's who'd shown up covered in bruises, arm in a cast, a shrug to the shoulder as she passed it all off as her being dumb and standing up to her Alpha husband. His dad had growled low in his throat; Derek had felt his own vision reddening out. No one should hurt an Omega, especially not for those reasons.

And chances were Stiles had heard all those similar stories, probably more being the sheriff's kid and all, and had allowed his own Omega nature to take over, his yieldingness a survival mechanism against a mature Alpha that could tear him apart in seconds and not think twice.

The thought made Derek shudder and he fought the wave of nausea threatening to drop him to his knees.

His pacing brought him to his bed, mind automatically remembering the Omega's scent—Stiles' scent that still resided in the mattress. As much as Stiles' reactions were most likely nature, Derek's probably were, too. He spent most of his time around other Alphas and Betas, so smelling an Omega like that had just caught him off guard. He didn't think of Stiles that way, didn't want to mark him or claim him or do any of that other shit he'd previously thought of. It was just his Alpha instincts reacting to an Omega scent, nothing too deep or profound.

The thought felt like a lie, but he let that belief go. Anything more than instinctual reactions was too much and would completely fuck up his resolution to not get attached to anything.

But still...

No. No buts. He refused to allow there to be any buts. It was a simple fact that all that happened was biological instincts, just an Alpha reacting to an Omega's scent. It had nothing to do with Stiles himself. And the teenager succumbing to Derek's behavior was his own natural way of behaving and had nothing to do with his own thoughts or feelings. Hell, the guy hadn't even touched Derek back, had remained near frozen, hands pinned to the wall by his sides. He didn't want the Alpha, any more than the Alpha wanted him.

Derek ground the heel of his hand between his pecs, trying to ease the ache that had appeared there out of nowhere, not sure what exactly it meant or why he was feeling it.

He was terrified to think about it further and find out what had caused it.

Ignoring the sensation, he focused elsewhere, hearing the familiar sounds of Melissa's fluffy slippers flip-flip-flipping on the wood floor of the upstairs hallway. The noise was getting louder, meaning she was getting closer, most likely coming to talk to him, give him some sorta lecture, lay into him for his unacceptable behavior.

Because his evening hadn't been fun enough.

The slippers stopped outside his door, followed by a sigh, then a knock. He halfway contemplated pretending not to be there, but decided that was a dumb idea, something Scott would pull. Everyone had heard him slam the attic door shut so it wasn't as though he could act like he'd gone elsewhere. And he couldn't pretend that he didn't hear her knock, didn't know she was standing there on the other side of the door awaiting his response. Werewolf hearing meant he was fully aware of where she was within the house, and she knew that for a fact.

Basically he wasn't about to get away with shit and should really just get the whole thing over with.

Smearing a hand over his face, he grumbled out a rough "c'min" before turning to face the staircase, arms folded over his broad chest. He listened to the sounds of the knock squeaking as it was twisted, the flip-flip-flip of those slippers on the wooden steps, the creak on the fourth one, the groan on the sixth, until he saw the top of Melissa's curly hair appear in the empty space of the floor.

Her anger was a sharp scent in his nose, joined by a faint hint of embarrassment at her eldest son's behavior. Whatever, wasn't his problem. Served her right for allowing an Omega into a house of Alphas.

Fuck. When'd he become such a bigoted asshole?

She climbed the final stairs, turning to take two steps towards him before stopping. Her body language would've told him how upset she was with him if her scent hadn't already done the job, hip cocked out, arms folded over her own chest, lips twisted in an angry grimace as her jaw tensed up. She exhaled sharply through her nose, narrowed dark eyes leveled on him, looking every bit the pissed off maternal unit, something Derek hadn't seen since he'd gotten wasted the year before and crashed at Kate's overnight.

He'd tried to argue that she should actually be pleased he was smart enough to just stay where he was and not attempt to drive home. She didn't seem to agree with that statement and he spent the next month doing all the work around the house and yard during his grounding period.

He had a feeling not being allowed to hang with his friends wasn't gonna be his punishment this time. Mostly because he was already being punished with that after being forced to move across the country. So really, anything she could say or do here was nowhere near as bad as what she'd already put him through.

Derek met her harsh gaze with one of his own, showing he wasn't intimidated, the Alpha in him refusing to back down before anyone, especially a human. And while part of him reasoned that it was his fucking mother and therefore he should quit with the aggression and just submit, his wolf-half was refusing and his human-half was inclined to just go along with it.

"You wanna explain to me what just happened?" she demanded to know, her voice even, low, tone one that a few months ago would've been more terrifying and threatening than her loud yelling.

Funny how shit changed.

He shrugged a shoulder, features flat, eyes hard. The "no" went unsaid, but he knew it was heard by her, if for no other reason than his lack of communication with anyone in more recent times and her ability to tell what he was thinking through pure maternal instincts. Besides, he really didn't fully understand himself. Trying to explain it to someone else—especially a human someone else—was damn near impossible, even if he wanted to.

Melissa pressed her lips into a hard line, nodding, clearly understanding how things were, how their conversation was gonna go. She sighed audibly before speaking, her tone the same calm one as before. "Look, I don't fully understand werewolf dynamics, so I have no clue what the hell was going through your head when you attacked Stiles like that."

Derek didn't have a clue either but he didn't admit it out loud, just kept his features schooled in the poker face he'd arranged them in when she'd appeared in his new bedroom.

"But he's a friend, not an enemy," she continued, lecturing her eldest son on relationships and what exactly they were, like he was five and not eighteen. "There was no need to try and rip his throat out. I'm not sure if it's because of what happened with your dad—"

Derek stiffened at that, shoulders tensing, inhaling harshly and holding the air in his lungs. His face cringed into a wince for a brief second before he wiped the expression away, refusing to let her know her words had affected him.

"Or if it's a werewolf thing," she kept going, not seeming to notice his reaction. "Or an Alpha thing or what-have-you, just." She paused, shaking her head as she sighed, seeming to be unable to figure out what exactly she was trying to say, where she'd been going with that thought. "Just behave, be civil, try not to see everyone as a threat."

His answer was a shrug, a brief nod to the head, figuring agreeing to it would get her to drop it and leave. But, as usual, that wasn't how his life was.

"Good," Melissa replied with a sharp nod, still keeping up the "I'm the maternal unit here and what I say goes" body language, still not leaving. "Now, most times kids would be punished for rude behavior by being sent to their room with no dinner. But given your lack of desire to be social, I've decided a more suitable punishment would be to force you to come down and eat with us."

Fuck his life.

Derek's hands clenched into fists where they were squeezed between his torso and his arms, his jaw tensing as he ground his teeth. Being forced to be in Stiles' presence was definitely the worst form of punishment—or was it torture?—that Derek could think of. The Omega's scent was still in his nose, the reminder of his reaction to it buzzing in his brain, an itch he was refusing to scratch. Sitting there as he was made to be social and inhaling that smell with every breath would be too much and he wasn't sure he'd be able to prevent himself from diving across the table and attacking the younger werewolf again.

He wasn't sure he even wanted to prevent it.

Of course he did. He wasn't fucking stupid. His reactions and behavior had hinted at something more, a possessiveness that had overridden every ounce of common sense he'd ever gained over his eighteen years of existence. Possession led to claiming, which led to attachment, which led to that person being ripped away from you without your permission, the whole thing beyond your control. Which led to an aching inside that couldn't be healed, a hole that couldn't be filled, a life that wasn't worth living as the presence of death constantly hung around.

He'd lost his dad. He'd never really had his dad's side of the family. He'd lost his maternal grandfather. He'll eventually lose his mom, his brother, his abuela. He'd lost his friends, his girlfriend, his home, his previous life. No way could he handle losing anyone—or anything—else in any fashion. And the only way he could prevent losing something was to never have it in the first place.

And that included Stiles.

"I don't care if you don't like it," Melissa stated, cutting into his mental tangent and catching his attention. His eyes opened, Derek having no clue when exactly they'd closed, the green orbs taking in her stern expression, the tilt of her eyebrow that dared him to defy her, to argue with her. "That's the whole point. And while you're down there, you can apologize to Stiles. You're just lucky you didn't scare him off with your aggressive Alpha bullshit."

Her words made a light bulb flick on inside his head, an idea forming. Any sort of attachment wouldn't form if Stiles wasn't around, and in order to make Stiles not wanna be around him, he just needed to be a huge dick and freak the kid out enough so that he'd never feel the urge to be in Derek's presence. And without the Omega's scent in his nose, Derek could get his shit together, focus on school and college and getting the fuck outta Beacon Hills.

Really, it was flawless plan, an easy one since he was pretty much a dick to everyone else. Plus his family already thought he had something against Stiles, that he didn't like the kid and wanted him gone. Being rude and aggressive towards him wouldn't seem unusual, wouldn't raise suspicions, wouldn't cause anyone to question his behavior or his motives. It was perfect.

Strategy firmly in the forefront of his mind, Derek rolled his eyes, not finding it all that hard to do. It was his go-to move over the past month and a half, that and cocking an eyebrow in question and disbelief, usually in response to someone actually trying to start a conversation with him.

Ignoring the part of him that was glad Stiles hadn't run off was a little more challenging but he managed nonetheless, focusing more on his desire to actually have the kid leave and never wanna come back.

Or at least not wanna come back when Derek was home.

Melissa narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down, assessing his contentious body language and his obvious refusal to turn his attitude around. Her scent turned salty, a mix of disappointment and longing, a confusion caused by his behavior, most likely her wondering what exactly had happened to her son and what she could do to get him back.

He wanted to tell her it was impossible, that the Derek she knew died in that wreck along with his father, but held back. He was avoiding words at all cost, including ones that could possibly get his mom off his back for good.

Her scent shifted once more, although the desire for things to go back to how they had been stayed with it, now a faint note as she seemed to just accept how their lives were going to be from then on out. With a nod of the head aimed at the stairs, she gave him a low "come on", the command still evident even in the quiet volume of the words. Without uncrossing her arms, she turned and headed to the steps, going down them and assuming he'd follow.

Derek remained where he was, his arms falling to his sides, his jaw grinding. He had zero fucking desire to do as he was told, to follow her and subject himself to his family and their guest, their guest whom he'd attacked and wanted to possess in every form of the word. But trying to get out of it would only result in Melissa being in his shit even more, constantly on his back as she attempted to get the old Derek back, as she endeavored to snap him out of whatever he was going through at that moment.

It wasn't a phase, that he was sure. And one day, she would realize that and back the fuck off.

But until then, he had no choice but to do as he was told and hope she'd see for herself that he wasn't going back to how he had been, that the new Derek was there to stay and she needed to just accept it and move on.

And doing as he was told meant going down and joining everyone for dinner.

Fucking joy.

He breathed in deep, holding the air in his lungs before slowly exhaling through his nose. His eyes flipped to his mattress, remembering the scent that lay beneath the layers of cotton and form, the scent that had come from the Omega currently sitting at Maria's kitchen table. His plan came back to him, strategies forming in his head, and he found his feet moving towards the stairs, having found his motivation to actually join everyone else, despite his desire to hide out in the attic.

No, not hiding. Pussies hid. He was...preserving his sanity and protecting himself from any future pain.

Weak excuse, but he'd take it.

His boot-clad feet were heavy on the wooden floors, each step a dull thump as he headed to the kitchen with weighted steps, making it known that he wasn't happy about how the next hour or so of his life was about to go. Not that the scowl on his face or the angry spice to his scent didn't already give that away, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to add to it, especially given how oblivious Scott could be at times.

Conversation reached Derek's ears as he arrived at the stairs that led to the first floor, Melissa voicing an apology as she pulled her chair out from the table, an explanation that she had no idea what had gotten into her son.

"It's fine," a semi-familiar voice—Stiles, he assumed—replied, his tone easy-going and making it seem as though it really was fine, when the blip in his heartbeat gave away that he was lying, that it wasn't fine or any variation of the word. "After my mom died, I got a li'l bitey and snarly, too." He wrapped the confession up with a childlike growl and Derek had to stop at the bottom of the stairs to roll his eyes.

And also possibly put his shit back together, considering he was now face to face with the front door and the wall he'd pinned the Omega against.

Shit.

Okay, he was obviously gonna have to deal with that sight often, considering it was at the bottom of the stairs, plus he'd be seeing it every time he left the house—assuming he used the front door and not the rear one located in the kitchen. Really, it would be better to handle his first time looking at it while the place was mostly empty and no one could witness any reaction he'd have. Safer that way.

Or he was being a pussy again.

No, it was a safety thing. Definitely safety.

And, in the interest of safety, he completely ignored the door and the wall and the urge to walk over and see if any scents lingered on either, instead turning and scuffing his way into the kitchen.

Conversation died off when he entered, the air thick with tension and the various scents of those seated at the table, their emotional odors making it hard to breathe. There was the anxiety they were all feeling, the worry that Derek would do something again, the fear that this time he'd actually hurt Stiles. There was anger at his reaction, hurt, confusion, a sense of curiosity as to why he'd treated the Omega that way in the first place. There was a feeling of disapproval and genuine dislike about what he'd done and how he'd behaved, but he refused to look into it too much. Instead, he rounded the table, walking behind Maria in order to get to the open seat between Melissa and Scott at the circular piece of furniture.

Putting Stiles almost directly in his line of sight.

Goddammit.

The smart thing to do would be to keep his eyes on his plate, to look anywhere but at the Omega. But, apparently, Derek's brain wasn't quite caught up to the program, meaning it did the absolute worst thing possible. It ordered his eyes to look at Stiles.

Stiles' face had what could only be described as "boyish good looks". Since he hadn't hit maturity as a werewolf yet, it still had a small amount of baby fat on his cheeks, a slight roundness to it. It would all melt away a short time after he turned eighteen, revealing the bone-structure hidden beneath, much like what happened to Derek and every other werewolf out there who came of age, but until then, there was no mistaking that he was still young.

His nose was slightly upturned at the end, a little too wide in the nostrils. His lips were the stereotypical "cupid's bow" one always heard about, the bottom one slightly too full to match the top. His eyes were a warm honey hue, framed by lashes that were too curly for a male to have. His brown hair was styled in messy tufts that stuck up in various directions, although it was hard to tell if it was done that way on purpose or if he'd just woken up that way. His pale skin had a smattering of random moles in various sizes, all scattered over his cheeks, forehead, and neck.

Loose flannel covered his frame so it was hard to tell exactly what kind of shape he was in, but the set of his shoulders and the forearms that were visible thanks to rolled up sleeves gave the impression of a more lean build. The same pale skin/moles combination covered his arms, and his hands were thin, fingers long but strong, good size for someone his age and gender.

Derek found himself looking the teenager over, eyes narrow and analytical, trying to take in as much detail in as short a time as possible, lest he be caught. He managed one glance over before he came across the Omega's hands, fingers drumming the table in a fit of nervous energy, thumbs rubbing the edge of the plate before him.

The plate with the chip in it.

His dad's plate.

The low rumble of a growl made its way out of his throat before he realized it'd been formed, before he knew he'd react that way. He felt his lip curl slightly, the hint of fang peeking out underneath, his wolf raising its hackles. No one was to use that plate. It didn't matter that his father wasn't around to eat off it anymore. It was still his and it was to stay that way for the rest of that plate's existence. For someone else to use it was to insult his dad's memory, to act like he hadn't mattered or that his habits had been forgotten already.

Besides, the wolf in him recognized that plate as his dad's property, therefore his territory, and this teenager was encroaching in on someone else's space, the ultimate offense in wolf culture.

Basically, the Omega was a little shit and needed to learn his place, especially at a table of Alphas, and especially when said property once belonged to an Alpha.

Brown eyes went wide across from him, the sharp spice of fear joining the other scents in the room. Aggravation soon joined in, aggression, a fierce need to protect the person who was being threatened. Whatever. Derek didn't give a fuck how anyone else felt about the situation. All that mattered was that the Omega figured out his own fuck up and make things right.

By leaving, for starters.

"Derek." Melissa's voice was the same calm, even tone she'd used on him before, the threat implied within the two syllables.

The growls immediately cut off, his wolf recognizing her as the authority figure she was, his surrogate Alpha in the absence of his father, despite the fact that she was human. He watched the red leave his vision, the true tones and hues of things returning, his fangs retracting inside his mouth. Removing his claws from the wooden table—which he wasn't aware had even happened—took a bit more work and care, but he managed it nonetheless, pressing his palms flat on the table afterward. His body still remained tense, muscles bunched up, trembling under the pressure of holding himself in place. Fuck only knew what would happen if he were to relax and let his body do what it wanted.

An exacerbated sigh came from his left but he ignored it, choosing instead to give Stiles one last glare before flicking his eyes down to the chip in the plate, then the dish in front of himself.

"Well," Maria began, clapping her hands together in an attempt to get everyone's attention. "That's one way to start dinner."

Derek rolled his eyes, pretending that he had no idea Scott was glaring at him, had been glaring since he'd sat down. Not his problem if the younger werewolf had some sorta issue with the elder.

"Yeah. Most families say 'grace', but hey, to each their own," Stiles jokingly added in an attempt to lighten the mood. His voice was smooth as it floated over to Derek, ghosting over his skin and hitting something deep inside that he pretended he didn't notice.

The Alpha curled his fingers into fists on the table, jaw clenching to bite back any growls or snarls or whatever noise was building up inside his throat that was desperate to escape. His plan to go along with Melissa's wishes so she'd get off his back was still in effect, the knowledge of which was the only thing keeping him silent.

But his actions didn't go unnoticed, four sets of dark eyes flicking to his fists, the tense discomfort of before ratcheting up a notch as everyone waited for the eldest male to make a move.

He slid his hands under the table, out of everyone's view, hoping like hell they'd all quit staring at him like a feral animal at a zoo.

Mostly because he wasn't too sure that wasn't what he was. At least at that moment.

Maria asked Scott and Stiles how they met, effectively changing the subject. And as the Omega excitedly recounted the tale—complete with over-the-top hand gestures and the occasional add-in by Scott—so began the most awkward dinner Derek had ever had.

Derek was on dish duty for a month. He didn't mind all that much, considering it was a solo activity and that Scott and Stiles had disappeared to the Stilinski residence in order to play video games. Melissa had stated that it was fine, that Scott was just next door and she trusted him to be safe at a near stranger's house, but Derek knew it was just an excuse to politely get Stiles out her own home in order to get her elder son back on his decent behavior.

The clean-up job was done on autopilot, his hands moving on their own to clear off the table, put everything away, wash and rinse dishes. The entire thing had gone smoothly, efficiently, without a single hiccup. The rhythmic motion of his hands on the dishes allowed his head to clear from everything that happened that evening. The running of the water allowed him to block out the low din of conversation taking place between Melissa and Maria in the living room, the TV show they were pretending to watch. The menial task proved to be just the sort of thing he needed in order to calm frayed nerves and sooth ruffled fur.

Until he got to the plate with the chip on it.

His eyes narrowed, red leaking into his vision as he glared at the plate he held between both hands. Earlier thoughts of how no one should be able to use it came back, more intense than ever now, considering who had used it moments before. And it would be so easy to guarantee it would never be used again, to just exert a little pressure and—

The plate cracked into several uneven pieces in his hands, most of it dropping down into the sink full of dirty, bubbly water. A small smirk played on his lips, dimple half-forming in his cheek, a small sense of satisfaction washing over him.

He heard Melissa and Maria run through, smelled their panic and confusion, as he fished the pieces out the sink with his bare hands and disposed of them in the garbage can in the cabinet beneath the sink.

"What the hell was that?" the younger female demanded to know, worry bleeding into his words, and he could practically envision her wide dark eyes and harried expression.

Derek calmly closed the cabinet door before pulling the plug, allowing the water to drain from the sink. Drying his hands, he turned to face the two females, dishes now done and drying in the rack. "That was Dad's plate," he stated matter-of-factly, tone even, low, relaxed, as though he hadn't just smashed a plate between his hands.

He tossed the towel onto the counter, ignoring the wide eyes of both women, refusing to acknowledge any sighs or changes in scents. Task done, he exited the kitchen, passing between the two of them with unhurried steps, heading to his new room in the attic to begin a night of being left the fuck alone.

He deserved it after all the shit he'd been put through that evening.