A/N: Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, got stuck with an exchange fic, then two Big Bangs, then trying to plot out a third Big Bang (which I still need to figure out. Urgh), and then worked on a different fic. Plus, ya know, real life. So yeah.

Also, sorry for the somewhat shortness of it but I personally think some interesting stuff happens in order to make up for lack of length. *shrugs* Anyhoo, enjoy, lemme know whatcha think, and party on, dudes!

There were no cars in the driveway when Derek parked his Camaro alongside the edge of the lawn. There were no heartbeats inside the house when he got out either.

But that didn't mean he was lucky enough to be left alone.

He'd spotted Stiles in the driveway as he'd neared the house and had debated momentarily whether or not to just keep driving and avoid the guy, only to realize he had nowhere to go. He just needed to face the fact that the guy was inescapable, that there was no getting away from him. He lived next door, he was in two of Derek's classes, he was best friends with his younger brother. The Alpha was going to be constantly subjected to him, regardless of any avoidance techniques on his part, so really, he needed to get over it and just deal.

Easier said than done really.

Stiles approached as he parked the Camaro along the edge of the street, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, sneaker covered feet scuffing and kicking at the pavement on the driveway then the sidewalk. Derek felt his entire body tense up, muscles going tight, fingers clenching into fists, jaw gritting and grinding. Inside, his wolf was losing its mind, jumping about and barking, tail wagging wildly. Clearly it was excited over the Omega's presence, was overjoyed to see him and see him get closer, after so many days apart.

Traitor.

Derek turned slowly, fist clenched around the strap of his backpack, watching with narrowed eyes as the younger man slowed to a stop before him. He held his breath, refusing to inhale that sweet Omega scent and fall victim to it, refusing to let it control his actions and turn him into something he barely recognized.

An uneasy smile played on Stiles' lips as he brought his hands out his pockets and held them in front of his chest, fingers tangling and untangling, a nervous tick if Derek ever saw one. Understandable considering their few interactions hadn't gone all that pleasantly.

Especially their last one.

"Scott's not here," Derek stated gruffly, shutting his door with a bit more force than necessary yet still with care, not wanting to damage his car.

Stiles nodded, pressing his lips together before releasing them with a smack. The Alpha's eyes darted down briefly, noting the white tint to them from the pressure before it bleed out into a dark pink. His mind imagined those lips darkened even more, reddened, blurred, bitten, all from Derek's ministrations and he had to quickly wipe the image away before his body got on board with it and his scent shifted to something entirely different.

"Yeah, I know," the Omega responded, leaving the older man scrambling to remember what the hell they'd been talking about. "He's with Allison. Shockingly enough." He scoffed, dropping his hands by his sides, whiskey eyes rolling.

Derek's own green orbs narrowed in suspicion, leather jacket creaking as he folded his arms over his chest. "Then why are you here?"

His hand lifted once more, this time rubbing the back of his head as he winced. The leaner male turned his head away, eyes darting about, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. It was all too easy for Derek's mind to imagine those same teeth sinking into his own flesh, whether they were blunt or sharp, didn't matter. He found himself wanting to not only mark the Omega with his own fangs, but have the guy mark him, too, to be able to walk around with the indentations of Stiles' fangs on his skin, on his neck, the entire world able to see them and know he was taken, even if they couldn't smell their combined scents all over him.

The image had his heart pounding and chest tightening and he inhaled sharply, an action that proved to be a big mistake. Because that inhale had brought with it Stiles' sweet smell, making his head spin and his cock throb in interest, along with the scent of something else, a spicier scent with hints of coconut and pineapple and—

Derek had no idea when he'd moved, when he'd moved Stiles, but he had. Between one blink and the next, he'd gone from standing on the sidewalk by his car to pinning the Omega against it, their bodies pressed together from chest to hip, his nose buried in the younger man's neck once again as he fisted his tee. He was barely aware of what he was doing, of what was going on, only feeling fuzzy sensations as his wolf controlled his every move.

His cheek rubbed against the sensitive flesh of Stiles' neck, a low groan leaving the Omega's lips, his head tilting to the side in submission and to give him more skin to work with. And Derek took advantage, rasping his whisker covered cheek and jaw all over that pale skin, making it red, marking it as his. A rumble shook his chest and it took him a moment to realize he was growling, low and long, his wolf pissed at something.

No, not something; at another Alpha's scent on Stiles' skin.

An Alpha that wasn't him. Or even Scott.

And fuck, was it completely and totally unacceptable.

Derek's body writhed against Stiles' pliant one, an instinctual way of rubbing his scent against the Omega, of making sure his entire body was covered with it so this mystery Alpha knew who he'd been fucking with, whose property he'd been touching, whose territory he'd been encroaching upon. Because it had been a male Alpha, Derek could tell by the presence of a second testosterone-tinted scent, by the Armani cologne that came with it. And Derek would be damned if he let any of that smell linger on Stiles any longer.

Whimpers left the younger male, his own natural scent getting stronger and spicier, arousal flooding him. But that other Alpha's scent was still there, was still present and noticeable and it had to go, it had to go right fucking then.

Taking their clothes off would help. Nothing helped transfer and mingle scents faster or better than skin-on-skin. Plus it would help Derek get rid of the offending clothing that held that damned Alpha's smell and he could have a naked Stiles writhing and moaning underneath him. So much better than the clothed one he had at that moment.

His hands released the cotton tee he had a death grip on, slipping down to the younger man's hips, squeezing them before his fingers slid under his shirt. He felt the roughsoft sensation of bare skin, his wolf grumbling in contentment, whining to get a hold of more, to mark him up more. His claws slid out from where they were usually hidden, barely pressing against the Omega's back, just enough to be felt and not cause any damage or break the skin.

Stiles groaned loudly, his own fingers clutching at the leather jacket covering Derek's shoulders, head tilting back as far as it could go. His hips bucked, the bulge of a half-hard cock pressing against the Alpha's and making them both gasp. Derek dragged a fang up along the side of the Omega's throat, making him shiver, the sensation making him smirk in victory. He pressed wet kisses over his neck, lips tingling at the warm, irritated skin, cock pulsing at the breathy whines that ghosted over his ear.

The growls were still leaving him, his body still moving, their chests rubbing and pelvises grinding. He was acting on pure instinct, his actions not his own, his brain not sending the signals to the rest of him to do whatever it was they were doing. But he didn't care. He was lost in the moment, lost in the heady sensations of the Omega. His mind was spinning, dizzy, drunk, high, whatever. That sweet scent was all he could smell, that extra spice of arousal, that pleasing note of his own scent slowly mixing in with Stiles'. He felt a chest heaving against his own, felt a shivering, shuddering, pliant mess of a teen caught between his own body and his Camaro. His fingers gripped the skin of Stiles' back, careful not to scratch too deep, holding the younger man to him and against him and making sure he didn't fall on knees that had apparently gone weak.

Derek moved his head so they were cheek to cheek, his whiskers now rubbing against the soft flesh of Stiles' face and marking him there. He wanted to do it everywhere, to make sure that pale skin was completely red and beard-burned, the only untouched areas being his moles and freckles. He wanted Stiles to go home, go to his friends' houses, go to school covered in the evidence of his being with Derek, a satisfied smirk on his face when people ask what happened and who he'd been with, whiskey eyes flashing gold as he named his Alpha.

His Alpha.

"Mine," he growled in the Omega's ear before sinking blunt teeth into the lobe and tugging, making the younger man gasp.

"Yours," Stiles breathed before moaning, hand grasping the back of Derek's neck and holding him there. "I'm all yours, Derek, yours, yours, yours."

Which was precisely when the Alpha felt like he'd suddenly fallen victim to the Ice Bucket Challenge.

Because those words were a bucket of cold water being dumped over him and breaking him out of the hypnotic trance he'd been in. His entire body froze once again, eyes shooting wide open, lips parting and dropping the lobe he'd been sucking on.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fuck shitting fuck.

He'd done it again.

Shit.

Stiles paused against him, head pulling away to look at the older man's face, hand loosening its grip on the back of his neck just enough so that Derek could easily extract himself from his hold.

"Der?"

Shit.

Snatching his backpack off the ground, he backed up a couple steps, turning completely around when his boot hit grass, ready to bolt. Only to stop when his name was called firmly, with as much authority as an Omega was capable of.

Really, it shouldn't have affected him in the slightest. Derek should be able to keep going and ignore the guy and his demand for the older man's attention. He was an Alpha and therefore superior to an Omega, the lower dynamic unable to truly command the way the higher one was. Because Omegas were submissive and pliant and gave in to an Alpha's whims, while the Alpha exuded authority and demanded his every order be followed, able to command others at will.

Yet at the call of his name, Derek was frozen in place, only able to spin around on his heel and face the one who'd spoken it.

Stiles stood there with his brow furrowed, hands trembling by his sides, body still being wracked with slight tremors. His hair was mussed from being pressed against the Camaro, shirt wrinkled at his chest where it'd been gripped tight. Whiskey eyes were darker than usual, bottom lip bitten red by his own mouth, cheeks flushed and red from arousal, the right one a more angry, brighter shade from Derek's stubble, matching the color of his neck. He swallowed hard, licking his lips before tapping the fingers of one hand against the fist of the other.

"I, uh," he started then paused, clearing his throat against the harsher tone of it. The rasp. The blatant arousal and need and desire evident in his body, his scent, his voice.

And Derek had done that to him.

He vacillated between pride and his own arousal at that knowledge, glad to be able to affect the Omega that way and get him going, get him ready for more, yet angry at himself for giving in and for being weak once again. His legs braced themselves, muscles tensing to carry him away into the house and up to his room, as far away from Stiles as possible.

"I wanted to talk to you," Stiles managed to rasp out, fingers tangling together in front of his chest. It was so strange to see him so nervous yet so debauched, especially when the anxiety rolling off him had nothing to do with anything sexual in nature, but was aimed more towards whatever it was he wanted to discuss.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at that, slinging the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and gripping it. "Me?"

The younger man nodded vehemently, lips pressing together again. "Yeah. I actually wanted to apologize."

That just flat out blew Derek's mind.

His lips parted in shock, eyes narrowing in skepticism. He inhaled to speak but nothing came out, the air slowly leaving him as he struggled to figure out exactly what it was he wanted to say. Because he had no clue how to react to that, mainly because he had no fucking clue why exactly he needed to be apologized to. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had apologized to him, could only come up with superficial generic expressions of condolence over his loss and he'd taken them all with the same rehearsed expression the bearer had given him.

But there was Stiles, completely sincere and genuine Stiles who felt as though he needed to say he was sorry over... what? There was nothing for him to apologize for. If anything, Derek owed him a good amount of apologies himself over his behavior, including his most recent act of pinning the guy to something and trying to scent-mark him against his will, without his consent.

Derek had no idea what to do with that.

"For what?" he managed to choke out, eyebrows scrunching together to form a confused scowl, one his dad wore often when working on the budget or helping his kids with their homework.

Stiles rubbed the back of his head before wringing his hands together again, scent laced with anxiety and nerves, regret and guilt, and Derek felt his wolf whine at it, demanding he go over and soothe their Omega.

No, not their's. Despite anything that may have been growled out in the heat of the moment, Stiles wasn't their Omega and Derek wasn't his Alpha and never was that gonna change.

"I—Yeah, the other day, in the basement, I was a dick," the younger man stated bluntly before sighing. His leg was shaking, eyes darting about again, lips pressed together before he continued. "I of all people should know what it's like to lose a parent and how badly you just wanna be left the hell alone, and it's gotta be worse for you 'cause you're an Alpha and that was your pack that you lost and I know Alphas are all about pack first and foremost and that's the most important thing to them, but you lost part of yours and then you lost your territory when you moved, which is, like, number two for an Alpha so shit's been double, if not triple harder for you than it was for me, 'cause your entire world has been shifted and shaken and you have no idea which way is up and you've been thrown about and probably feel like you've lost your identity and your anchor and your everything, yet I still pushed and wouldn't give you space and it was a dick move and yeah. Sorry." He ended the ramble by pressing his lips together again, nodding as he clutched his hands by his chest, foot still tapping on the sidewalk out of excess energy rather than impatience.

Derek didn't speak, just gave one slow nod, once again stunned by Stiles' actions. He was the first person to even halfway get what was going on with the Alpha, to understand what he'd been thinking or feeling, despite being an Omega and despite Derek's own brother being an Alpha and in the exact same situation. Yet it was Stiles who was putting it in black and white—as black and white as something like that could be really—and totally understanding what Derek was going through.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, fought back his wolf who was dying to walk over and hold the Omega again—this time for a different reason. Instead, he licked his lips and gave a curt "thanks", before adding on a quick "and apology accepted."

Happiness flooded Stiles' scent, contentment overriding anxiety and guilt, the nerves staying there. "Good," he responded, pleased, lips quirking up in a quick little smile of sorts. "And just so you know, I promise to give you as much space as you want and not push you into something you don't want." He paused to shrug. "Figured school is hell enough for me without having to add another angry Alpha glaring holes into my head during the day."

The older man frowned in confusion, lips parting to ask what the hell Stiles was talking about and demanding to know who this other Alpha was so he could set him straight. But he never got the chance to speak, the Omega barreling right along, another ramble leaving his mouth without his mind seeming to be aware of what he was saying.

"So I'm backing off, won't even ask you for an extra pencil when I forget mine—which probably won't happen anyway 'cause I always carry, like, five at least, so if you ever need one, I'm the guy to ask." He gave a closed lip self-satisfied grin at that, proud of his over-preparedness. "Oh, and if you also ever wanna pin a guy against your wall or your car or even your bed, I'm the one for that, too." His smirk turned into something more naughty, eyebrows wagging suggestively over sparkling whiskey eyes, tongue darting out to lick his lips subconsciously.

Derek inhaled sharply, catching hold of that aroused scent again, his cock twitching in interest and anger at having been ignored over the past couple minutes. His mind teamed up with it, supplying him with countless images of Stiles pinned against his bedroom wall, against his mattress, joined by the memory of exactly how that leaner body felt against his own and the way they writhed together.

Some part of his brain was still working, a small sense of honor and decorum and ethics and just flat out refusal to do that under any circumstances really, regardless of any sort of consent or demand for it to happen.

Steeling his features, his tightened his grip on his backpack strap, glaring at the Omega with hardened eyes. "Never gonna happen," he ground out with a tense jaw, meaning every word.

Stiles' smirk just grew, fangs peeking out beneath a cupid's bow lip. His scent grew stronger, spicier, as he leaned back, shoulders and upper back meeting Derek's Camaro once more. He purposely bucked his hips out, held his hands up so they were pressed against the car in an act of supplication and surrender. He was playing up his Omega-ness, appealing to Derek's Alpha nature and messing with his instincts, teasing biological needs and desires.

"You sure about that, big guy," he teased, voice an octave lower, a slight lisp caused by his fangs joining in. His eyes flashed gold as his head tilted to the side, baring the beard-burned side of his neck in a way he knew would drive the Alpha nuts.

Dick.

Teasing, beautiful, arousing, Omega dick.

Derek tensed all over once again, claws sliding out and digging into his palm, into his strap. His chest was heaving as he practically panted, struggling to maintain control of himself, struggling to make sure his wolf didn't take over and he wound up giving into Stiles and pinning him against something.

Again.

With careful, precise, controlled actions, he spun on a heel and marched up to the front door, steadfastly ignoring the cries of his name, the demands for him to stop, the insistences that he turn around and come back. All of it was background noise, fuzz and static he tuned out as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, shutting it all out as he shut the wood.

The air in his lungs left him in a long exhale, making him realize he'd held his breath the entire time. He looked down to find his hands were shaking, that all of him was shaking, trembling, vibrating with need and desire and anticipation.

Fuck.

He stood by the door, ears straining to hear past the wood, listening out for the sounds of footsteps getting closer, of a knock on the door or the doorbell ringing.

But nothing came.

Satisfied he wouldn't be followed, Derek climbed the stairs and headed straight for his attic room. He dumped his backpack unceremoniously on his bed, standing by the foot of it and repeatedly rubbing his hands over his face roughly as though he could scrub away the past few minutes from his life, as though he could scrub away the mental images of how much further he'd wanted to go.

"Never gonna happen," his earlier words echoed in his head and he was surprised at how sure he'd sounded when he'd been completely shaken to his core. He had no idea how he'd managed to actually walk away from Stiles and his inviting position against the Camaro, his blatant offer to return to what they'd originally been doing. And then some.

"Fuck." He breathed out the swear to an empty room, hands dropping to his rest his fists on his hips. He'd spent the past two months building up walls and pushing everyone away, only for Stiles to come along and start beating at them with a sledgehammer.

Then back off and give him space.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

Heaving out a sigh, Derek lifted his eyes from his backpack to the window across his bed from him, peering through the glass and taking in the sights outside.

Huge. Fucking. Mistake.

Because the edge of the Stilinski lawn featured a steep incline, making their house sit at a higher altitude than the Delgado-McHale one. Meaning that the window of Derek's attic room gave him a good view in the window of Stiles' bedroom.

Shit.

The houses weren't close, a good respectable distance of a dozen yards or so between them, but that meant nothing when werewolf vision was involved. His advanced eyesight meant Derek could see every detail of the teenager's room: the exact shade of gray on his walls and the photos on the cork board above his desk, the grass-stained sock on the floor where it'd been dumped and the dark blue comforter covering the bed in a heap.

The heaving Omega leaning against his door with his head tilted back, his eyes closed and his hand grabbing at his crotch.

Double shit.

Derek stood there frozen, eyes roaming the younger man and taking in every tiny aspect of him. The red flush of his cheeks, the teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the flannel shirt hanging off his elbows, his moving hand as he stroked himself through layers of fabric. His brow furrowed momentarily and the Alpha could practically hear the whimper Stiles was more than likely letting out.

He felt his own cock stir in his boxer-briefs, throbbing against the cotton in an insistent manner, a firm reminder that it was there and had been forgotten and ignored again. His lips parted on a sharp inhale, hanging open, chest heaving as he panted shallowly. His skin was tingling all over, wolf howling in a plead to go over there, to touch Stiles the way he was touching himself, to lend a hand—literally. But he couldn't move. He was still frozen, feet glued to the floor, eyes glued to the room across the way.

Fuck, it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen and he'd watched Kate make out with and grope her best female friend, had watched her mouth swallow him down while she fingered herself. And porn. God, all the porn in the world couldn't compare to what he was currently witnessing, no amount of videos of Omegas riding knotted dildos or Alphas stretching and displaying their Omega's holes with their fingers or Alphas growling about breeding their Omegas as they fucked into them hard, none of it could ever equal the arousing vision of Stiles tugging at his cock through his jeans.

He needed to look away, Derek knew this. It wasn't a movie, wasn't something he'd searched for online and stumbled upon on some free site full of amateur videos and clips of professional ones. This was a teenage boy enjoying a private moment in his room while he was home alone. He had no clue he was being watched. He was underage. He was the son of the sheriff. Everything about this was wrong and creepy and borderline stalkerish.

Yet he couldn't look away.

Stiles pushed away from the door, eyes now opened, yanking his flannel shirt off and tugging his tee over his head. His own chest was heaving rapidly and Derek could perfectly imagine the pants he'd be letting out. The older man swallowed hard as his eyes roamed newly displayed skin, noting the flush over his chest, the faint outline of abdominal muscles formed by lacrosse and running, lean muscle from phys ed and sports rather than the gym and working out. Derek felt his fingers clench then unfurl repeatedly at his sides, dying to touch, to roam his hands over that exposed flesh, to compare his tan skin to Stiles' pale flesh, to count moles and trace their shape with his finger, his claw, his tongue. He wanted to be the one to peel the Omega's clothing off, to unwrap him like a gift, to worship every inch as it was revealed to him and leave the leaner one a moaning, writhing, panting, whimpering mess. He wanted those noises and those expressions to be caused by something he'd done, by his own touch.

He wanted Stiles.

Against his wall, against his car, against his mattress, didn't matter. He just.

He wanted him.

Badly.

The Omega flopped onto his bed out of sight, breaking the trance Derek had found himself in. He felt hot all over, blood like fire as it raced around him, collecting in his groin. He could feel a damp spot in the front of his boxer-briefs where precome had already leaked out and soaked them, could feel his cock throbbing painfully, and he knew there was no way he could ignore it, not this time, not after witnessing what he had and feeling what he did.

Derek moved quickly, tearing his leather jacket off and tossing it aside before flopping onto his back on his bed, head on his pillow. He wasted no time in unbuckling his belt, tugging open the buttons on his fly, reaching in the slit of his underwear to pull his cock out. He had no patience for preamble, for delaying anything, simply wrapping his hand around his hard length and stroking. It was dry, not nearly enough wetness from the small amount of precome still dripping from the slit, but he wasn't in the mood to grab his lube out the desk drawer. He was hard and aching and his mind was racing with images of Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

Stiles with his hand on his own cock.

Stiles biting into his own lip.

Stiles tilting his head to the side and showing his neck.

Stiles writhing against him and begging Derek to just please, please, please mark him, fill him, knot him.

Stiles spread out on Derek's bed, cheeks flushed, hair matted down with sweat, eyes wide as pleasure overrode him and turned him into a mess.

A tingle was felt at the base of his cock, his knot filling, expanding. Fuck, it hadn't happened all that often—his heat aside, since he popped his knot pretty much every time something even grazed his dick—mostly at the beginning of puberty when boners showed up whenever they wanted and he woke up with sheets stickier than they had been when he'd gone to sleep. But since then, when he'd grown into his body and his hormones had—mostly—leveled out, he'd only ever popped it a couple times, mostly by himself, once during his first blow job from Kate who'd glared and grumbled that he was lucky she wasn't deepthroating him because she wasn't dealing with him stuck in her mouth like that. Yet the few solo times it'd happened, he'd been watching breeding kink porn, had listened to an Alpha growl about how he was gonna fill his Omega with his pups and it'd set off his own instincts, causing his knot to grow.

It'd never happened during what was pretty much a usual masturbating session with a fairly vanilla fantasy attached to it.

Until Stiles of course.

Closing his eyes, Derek got lost in the fantasy, imagined it was Stiles' hand that reached up and gripped his knot tightly, squeezing as it grew and making him gasp. He held the gland tightly, stroking the rest of his cock faster, the glide smoother now thanks to an abundance of precome that had spurted out. His foot dug into the mattress, the heel of his boot getting tangled in the sheet in a way he barely noticed. His teeth sank into his bottom lip to stifle his whimpers and groans, blood trickling down his chin as his fangs lengthened and sharpened and his mind supplied him with an image of Stiles bending down and lapping it up.

"I'm all yours, Derek," Stiles' voice inside his head repeated his earlier words. "Yours, yours, yours."

Derek's spine arched off the bed as he came, eyes widening, mouth gaping as he gasped out, his breathing freezing soon after. His entire body tightened up as his cock throbbed, pulsing out ropes of come that hit his shirt, staining the dark cotton. Pleasure crashed over him, overriding the empty feeling of a solo orgasm, making him tingle and shiver all over in a manner more intense than his earlier arousal.

As his mind came back to earth and his body came back to the bed, he stared down at himself, at the mess on his shirt and the come still trickling out of his cock, fist clenched tightly around his fully expanded knot. He'd be dealing with minor orgasms for the next twenty minutes, mini-tremors and sparks, more come leaking out his cock as his instincts and body tried to breed an invisible person above him. And all of it was leaking right onto his tee and soaking into the cotton.

Shit. How the fuck was he supposed to explain that to Melissa?

The rest of his day was spent alone. After he'd finally stopped coming and his knot had deflated, he showered and washed up, taking great care to make sure his scent didn't give away what he'd been up to. Downside of werewolf family members was them being a little too aware of when you'd gotten off. He'd never forget when he was ten and he'd learned the scent of sex and orgasms and had noticed it on his parents during breakfast on his mom's birthday. Scarred for life. And sweet, innocent, naïve Scott was none the wiser.

Lucky asshole.

Shower all done and evidence of his masturbatory actions washed away, he threw on a load of laundry, hoping the stains would wash out his shirt and knowing he was raising more suspicions than hiding anything by voluntarily helping with housework. He caught up on summer reading he'd missed due to the move and worked on homework between loads, made himself a double-decker sandwich as a snack, hating how famished he always felt after coming and kicking himself for not having a stash of food in his room like he did back in New York.

Scott probably had one here, too. Guy always smelled suspiciously of nacho cheese Doritos, even when none were in the kitchen.

Maria was the first to arrive home, the dryer in the middle of its cycle. She didn't say anything, just quirked an eyebrow before shuffling her way to the kitchen, muttering in Spanish about werewolves and their strange senses of smell. Derek let her believe that his random foray into laundry had to do with something in his clothes assaulting his delicate nose, figuring it was a good cover story.

His clothes were dry and back in his drawers in his room by the time Melissa got home from her shift, the nurse changing out of her scrubs before helping cook dinner. Derek was nearly finished with Heart of Darkness by the time he was called down for the meal and he tossed the book aside before getting up, studiously avoiding looking out his window as he went. He really needed to invest in some curtains. Or at least staple a spare sheet or something over the glass.

Dinner was thick hamburgers with a kick, steak fries on the side, Maria muttering about salmonella poisoning when Derek bit into his rare meat. He fought off the urge to grin out of spite, but let the blood from his burger drip down his chin rather than wipe it up. Until Melissa chastised him for it.

Scott finally showed halfway through Derek's first burger, dopey grin on his face, his own natural woodsy musk nearly swallowed by vanilla and peonies. Allison. The older Alpha just stared flatly, knowing full well the younger was getting the hint about how unbelievable it was that he was sitting down to dinner smelling like he'd just had a bath in Eau de Female Beta. Scott's only response was to surreptitiously flip his older brother off.

The meal passed quietly, with stilted conversation about how the boys' first day at school went. Scott rambled on about his friends and his teachers, frowning slightly at the description of Mr Harris—which randomly brought a small amount of pleasure to Derek at the knowledge he wasn't gonna be the only one suffering through that asshole all year—only to start grinning again when he changed the subject to Coach Finstock and lacrosse.

Derek's answer to the same question had been a flat "could've gone better", not elaborating. Melissa didn't press but looked disappointed at the lack of details. Maria had grumbled about the less than crisp lettuce on her burger. Scott had frowned even more.

When the food had all been eaten and Melissa had given her requisite orders to make sure homework was done before video games—an order that was aimed more at Scott than Derek—the elder brother cleaned up, dumping leftovers in the trash and carrying plates to the sink, as Scott hurried off to his room, cell phone in his hand already, and Maria shuffled to the living room, yammering away about nearly being late for her date with Pat Sajak.

Melissa, on the other hand, stayed put.

Derek ignored her, setting about his task, pretending she wasn't there. He filled the sink with water, added the washing liquid, grabbed the sponge, had a hand settle over his—

Wait.

That wasn't part of the plan.

"Sweetheart?" Melissa prompted softly, timidly. "Are you alright? You seem. Off."

That gave him pause, his head turning to her, an eyebrow raised as he silently asked if she was fucking serious. Really, according to her and anyone who'd known him before his dad's death, he'd been off since getting that news in the hospital.

She sighed, see-sawing her head in concession. "All right, more off than usual," she altered, moving her hand and folding her arms over her pink sweater. "But seriously. Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about, get off your chest, get advice about?"

Turning his head away, he stared down at the soapy water, his hands now submerged and loosely gripping a plate. Really, there was a lot of shit he could use advice for: how to get Beta werewolves off your back and realize you really aren't interested in starting a pack; how to deal with asshole Alpha teachers; how to stop pinning tempting Omegas against hard objects and scent-marking them against their will; how to stop fantasizing about doing said activities with said Omegas; how to not gain feelings for said Omegas.

Although it may be a little late for that last part.

But no matter the case, none of it was anything Melissa could help him with. Except maybe the asshole teacher part. The rest wasn't really anything she'd be familiar with or know how to handle as a human. Basically, he was stuck trying to solve his problems on his own, no advice being given to him.

If he even felt like asking for it in the first place.

Which he didn't.

Mostly.

Yeah, he most definitely didn't.

So instead of saying anything, he shook his head, eyes still on bubbly water, his hands feeling slimy from the grime off the dishes. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" she double-checked, head tilting towards him. "Because a mother knows her son and I know there's something weighing heavily on you, more than usual. So if you wanna talk—"

"Melissa," he butted in, voice cold, eyes hard as they leveled on her.

Her head reared back and he could practically hear her heart breaking at the use of her name, see the light go out in her eyes, see her entire body slump and curve in on itself from the blow. Derek felt his own heart cracking at the sight, his stomach twisting and tying in guilt and pain, hating that he caused her such grief and pain.

He really was a dick. He didn't deserve Stiles.

Not that he even wanted Stiles in the first place.

His denial game was strong that day.

He cleared his throat of the lump that had formed in it, threatening to choke him in a death more merciful than he deserved at that moment. "I'm fine," he grit out, voice rougher than usual. "I don't wanna talk about anything."

Melissa nodded her head slowly, lips pressed together to hide their quivering, eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Okay," she replied in a voice stronger than she looked or felt. Without another word, she turned on a slippered heel and left the room, left Derek with his guilt and his nausea.

Fuck.

He didn't remember doing the dishes, but he must have, since they were all clean and put away. He didn't remember going to his room, but he must have, since he was standing in the middle of it, staring at his bed and the book he'd tossed aside, guideline for his summer reading report shoved in haphazardly as a bookmark. He did, however, remember feeling like the worst piece of shit and truly believing he was going to Hell.

Tilting his head up and staring at the room across the way from his, watching the teenaged Omega son of the sheriff pacing about his room, smile on his face, phone to his ear, hand rubbing at the side of his neck where he'd been marked up, Derek thought that maybe he was already there.