A/N: Okay, so. This is the part where I apologize about lateness and blame it on Big Bangs (I seriously need to stop fucking writing 100K in a month, it's leading to WAY too many nervous breakdowns and anxiety attacks) and other writing projects. If you've ever seen The Internship, just know that I'm Lyle Spaulding and I'm usually "working on about seven projies usta momento". BUT! Current project right now is trying to finish this fic. I've already got the next chapter and a half written so it shouldn't be too long a wait for the next update and I'm hoping to have it all wrapped up by the end of April so that come May 1st, I can turn my attention to the next round of Sterek Big Bang and breakdowns over that.
So, that being said, this thing has an actual plot now (shockgaspawe!) and current loose outline has it about 26 chapters. That may change depending on how long/short chapters get as I'm writing them as I tend to get carried away during the actual writing (hence all these fucking 100K big bangs -.-). Anyway, enjoy. No real solid plan as to when the next update will come, just... soon. And actually "soon", not, like, months from now or anything.
Also anyone who's totally forgotten that this fic exists or what the hell it's even about, I get it. And I'm sorry.
Erica was waiting for Derek by his Camaro after school, leaning against the passenger door like she belonged there—which she probably thought she did—smiling down at her slide phone before typing away on it. He figured it had to be Boyd on the receiving end in order for her to grin like that, scent full of warmth and joy that he only ever caught coming off his parents when they were around one another.
He dug the heel of his palm between his pecs as he reached his driver's side door, peering around the crowded parking lot. The usual set of juniors were hanging around a sleek silver Porsche and a couple compact cars, Lydia and some blond guy getting into it, the Armani smelling alpha shaking his head as he stood between a set of male twins, Scott and Allison in their own world to the side, making goo-goo eyes at one another.
And no Stiles.
Derek frowned at the sight—or lack thereof really—heartbeat kicking up a notch as worry flooded him. Shouldn't the Omega be there with them? Shouldn't they all be concerned about his absence? His Jeep was still there so it wasn't like he'd already gone home.
The memory of Stiles' pain came rushing back to Derek and his anxiety grew, worried that the younger man was being bullied once more, that some violent douchebag had cornered him and was currently kicking his ass somewhere inside the school, that he was holed up in the nurse's office being treated for injuries after having been shoved around again. Derek's fingers curled into fists and his wolf snarled in his head, hackles raised and teeth bared, ready to fight whoever thought they could lay a hand on their omega.
"He has detention, remember?" Erica pointed out from the other side of the car, drawing Derek's attention, his head snapping to her. "He was late to Calc and wouldn't tell Kali why. Chances are he's washing the chalkboard and scrubbing down the desks. She's big on making people do physical work for punishment."
He nodded dumbly, slowly, barely aware that he was even doing the action before snapping himself out of it. Where Stiles was wasn't his problem or information that was relevant to him in any sorta way. Just because he took the guy's pain, it didn't mean...
Well, it didn't mean a damn thing except he wasn't in the mood to inhale the stench of an Omega in pain for the whole class.
He was practically drowning in Da Nile and his grumbling wolf knew it, too.
Derek dragged his eyes away from the group of juniors, focusing instead on the school building. Stiles was still in there, smacking chalkboard erasers together or scrubbing graffiti off desks or some crap like that. He wondered if the guy was okay, if he'd tell his dad about the detention and what sort of reaction the sheriff would have, if he'd explain the reasons for his tardiness to the elder Stilinski in a way he didn't with his teacher.
In a way he didn't with Derek, but the Alpha had a good enough idea about why, flashes of bruises and twinges and the stench of pain flooding his mind and causing his fingers to curl into fists, claws biting at his palms.
He looked back at the group, mulling over the thought of one of them being the bully, one of them hurting his Ome—the Omega. Or maybe it was just some random asshole Stiles didn't know, some Beta with too big balls for his classification, believing himself—or herself—to be better than their dynamic said, more important, or were jealous of how rare Stiles and Omegas in general were and how that meant he was more special than the plentiful Betas.
Not that the reasons even mattered. To a werewolf, hitting an Omega was the equivalent of hitting a female for humans; it just wasn't right, wasn't acceptable, wasn't fair to pick on the typically weaker subset. It was probably old-fashioned thinking, an antiquated belief over someone's gender or dynamic making them more vulnerable, but it was still an ideal that Derek followed.
An ideal he was using to justify his anger over Stiles having been physically assaulted. It wasn't because it was Stiles that had been hurt that was pissing him off, but because it was an Omega.
More drowning in Da Nile, he knew, but he was ignoring it, ignoring the implications of his worry over Stiles and his anger over the younger teen's pain. For all his revelations, he was still avoiding those thoughts, those feelings, and his reasons why.
"Derek?"
He turned at the sound of his name, at the soft way it had been spoken, at the fact that it was his actual name coming from Erica's lips and not some variation of "Alpha" in a not-so-subtle way of voicing a hope over their possible future relationship.
Erica stood on the other side of the car, one hand on top of the open door, the other on the roof of the Camaro, staring back at him with her unwavering brown gaze. Her brow was furrowed above heavily shadowed eyes, lips pursed, scent full of worry and curiosity and something analytical, like she was trying to figure him out. It was a look he'd seen his mom wear often when watching him, especially in the weeks after she'd snapped out of her zombie coma and was still trying to reach the son he used to be, and he felt his hackles rise in defense over it. It was like being put under a microscope, being examined from every possible angle, and he felt internally cringed under the scrutiny of her stare.
Back in New York, he reveled in the spotlight, strove for it, took it as a confirmation of his worth. The things that were said about him, he let it define him, let it tell him who he was as a person: a star athlete, a great pupil, a model big brother, a wonderful son, an awesome friend, a terrific boyfriend who was fantastic in bed. He gloried in all the praises, let it build him up into who he was, who he believed he was. He relished the gossip and the talk and the things that were said about him, took them as compliments and affirmation that he was important in some way, that he mattered because all eyes were on him. People only wanted to know the details of those who were significant, the stellar athletes, pupils, sons, brothers, friends, boyfriends. The scrutinizing gazes and the plentiful attention he got further served to make him feel more illustrious, better somehow, like he was a big cog in the machine of life.
The star athlete, pupil, son, brother, friend, boyfriend.
Now? Now, he had no idea who he was. He'd given up sports, was giving the minimum amount of focus on his schoolwork, had hurt his mother's feelings by not calling her "mom", had alienated his brother, had cut himself off from his old friends, had gotten dumped for not being emotionally—or sexually—available anymore. He'd built up brick walls around himself and left a void behind them, becoming nothing but a shell of someone who vaguely resembled the Derek Hale he once was—just with more facial hair and darker clothing. But cracks were forming, chisels tapping away at the hands of Erica's persistence and Stiles' existence, and Derek felt more exposed than ever under her weighty stare. He had no idea what it was she was seeing, who she was looking at, and it scared him more than he thought possible.
Derek ducked his head under the intensity of her gaze, swallowing hard, feeling an overwhelming sense of...shit, he had no idea what. Just like he no longer knew who he was, once again lost and adrift at sea with no sense of direction, no sight of land, no lifeboat or life vest or Anchor to pull him in.
An image of whiskey eyes and Cupid's bow lips framed by pale skin and chocolate moles flashed in his mind and he swallowed hard once more, refusing to acknowledge that train of thought, letting it speed away from the station without him.
Erica's scent grew more curious, an underlying note of concern giving it a strange tang, and it struck him just how long it'd been since anyone had smelled that way around him—or at least had that scent aimed in his direction. Scott had stopped caring about Derek and what was going on with him not long after their dad died, when it was clear the older brother wasn't the same lovable asshole he'd been before, but just a plain ol' asshole. His mom had given up on him, too, a short time after she'd snapped herself out of her catatonic state, realizing Derek was not only not gonna talk about what happened or how he was feeling about it, but also flat out not talking period. Kate had never really cared about him or his emotions, the only feeling she'd been wanting out of him being that of horniness so she could get laid. His friends back in New York—if he could even really call them that—had only ever offered statements of condolence that sounded more like something they'd been taught to say by society and not actually spoken because they were truly sorry.
Yet here was this Beta female, one he'd met three days prior, and she was the first one in a long time to seem like she gave a shit what was going on with him. Granted there was every possibility that she was only concerned about it in regards to how it would affect her chances of gaining him as a pack Alpha, but there was also every possibility that she was concerned because...because she was concerned about him, for whatever unfathomable reason his brain couldn't figure out at that moment.
They were strangers, essentially, and Derek could count all the facts he knew about Erica Reyes on one hand: old cell phone, always hungry, mule-headed, in a relationship, and a pain in his ass. And she probably knew just as much about him: Alpha, from New York, the commonality of a dead parent, kind of a dick.
Had a thing for the sheriff's kid that he wouldn't admit out loud.
"Der?" Erica prompted again and he schooled his features into a scowl, scanning the parking lot again before directing the glare at her. "You may think you're doing good with this whole pretending not to care bullshit, but the only person you're really fooling is yourself."
He ground his teeth as he turned away, eyes coming across the group of juniors, zeroing in on his brother as he grinned wide, hands entwined with Allison as she smiled shyly. Scott was convinced Derek was the world's biggest dickhead, that he'd tried to attack Stiles on that first night, that he was a lost cause when it came to spending time thinking about, caring about. He thought about his mom and how she was resigned to her eldest son's jerk behavior, yet still found herself getting hurt by being referred to by her name.
He thought about Stiles.
He was always thinking about Stiles.
But he thought about how Stiles had invited Derek to play CoD with him and Scott and how he'd offered to help in his search for bookshelves and how he'd pretty much propositioned Derek into letting him pin the Omega to various surfaces for various reasons.
Stiles wasn't fooled, despite him being the one Derek most wanted to make back off.
Seemed like Erica wasn't fooled either. At least not when it came to his real feelings regarding Stiles.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered, turning back and ducking his head. "I don't—I don't wanna—" He trailed off, grimacing, jaw grinding again as he peered around, hoping to find what he was trying to say hidden somewhere on one of the cars still let in the lot, on some random's backpack, on a leaf of one of the trees.
Nothing.
"You do wanna," Erica argued, voice softer than he'd ever heard it being, and he faced her grave expression head on. "You just won't let yourself out of some bullshit excuse for being scared." With that, she slipped inside the Camaro, shutting the door behind her with a finality that seemed to ignore the fact that he was about to follow her.
Except he didn't. He stayed where he was standing, still working his jaw, hands splayed on top of his car as he mulled over her words. Because there was an echo of the truth hidden deep within them and she'd gotten right down to the core of his issues, zeroed in on why he was holding people away at arm's length at best.
Because when you had something—or someone—that was when you had something to lose.
He'd barely survived losing his Alpha and father. He wasn't sure he could handle losing Stiles.
He was giving the Omega up before giving someone the opportunity to take him away.
His mom's beat-up Honda was in the driveway when he pulled up alongside the front lawn, having been gone when he'd left that morning, meaning she'd been on shift early that morning and was home for the day. Derek grimaced at the sight of it, unsure of what kind of greeting he—and Erica—would received upon entering the house. His first thought was to put the Camaro back in gear, drive off somewhere else, but he had no clue where to go, unfamiliar still with the streets of Beacon Hills and what they contained. Plus there was the fact that he was still technically grounded, a punishment that hadn't really been enforced all that well given his side-trips to Wal-Mart and his dinner out with Erica and her pack the night before. At some point though, his mom was gonna put her foot down and not let him leave.
With a sigh, he killed the engine and grabbed his backpack and shopping bags from the back, ignoring the smirk from his passenger and the citrusy twist of her amused scent, grumbling at her to shut up before she'd even uttered a syllable. Erica held her hands up in the international symbol of innocence, but the entertained note in her scent grew stronger and more noticeable.
Bitch.
He rolled his eyes—and his entire head—getting out the car with his wares and leading her up to the front door, her thumbs clicking away at her cell, messenger back bouncing on her hip. The smell of his mom's coconut body wash greeted him when he stepped inside, Erica letting out a pleased hum at it as she followed him, the twosome heading straight up the stairs and to the attic.
"Jesus Christ, Alpha-Man," she commented, nose wrinkled at the scent of his room, his come and arousal so strong even he could pick it up. She slid her phone shut and managed to somehow slip it into the pocket of her skin tight excuse of a miniskirt, eyebrow raised at him in judgment. "Honestly, just fuck the kid already and get it over with before you literally choke someone with the stench of your unrequited lust and copious fucking come."
He leveled a hard look at her, dropping his bags on the floor by the desk, backpack on top of it, jacket on the back of the chair. "Not happening," he reminded her, stalking over and snatching the shredded remnants of his second set of sheets off the bed and tossing them in a pile to the side.
She snorted and rolled her eyes as she made her way to the desk, her own bag falling to the floor beside his purchases. "Suit yourself," she dismissed, lowering herself onto the seat and putting her crossed ankles on the desk itself before rooting through the plastic bags of remaining snacks left over from the day before. "Personally, I think it would help with the whole tearing the sheets apart every night thing, save you some money. Not to mention getting laid would do wonders for your shit-hole of a personality."
He peeked over his shoulder to scowl at her once more and she just shrugged a shoulder, not bothered by it as she popped open a cylindrical tub of cheesy Pringles. He gave a half-second's thought of whether or not the angry glare would affect her if he actually was her Alpha, only to decide there was no way he'd ever find out first hand and that it wasn't worth wasting time or energy thinking about it. So instead, he rolled his eyes and grabbed up one of his bags from that day, tossing a sheet set on the bed then snatched the stack of chips in her hand, shoving them in his own mouth and smirking at her protesting "hey!"
"Dick," she grumbled, kicking at him with a stiletto-ed foot and missing when he stepped aside.
Derek opened the pack of sheets as he chewed, shaking the fitted out to get it to unfold, sending the piece of card that allowed it to hold its shape go flying somewhere else. The door to the attic opened right as he'd gotten the first corner hooked on and he turned his head to watch his mom appear up the stairs, stretching the sheet to the opposite corner of the first.
"Thought I heard voices," she commented lightly, friendly smile on her face, hands smoothing down the thighs of her black sweat pants. She was dressed casually in a plain white tee, oversized gray cardigan over it, hair still slightly damp but mostly blow-dried after her shower. She stepped closer with a flip-flip-flip of her fuzzy slippers, turning her attention to the blonde leaning over the back of the chair, staring at her upside down. "Erica, right?"
The Beta smiled, wiping her hand on her skirt and leaving smears of cheese dust before extending it. "Yeah. Nice to formally meet you," she replied with a smile of her own, painted red lips stretched over white teeth, looking and acting every bit the angel and not like she'd just called Derek a dick and tried to stab his crotch with a stiletto heel.
Melissa shook the offered hand, returning the sentiment. "I wanna apologize if I came across as rude last night," she stated when they'd released their easy grip on one another, Erica's hand immediately slipping inside the Pringles can for more food. "I was just shocked that Derek had a friend at all, much less had one over."
Derek rolled his eyes but continued on making his bed up, noting out the corner of his eye Erica waving a hand in dismissal at his mom.
"It's fine, water under the bridge," the blonde assured her, sliding a crisp out. "Besides, from what I've seen of Derek, the surprise is understandable."
He scratched his temple with a middle finger in a subtle way of flipping her off without being caught by his mom.
A soft smile was on Melissa's face, her clasped hands hanging in front of her, and she nodded, pressing her lips together. "Well, hopefully that understanding extends to why I would prefer you guys study downstairs in the kitchen or living room, rather than behind a closed door in a room with a bed." She turned and gave Derek a stern expression, finger pointing around at his bed. "Speaking of, do I wanna know what's up with this?" she questioned, clearly referring to the fact that he was currently changing his sheets.
He felt the tips of his ears heat up as he finished with the final corner and he kept his head ducked, wringing the back of his neck. "Probably not," he muttered, mind flashing with images of the dream he'd had, pale flesh marked up by his teeth, a long neck on display as a head was thrown back, the phantom sensation of knotting something warm and wet then waking up to find stained underwear and shredded bedding. Again.
His mom slowly nodded, folding her arms over her chest, lips twisting in thought. "Okay," she said in finality. But confusion was in her scent, as well as a strange sort of resignation, as though she knew it was a strange werewolf thing that she'd never understand and therefore shouldn't bother asking about it.
Or maybe she shouldn't bother asking because it was Derek and she wasn't gonna get a real answer.
Either way she was right.
"Well, you can finish it up later. I meant what I said about studying downstairs from now on," she continued, giving him a hard look with her eyebrows raised, clearly remembering the last time she'd allowed him to do homework with someone else in his room and had wound up walking in on them half-dressed, him laying between Kate's thighs and his teeth tugging at her panties.
It had led to a very awkward talk between himself and his dad regarding safe sex—despite the fact that he'd been sleeping with people for two years at that point—and his mom unable to look him in the eye for nearly a month. He figured her subtly handing him a box of condoms from her grocery run that day was her way of getting over it and he took the peace-offering for what it was, not bothering to tell her he had enough of his own. Or that they were the wrong size.
Poor woman had been traumatized enough. She didn't need to know her son wore magnums.
At least they were made for Alphas, extra latex at the end to make room for his knot and the surplus of come he'd be releasing.
He grimaced at her look and the memories it called up, ears burning hotter, Erica smirking in the background at the clear mortification on his face and in his scent. "It's not like that between us," he insisted, glad the blonde was nodding in agreement, giving a thumbs up as she reached into the Pringles can for another chip, even as she chewed on one.
"I don't care," his mom replied, voice hard. "You're in enough trouble as it is, so please just do as I ask." Her voice turned pleading at the end, her shoulders slumping in exhaustion and exasperation, scent a mix of maternal authority and begging.
He met Erica's eyes, the Beta nodding and swallowing what was in her mouth, wiping her hand on her skirt once more. "It's no problem, Ms M," she spoke up, dropping her feet onto the floor. "We'll be down in a sec."
Melissa looked back and forth between the two of them before slowly nodding and letting out a dubious "Uh huh". Hands on her hips, she bobbed her eyebrows in dismissal and huffed out a short sigh. "One minute," she said in warning, finger held up. "Or I'm coming back up here. For better or worse." With that, she turned and headed down the stairs with a flip-flip-flip of her slippers, wooden stairs creaking beneath her.
Once she was gone and the sounds of her fuzzy slippers were now at the main stairs, Erica snorted out a laugh, smirking at Derek. "There is a story there and I am dying to hear it," she commented, tongue between her teeth in a wicked fashion.
"There is," he agreed, scratching his jaw with a rasp of whiskers. "But you're not hearing it."
She boo-ed him as she rose to her feet, Pringles can still in hand as she slung her messenger bag strap over her shoulder before snatching up a leftover Mountain Dew, along with the remnants of Oreos and peanut butter. "You're no fun."
"Maybe you should coerce someone else into helping you with Calc then," he deadpanned, making his way around the bed to grab his bag as well as a soda for himself.
She scoffed. "Correction: you're fun to fuck with and drive crazy."
"You do a damn good job of it."
She smiled proudly, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. "It's a gift," she declared before turning on a sharp heel and strutting to the stairs, hips sashaying as she made her way down.
"Think you can return it?" he asked dryly as he followed her, footsteps heavier in his boots, a dull thud compared to her sharp click.
A humorless laugh left her while they walked down the hall. "And deprive the world of my amazingness? Not happening, Alpha-Man."
"Shame."
She smacked him with the back of her hand, still keeping hold of her Pringles, making her way down the stairs with care in her towering heels. He shook his head at her, once again questioning why girls wore such ridiculous shit that they were constantly uncomfortable in and could barely walk while wearing. He'd asked Kate once but she'd called him an idiot and shoved his head aside, annoyed.
The doorbell rang as they reached the main floor and he announced that he'd get it, signaling to Erica with a nod of the head to join his mom in the kitchen. She shrugged a shoulder and did as he directed, humming to herself and wiggling her hips more than usual as she went on her way. He shook his head in disbelief again, dumping his stuff over the back of the couch, soda bottle by it, before making his way to the door. The heartbeat on the other side was rabbit fast but their breathing was normal, leading Derek to believe that whoever it was was just nervous, unlike the frantic pulse of a heart rate he'd heard behind a door earlier that day in Calc class.
His eyebrow cocked briefly in curiosity and question before he opened the door, strangely surprised yet not surprised at who was there.
The bruise on Stiles' right cheek had faded to an ugly yellow on otherwise pale skin, the cut in his lip now a scabbed over line that had clearly been picked at recently. Derek knew that had the younger man been human, the injuries would still be ugly, standing out starkly, and that he wouldn't be at that level of healing for a few days, if not a week. He wondered if the sheriff was home, if he'd been able to see Stiles' injuries and mentally catalog them, if he was gonna call the school and talk to someone in charge about his son clearly having been bullied.
Assuming the injuries even were from bullying and not from a fight.
Although really, any fight Stiles would get in at that school was an unfair one and tantamount to bullying. Omegas were the lowest rung on the werewolf strength ladder, a step above humans, but still lacking the physicality of the commonplace Beta.
Derek's wolf rumbled in his head with renewed anger at whoever had hurt Stiles and he bit back a growl, a demand to know who did it so he could teach them a lesson with his own fists. But it wasn't his place. For all intents and purposes, his human dad was his Alpha, the one to protect and defend and avenge. Scott, as his best friend, had more of a right to tear out a piece of whoever had assaulted Stiles—because there was no doubt in Derek's mind that he'd been assaulted—than Derek did as a neighbor and a classmate who had a habit of being an asshole to him with the hope of making the younger man run away from him, and stay away.
He shook his head sharply and rapidly to snap out of it, clearing his throat to buy himself some time in order to get his mind straight and focus on what was happening in the moment, not some sort of hypothetical bullshit future that was never gonna happen. Feeling like he had his shit together, he opened his mouth to speak, tone gruff. "Scott's not here."
Stiles shrugged like it didn't bother him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and Derek was relieved to note no twinge or hiss of pain at the movement. If it still ached, it was to such a small degree that Stiles was able to hide it, but the Alpha still scented the air for any hints of hurting anyway, finding none. "Yeah, he already text me and said he was with Allison," the Omega informed him, pointing behind himself with a thumb as though gesturing to the mentioned Alpha, hand slipping back inside his pocket. "I actually came here to talk to you."
Both of Derek's eyebrows went up at that, head rearing back slightly in surprise. His wolf's head perked up, tail wagging, tongue lolling out its mouth in happiness, obviously delighted that the Omega had come to see them and not anyone else. But the human part of him was more wary, more reluctant, confused as to why Stiles would want to talk to him, or even what it would be about, not sure if it was even a good idea to talk to him. He was conflicted, worried, pleased, curious, and he couldn't figure out which emotion should be in charge.
So he folded his arms over his chest and planted his feet, nodding with expressionless features as he gave a flat "okay".
The younger man swallowed hard at that, licking his lips before pressing them into a hard line. His head bobbed repeatedly as he turned it away, peering to the side, and Derek was tempted to peek out the door to see if there was someone standing to the side holding up cue cards on what he needed to say next. But his next inhale brought in the scent of nerves and worry, and the Alpha realized it wasn't that he was being coaxed into this and couldn't remember his lines, but because he was unsure of the response he'd get.
And really, Stiles had every right to be nervous. So far Derek's reactions had included pinning him against hard surfaces and scent-marking him without consent or being gruff and stand-offish until Stiles took the hint and left in a huff.
The stuff of true romance right there, he thought sardonically.
Stiles took a deep breath then turned back to him, wincing as he scratched at his forehead with a finger, but Derek doubted the expression was due to any physical pain, just the mental anguish of whatever it was he was about to say. The Alpha raised his eyebrows in a silent command to just get on with it, say it already, and the younger man dropped his hand to his thigh with a slap.
"I wanted to thank you for the pain drain earlier," he finally stated, licking his lips and bobbing his head around. "It helped a lot. And you didn't have to do that and I know you don't even really like me, so I rea—"
"I don't not like you," Derek blurted out before he could stop it, clamping his mouth shut with an audible click a second too late.
Stiles stood there gaping, hand frozen mid-gesture, eyes wide and a high pitch noise leaving him as he struggled to catch up, to process, to do anything beyond the blue screen that had apparently popped up in his head. "What?"
The Alpha worked his jaw as he glanced around, leg shaking momentarily in annoyance and aggravation. His wolf was whining, jumping around, demanding he repeat it, that he clarify further, that it wasn't that Derek hated him, he just was being a dick as a defense mechanism, as an armor, and...
And he was getting tired of it. Tired of holding people away, tired of the guilt that was starting to seep in through the cracks in his wall made by both Stiles and Erica, tired of pushing and shoving and fighting in some fucked up sense of protecting himself. Tired of pretending Stiles meant nothing when all he wanted to do was hold him and scent him and claim him and knot him. Tired of being an asshole, of his brother hating him and his mom being saddened by him, of ignoring the feeling and the fear that if his dad could see him at that moment, he'd be disappointed. Tired of looking in the mirror and no longer recognizing himself, and not just because of the facial hair and the bags under his eyes, but because he was such a different person than the outgoing affable Alpha he had been in New York.
The star athlete, pupil, son, brother, friend, boyfriend.
Now the former athlete, the uncaring pupil, the jackass son, the douchebag brother, no one's friend, definitely no one's boyfriend.
And while he knew there was no returning to all of his former glory, he... he wasn't entirely sure that he still wanted to be the person he'd become. He wanted to be better, wanted to change, wanted to at least make strides back to where he'd been. He still had no interest in sports, but putting forth an effort in school in order to make good grades, making his mom proud, mending things with Scott, making friends, becoming a boyfriend...
That he could handle, that he could do.
If he wanted.
And he did.
To a degree.
But it just felt easier to be who he was at that moment, to keep being the asshole most people perceived him to be, forget all the comments made by Erica and Boyd about not believing the front he was putting up. It was late August and this time next year, he'll be settling into a college somewhere, hopefully far away and on the east coast, and he'd never have to see any of these people again. Folks lost contact with family all the time, humans and werewolves alike. His dad was one of them. If his old man could do it, so he could Derek.
Yet as appealing as that idea had been only a week before, now it didn't shine quite as bright in his mind.
Still, the prospect of becoming a hermit and a recluse and leaving Beacon fucking Hills behind was enticing and he held on to that small part of him that still wanted it, using it to fuel him, fuel his actions and his words.
"I'm not repeating it," he stated gruffly, eyes narrowed, jaw tense.
Stiles nodded, brow furrowing as he ducked his head and stared at his feet, disappointment making his shoulders slump. But he seemed to bounce back just as fast as he'd fallen, smile playing with the corner of his lips as he lifted his head back up, scent alight with happiness and pleasure. Because he'd heard Derek's words and the blank "what?" he'd initially let out had been muttered due to disbelief, not because he hadn't caught the statement. "Well, in that case," he began, licking his lips as the smile spread full across his mouth, eyes sparkling for reasons other than the mid-afternoon sun, scent bursting and making Derek's head spin. "I'm definitely glad you did it. And you should consider this a blatant invitation and blanket consent to take my pain any time you want. Or just." He gestured with his hand at Derek before cupping the back of his neck with it, suddenly awkward, nerves edging back into his scent. "Ya know? Touch me. Period. At all. Don't even have to pin me against something to do it." He forced out a laugh as he dropped his hand, trying to make a joke out of it, to cover his tracks so that in the future, if his words were held against him, he could act like he'd been kidding about the whole thing.
Derek slowly nodded once as he took the ramble in, processed it himself, being inundated of images of himself taking Stiles up on his "blatant invitation". Pinning Stiles against lockers at school as he scent-marked him, trailing his fingers along his pale neck during Calc class, running them through soft looking brown hair rather than learning about derivatives and integrals, testing his limits with Stiles rather than hearing about limits in math. He thought about touching him in other ways, the two tangled in bed, clothes gone, his hands tracing long limbs, smoothing over pale flesh, circling moles and freckles and other beauty marks. He imagined touching him between his thighs, cupping his balls, gripping his cock, sliding between his cheeks and teasing at his hole. He fantasized about touching him intimately, inside him, feeling his walls, massaging his prostate, stroking him inside and out as he coaxed a multitude of sounds out those sinful lips.
A sharp inhale brought him back to the present and he caught sight of Stiles' lips parting. His eyes were glowing a steady gold, half-lidded, and a flush was spreading across his cheeks. His scent grew stronger, citrusy-sweet and dizzying, the sharp spice of arousal swirling and mixing and blending, going straight to Derek's head then bee-lining for his cock, where it twitched in his jeans. A low rumbling growl sounded out and it took him a moment to realize it had come from him, his wolf echoing the sound in his head.
The air between them felt charged with possibility and alight with promise and all it would take is one step forward, one reach of the hand, one small move in order to spark things, to set them both aflame.
But it didn't happen.
Because a cackle sounded out from the kitchen, soon followed by Erica bellowing for Derek to "get your cute ass in here before your mom shows me more embarrassing baby photos!"
It was like someone had flipped a switch, the electric buzz of almostmaybesoclose immediately cutting off and disappearing at her words. Stiles' eyes returned to their usual brown between one blink and the next, his mouth slamming shut, and his scent became flooded with disappointment that quickly morphed into anger and...
Jealousy?
His eyes narrowed and hardened, muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth, turning his head away. He folded his arms over his chest, plaid caught around his wrist and hanging strangely, leg shaking in agitation. "Right," he huffed out, humorless laugh gusting out his nose as he shook his head at himself. Dropping his arms, he gestured to Derek, lips pressed together tightly as he stared with a brow furrowed in upset. "I won't keep you from her then." At that, he turned and headed down the steps to the sidewalk, hitching his pants up as he turned to head back to the Stilinski house.
"Stiles, wait!"
Derek wasn't aware of commanding his mouth to say that, or telling his legs to follow, but it happened anyway, his body carrying him down those same steps before he was aware of it. The Omega did as requested, huffing again as he paused halfway across the yard, turning to the older man with a still pissed expression, arms wrapped around himself. He didn't make eye contact though, brown eyes scanning the empty street, the tree in the front yard of the Delgado house, the squirrel that hopped across the grass on its search for food.
The Alpha took a deep breath as he drew to a stop in front of him, grimacing slightly, honestly having no clue why he'd wanted Stiles to wait, what he wanted to say. He just knew that the Omega was unhappy, upset, and it was all his fault and he needed to fix it somehow, to bring back that charged moment of almost they'd just had.
Only, he wasn't sure if he wanted that moment back. It was too dangerous, too close to actually getting Stiles, to having him to lose, and he couldn't do that.
Wouldn't do that.
Ever.
He let out a sigh, shoving his fists in the pockets of his jeans, barely enough room in the tight black denim. But it was better than leaving them out in the open where they could reach out and touch Stiles, permission or not. "I—" he started then paused, still no clue what he wanted to say. He huffed in aggravation at himself, grinding his teeth, noting how Stiles was peeking at him out the corner of his eyes as he kept his head turned to the road a few yards to Derek's right. "It's not what you think," he finally stated, letting out a deep breath. "Me and Erica? It's not like that."
Stiles minutely turned his head to him, heart rate speeding up, hope flaring in his scent. But he still didn't look at him, not fully, still didn't acknowledge him or his words.
So Derek kept talking. For the first time in nearly two months, he kept talking.
"She's with Boyd and I'm pretty sure the two of them are Mates. And even if they weren't, I have zero interest in her in that way. The only reason I even spend time with her is because she coerced me into it with promises of never asking me to be their pack Alpha." He tried to gesture with his hands out in a "so there" manner, but his hands were still trapped in his pockets and he wound up looking more awkward than anything.
But Stiles had turned to face him, the hope in his scent getting stronger, joined by the warm sunny scent of happiness, and Derek's wolf wagged its tail, the human part of him ignoring the relief he felt that the younger man was no longer upset.
"Sooo," Stiles stretched the word out, ducked his head to stare at where he was absently kicking at the lawn that was probably due for a mowing in all honestly, fingers tangling in front of his chest. "You aren't interested in Erica," he double-checked, a heavily implication behind his words. He was digging, trying to get information, trying to find out if Derek was interested in anyone at all and if there was a possibility that it was him.
And Derek so very fucking much wanted to tell him that yes, his disinterest in Erica was mostly due to his very overwhelming interest in Stiles but...
"I'm not interested in relationships period."
The Omega's shoulders fell minutely, his scent sinking with them, sadness taking over. He nodded, lips pressed together, brow pulling together in curiosity. "Is it because you just got out of one?" he asked, lifting his head to see the confused expression on Derek's face. "Scott told me about Kate."
'Course he did. He highly doubted there was anything Scott hadn't told Stiles at that point.
He felt a small twinge of jealousy in his chest at that, remembering the days when Derek was the one Scott had bared everything to, when there were no secrets between them and that the second anything happened to either of them, their brother was the first they told. But now Derek had been replaced with Stiles, the Omega Scott's new sounding board and secret keeper and late-night confessional. Not that Derek was all that surprised. The younger Alpha had needed someone to talk to so it made sense he went to his best friend. And he was sure there was more than one conversation over what a dick Derek had become, something that didn't feel like much of a surprise either, but still added to the guilt that had been slowly creeping in lately.
He shoved it aside, focusing on the conversation at hand and not whatever secrets had been shared between two best friends, shrugging as he considered what Stiles had just said, how much truth there was to it. Honestly, had his dad not died and Derek hadn't completely shut himself off, things with Kate probably wouldn't have lasted past graduation, the end of that summer at the latest, and come the start of college, he would've been ready to date again. He'd already been doubting what he had with her while they were still together and if his feelings were even genuine or just what he was supposed to say when with someone for that long. Half the time he'd said those words out of obligation, because it was what you were meant to say when parting ways or ending a phone call with one another. And he had a feeling she said it back for that same reason.
If anything, she loved his dick.
So no, he didn't think he loved Kate, not truly, and time to get over her wasn't something he needed. He'd been over her before she'd even ended things and he mourned the loss of his favorite hoodie more than anything, his ex having torched it with photos and mementos of their relationship then sending him pics.
"No," he told Stiles honestly, knowing he wasn't interested in a relationship because of Kate or anything involving her. "If anything, it's more to do with my dad."
It was the second honest thing he'd ever said to Stiles, the first having come only moments before when he told the Omega he didn't not like him, but it felt heavier, more important, and the grave look on the younger man's face showed that he was aware of that fact and was feeling it, too.
"I get it," Stiles admitted, voice thick and he cleared his throat, swiping a finger under his nose. His scent turned melancholic, most likely thinking of his own deceased parent, and he glanced away momentarily, shutting his eyes tight for a long blink before he looked back at the Alpha. "Maybe one day—"
"Doubt it," Derek cut him off, already catching the hope leaking back into his scent and deciding to end it before it grew too large.
Hope was a dangerous thing. Hope kept people going when they should've stopped or been stopped. Hope kept soldiers from dying on battlefields, kept exes believing their dumper was coming back, kept folks believing they'll see their dead loved ones again. Hope kept Omegas dreaming of a closed off Alpha finally opening up and being with them in an intimate and romantic way when the Alpha was determined to kept the entire world as far away from himself as possibly. It was gonna crush Stiles, burn him, break his heart and cause him to shatter. It was gonna prevent him from living a full life as he waited on something that was never gonna happen, cause him to miss opportunities at love and true romance, make him lose out on so many good things.
It was gonna hurt a lot more and leave him bitter and resentful and broken, much the way Derek was feeling in recent times, and he refused to do that to Stiles.
So he had to end it before it got too big, excise that growth before it became cancerous and killed the Omega.
It was for Stiles' own good.
And selfishly, admittedly, for his own good, too.
Stiles frowned at him, raising a hand to point a finger, lips parting, and Derek could practically see the argument building up behind his brown eyes, could scent it coming. So he cut that off, too.
"Goodbye, Stiles," he said curtly, turning and heading back inside, fighting every instinct he had that told him to turn around and go back, to make sure the Omega was okay, to drag him inside, too.
Once inside, he snatched his backpack and drink from the couch then headed straight for the kitchen, pleased to find zero embarrassing baby photos anywhere, just Erica at the table with her Calc book already open, notebook right beside it, looking completely lost. His mom was across from her, picking up half a sandwich, a few potato chips scattered on her plate, clearly a late lunch for her.
"Everything okay?" she questioned, pinkies raised where she held her sandwich between her hands, teeth sinking into it with a crunch of the lettuce.
Derek nodded absently as he sank down on Erica's left, noting in the back of his mind that he was sitting in the chair Stiles tended to use and refusing to think about his feelings regarding that fact. "Fine," he lied easily, ignoring the way Erica turned to him with a cocked eyebrow and a dubious expression on her face. Instead, he pulled his own things out his bag where he'd dropped it on the floor next to him, shutting off any and all thoughts that weren't school related.
Erica bobbed her eyebrows in an "alrighty then" fashion, turning back to her own book, scent curious but mouth surprisingly shut. He wasn't sure if it was because she sensed his 'completely done with it' attitude or was respecting the fact that his mom was right there or if she'd finally gotten the hint that he didn't talk about shit, but no matter the case, his own respect for her grew a little.
Without a word, he headed to the pantry, snagging an unopened bag of knotted pretzels then dumping it on top of her Calc textbook before sitting back down. His mom watched with a curious look of her own but said nothing, finishing her own meal. Erica gave him a small smile, softening her features despite the harsh lighting and the harsher make-up she wore, and the wink she gave him spoke volumes on the fact that she wasn't gonna speak about it at all.
He briefly wondered if maybe he could actually tolerate Erica like that on a regular basis.
Two hours later, Derek and Erica had demolished the bag of pretzels and whatever had been left of the Oreos, leaving them with about a third a jar of peanut butter. Melissa wound up a mix of surprised yet not when she returned to get a start on dinner, having left after lunch to relax in the living room with a cup of coffee and a Nicholas Sparks novel Derek was pretty sure she'd been trying to finish for about a year.
Maria came home in a flurry of motion not long after her daughter had begun mixing the ingredients for meatloaf, arms waving and cardigan flying, rambling so fast in Spanish that Derek couldn't keep up in order to translate. Erica gave him a wide-eyed look at the sight of the five-foot-four Mexican whirlwind, lips curled into a strange smile, scent a mix of amusement and fear, like she was worried she'd be caught in the cross-hairs of flailing arms or one of Maria's jangling bracelets flying off and taking out an eye.
Derek thought it was a pretty sound fear to have, considering he was a little scared that exact thing would happen to himself.
His mom called for her attention several times, before pointing out—in Spanish, of course—that they had a guest, giving a pointed nod towards the table, eyebrows raised.
Maria finally turned to them, her own brown orbs going wide at the sight of Erica sitting there completely bewildered and silent. His abuela's hands fluttered about frantically as she stepped over, reaching out to clasp one of the blonde's hands in both of her's. "I'm so sorry, querida," she apologized, sweet old granny smile on her face. "It is so nice to see you again. Erica, yes?"
"Yeah," she murmured, glancing at Derek out the corner of her eyes, clearly wondering if this was okay, if his grandmother wasn't about to snatch her up for any reason or accidentally gouge her with one of her bangles.
He just shrugged.
Maria turned to him then and he regretted moving, freezing all over and remaining that way at the sight of her proud smirk and the glint in her dark eyes. "It's about time you brought a girl home, lobito," she stated in Spanish, scent proud. "And such a beautiful one at that. Glad to see you have good taste."
Derek had a feeling she was only saying that because she couldn't see how tiny Erica's skirt was since it was hidden under the table and didn't know she was a wolf since her claws were gone, nails a bright red to match her lips. He had a feeling his traditional abuela would have a heart attack at both of those facts and her blatant approval of his guest would go flying out the window faster than she could say "dios mio!"
"Aww, gracias, Senora Delgado," Erica replied in perfect Spanish, accent on point. She was practically beaming, grin so large it made her eyes squint ever so slightly. "That's really sweet of you to say."
Maria stood there stunned, hands still gripping Erica's, and Melissa barked out a laugh in the background, amused by her mother's stunned silence. Derek felt a grin of his own tugging at the corner of his lips and he covered it with his hand before it drew any attention, happy to be on the sidelines and not in his abuela's direct focus.
"Well," Maria began, in English this time, clearly flustered. "I meant it." She patted the back of the younger woman's hand before finally releasing it, holding her arthritic bones together in front of her.
Erica grinned more and Derek rolled his eyes, turning away.
Melissa called for the blonde's attention, her mom stepping out the way so she wasn't impeding any conversation, smiling at their guest. "Would you like to join us for dinner?"
The Beta's eyes widened momentarily in surprise before she peered around, pausing at the microwave. "Actually, I'm going to dinner with my mate. He owes me a date day." She grinned happily, tongue between her teeth cheekily, as she started packing up her stuff.
Derek did the same, putting his own books in his backpack, rising to his feet to make the clean-up job easier. "Do you need a ride?" he offered without prompting, a blast of surprise waving through her scent once more before it leveled out.
"Nah. He's picking me up here. But thanks Alpha-Man." She smacked his bicep companionably, winking and clicking her tongue at him. The sounds of a rumbling pick-up engine caught their attention, both wolves peering down to the front door, and Erica's smile grew even more as she stood up. "Nice to meet everyone. Thanks for having me," she said to the other females in the room, before heading to the front door, Derek walking her. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and told him she'd see him at school the next day then headed down the steps in a succession of clicks before managing to skip across the lawn towards Boyd's truck.
The male Beta waved at him through the window and he returned it with a two finger wave of his own before heading back inside and to the kitchen. He finished cleaning up his school shit then set to work on getting rid of the trash, Melissa washing her hands in the sink as Maria stood nearby watching him, lips twisting with a need to say something.
"She seemed nice," she commented, the words full of things she wasn't saying. Like how she'd be a nice girlfriend, how Derek needed to find a girl like her, how Derek was actually straight and not interested in men like he believed he was.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, glancing at his mom to see her shrug and shake her head, clearly no clue what was going on either. With a bob of his brows, he turned back to what he was doing, tossing the empty pretzel bag and Oreo tray in the recycling bin. "Even though she's a wolf?" he questioned, testing her, eyes trained on her as he made his way to the table.
But Maria was unphased, standing off to the side, arms folded as she shrugged. "Nobody's perfect, lobito."
He snorted, sweeping crumbs into his hand. "Did you miss the part where she said she had a mate, as in, she's taken?" he asked. "Not to mention the fact that even if she was single, I don't see her that way."
Another shrug, more nonchalance as he dumped the crumbs in the sink and rinsed them away. "You'll find someone soon."
More implications, more words unsaid.
A humorless laugh left him and he shook his head, disbelieving smile on his face. He turned around to face her, arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed in her direction. Off to the side, Melissa was putting the meatloaf in the oven and turning the dial on the timer, watching the whole thing in unease, scent full of wariness, her own muscles tense like she was ready to spring into action and get in the middle should she need to.
But he paid her little attention, focused on Maria across the room, on all the words that she'd put between the lines that he'd easily read. "A girl someone, right?" he asked with more snark than necessary, sardonic grin on his face. His wolf was grumbling in his head and he curled his fingers into fists between his biceps and his torso, teeth grit together to prevent his fangs from descending.
"Derek," his mom said in warning, taking a step towards him, clearly reading the air, the tension in his shoulders, the hard lines on his face.
He turned his glare on her, almost in disbelief that she was implying that he needed to back off. Bull. Shit.
"No, she is a complete and total homophobe and wolf-phobe," he stated, gesturing to Maria with a hand before using it to gesture to his mom. "And you just let it happen. We're just supposed to be okay with the fact that she hates what your freaking kids are."
"I don't hate gay people," his abuela commented, the two McHales turning their heads to her. She looked completely nonplussed, shrugging and shaking her head, not seeing the big deal. "I just don't wanna see it."
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed harshly. "That's being homophobic."
"Besides, I don't think you're actually gay or whatever it is you call yourself," she went on as though he hadn't spoken, waving a hand around in front of herself. "You're just going through a phase. You're curious or confused or something. You'll figure it out one day."
He dropped his hand from his face and turned it to the sky, pleading for strength, for patience, for some shit that would help him deal with this deluded old woman. He wasn't confused or curious. He knew exactly what it was like to be with another man, just like he knew what it was like to be with a female. And he'd known about his sexuality for years, had accepted it years ago. And so had his parents, and his brother, and his so-called friends back in New York. Really, the only person who had an issue with it, was Maria.
"Derek," his mom tried again, this time not as a warning, but as the start of something comforting. She walked towards him, hands outstretched as though to touch, pet, hug, something, a maternal caress that would've been welcomed months ago but was unwanted at that moment.
"No," he said flatly, the fight leaving him, so incredibly fucking tired of having the same fucking conversation with someone who wasn't gonna ever fucking get it. "I'm fine, it's fine," he told her, not entirely sure how much of it was a lie, turning to Maria. "Don't worry. I'll find a nice girl to den down and make pups with, okay?" he spat out, using the harshest, crassest werewolf slang he could think of.
And judging by the way her jaw dropped and her scent shifted to something offended and disgusted, he'd done the job.
Melissa sighed to the side and he ignored any and all chemosignals she was putting out, instead stalking over to snatch his backpack off the chair and head to his room. He had a brief moment of asshole pleasure at the thought of how badly Maria would flip out if he wound up Mated to Stiles, only to shut it off and shove it aside, deciding it was never gonna happen.
In the attic, he tossed his backpack aside, letting out a long, harsh exhale. He paced back and forth, heels of his hands digging into his eyes, wolf just as restless in his head. He felt pent up, caged, his anger and annoyance a thrumming, pulsing thing beneath his skin and he was stuck without an outlet. There was nowhere to go, no one to call, no one to talk to about any of this shit.
Stuck.
Alone.
Fuck.
He breathed out a swear, shoving his hand through his hair repeatedly as he drew to a stop by the bed. Unable to help himself, he peeked between the curtains, spying through the window next door. Stiles was pacing back and forth in his own room, phone held to his ear, head ducked with a sad look on his face. He was nodding at something the other person was saying, hand roughing up and down his face, nose crinkling as he sniffed, and Derek wanted nothing more than to go over there, to let Stiles rant about whatever was upsetting him, to rant himself about what was pissing him off, before they comforted one another and cheered each other up.
Letting the curtain fall closed, Derek flopped onto his back on the bed, staring at the exposed beam running down the ceiling. He was alone, just like he wanted. He just didn't expect to hate it so fucking much.