A/N: Look at me, updating on the reg! Quick note to say that the chapter count is being bumped up by one (as of now) so it'll now be 27 chapters. I wanted to add in a couple scenes at the beginning of chapter fifteen and it wound up being an entire chapter unto itself so *shrugs*
Again, feel free to check out my tumblr(kitstiles) or twitter (charwright5) for fandom yells and writing complaints, as well as the occasional update about updates and sneak peeks. Oh and if you catch the Archer quote in this, then just know that I love you.
He really should've expected it, should've known it was gonna happen. Maybe he was naive, maybe he was idiotic, maybe he was still stunned and dumbfounded from the way Stiles had left things, from their conversation entirely. No matter the case, he was still taken by surprise and felt like a fool for it.
Erica knocked on the door at five pm. With Isaac and Boyd in tow, of fucking course.
Derek let out a huge sigh at the three of them standing on the porch, turning his head to the sky to find strength from somewhere or something and coming up empty. No real surprise there. Erica was beaming at him, brown eyes sparkling in a way that matched the wicked delight in her scent. Isaac was glancing around, shoulders hunched in the same turtle-like fashion as that morning, his own chemosignals full of worry and nerves. Boyd stood next to him, the two men flanking Erica a step or two behind her, same stoic expression on his face as always. Nothing new with him then.
The Alpha opened his mouth to speak, to tell them to leave, to point out the fact that despite everything he was still technically grounded and couldn't hang with people who'd deluded themselves into thinking he was a friend. But once more, Erica beat him to the punch, talking right over anything he may have wanted to say.
"The entire fucking school is talking about you, Alpha-Man," she declared before inviting herself inside, pushing right by him.
He huffed through his nose but stepped to the side, allowing a sheepish Isaac and a still stoic Boyd to enter as well, closing the door behind them. Erica had taken off her jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch before flopping onto it, legs hanging over the arm, completely at home. Boyd sat next to her and she rested against his broad arm as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Isaac sat on the dark-skinned man's other side, still withdrawn, arms wrapping around himself in a timid fashion.
Derek eyed each of them before bobbing his eyebrows in dismissive fashion, folding his arms as he stood across from them on the opposite side of the coffee table. He focused on Erica, knowing she was the one most likely to talk and explain what the fuck was going on and why the fuck they were there, not to mention he was hoping she'd explain what the hell she meant by the "whole school talking about him". Seemed liked a bit of a stretch, especially considering the fact that no one actually knew he was suspended or the reasons why.
Then again, small town and a small school. There was bound to be some gossip-monger somewhere who'd found out and told other gossip-mongering friends. And then they'd told their friends, who told their friends, who told their friends...
Fucking typical.
Nothing was fucking sacred anymore.
"Yeah, everyone heard that you beat Whittemore's ass this morning," Erica clarified, focusing on her purple painted nails, pouting at a chip she'd found on one of them. "Rumor has it you wolfed out and attacked him in the locker room for popping off at the mouth or some shit."
Derek snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned away from her and stared at nothing. "Not entirely the truth," he murmured, perfectly fine with admitting that much at least.
She shrugged like it didn't bother her either way. "I don't care about the reasons," she stated, getting snorts and dubious looks from all three men in the room. She put on an offended face, gesturing helplessly before waving a hand in dismissal. "Okay, fine, I'm actually dying to know the reasons why, but it doesn't matter. I'm just glad someone put that prick in place. He walks around like he literally owns everyone and like he's hot shit, just 'cause he drives a fucking Porsche." She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Asshole."
Isaac and Boyd nodded in perfect synchronization, agreeing with her statement. And Derek found himself mirroring their action. Although "asshole" seemed to be putting it lightly.
"Gaping prolapsed anus" seemed more accurate, yet still too nice.
The front door opened and all four heads turned to it, finding Melissa walking in, paper bag of groceries in her arms. She jerked to a stop when she caught sight of them, head rearing back in surprise, and she forced a friendly smile on her face, aimed at the three guests.
"Uh. Hi," she greeted with a nervous laugh. "Wasn't expecting anyone. Or for Derek to have more than one friend."
Erica swung her legs onto the floor and popped up, grinning at her over the back of the couch. "We've all latched on and refuse to let him go, despite how much he fights it and us."
His mom cocked an eyebrow at that, finally closing the door, adjusting her falling purse strap as she turned back to the younger female. "Are you sure you wanna do that? He tends to be very prickly." At that, she met Derek's eye, giving him a pointed look full of upset and that—unfortunate—ever present disappointment.
The blond shrugged a shoulder, unbothered pout on her face. "We've dealt with worse." She said it so nonchalantly, but Derek felt her words like a punch to the gut. Isaac seemed to wince at the reminder of his shit home life while Boyd looked more closed off than ever and the Alpha was struck with the sudden need to fix things the way he had with Stiles.
Or at least, with Stiles' bully issue.
He hoped.
"Besides," Erica continued, turning her head to grin at Derek. "His surliness is part of his appeal. Like Grumpy Cat."
Oh fuck his life.
His mom's eyebrows raised momentarily, head seesawing as she apparently conceded the point and just didn't question it. "Well," she began, adjusting the bag she had perched on her hip. "Derek is technically grounded, but considering his reluctance to be social, letting you stay would be more of a punishment."
Erica smiled sweetly, scent turning reluctant, and he cocked an eyebrow at it before wiping the expression away. "As much as I would love to stay and bug Derek the rest of the evening—"
"It is a favorite hobby of yours," he muttered and she flipped him off behind her back.
"We actually just came by to drop off some homework," she concluded, nudging Boyd.
The Alpha resisting the urge to snort at her cover story, knowing she'd really been by to pry into what happened and get some juicy gossip.
Another monger.
Boyd slipped a backpack around from where it'd been hanging off a shoulder, reaching inside and pulling out a manilla folder. He gestured to Derek with it before tossing it on the coffee table and the older man gave him a head bob in thanks and acknowledgment.
Melissa smiled, this time a bit more genuinely, gratitude on her features and in her scent. "Thank you. That was very kind."
Erica shrugged like it was no big deal—which to her it probably wasn't, since Boyd had been the one with the work in his bag—before standing up, her two Packmates rising with her. "Nice to see you again, Ms. M," she said with a smile, grabbing her jacket from where she'd left it laying, then turning to Derek. "I'll talk to ya soon, Alpha-Man," she promised with a smirk.
Meaning she was gonna get the details of his fight with Jackson from him soon by any means of annoyance and/or torture necessary.
Deep fucking joy.
He nodded once and waved as they filed out the house, each giving a friendly smile to Melissa as they passed her, she closing the door behind them.
Leaving Derek alone with his mom.
Well, shit.
He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, feeling beyond awkward. Because this was it, this was where his mom ripped him a new one. He knew she'd said she wasn't gonna bother continuing their earlier conversation due to his nonverbal tendencies, but she'd had hours to stew over everything, to over-think and over-analyze all of it. There was every possibility that she'd changed her mind, that she'd thought up of countless things she wanted to say. And he was about to hear all of it.
Melissa sighed resignedly, friendly disposition disappearing, welcoming smile fading from her face. She shoved her free hand through her still bound hair, staring at the floor, refusing to acknowledge the other person in the room. Cold shoulder technique. Okay, that was a new one coming from her but he could still handle it, could still deal with it.
He thought.
Alright, maybe not, given the way his wolf was whimpering and that grapefruit of guilt was back in his stomach, making him nauseous with it. He had a lot of making up to do, he'd known that for a while. He just had a lot further to go now.
Standing around silent and awkward wasn't helping.
"There any more groceries in the car?" he questioned, wordlessly offering his services to carry them in.
"Nope," she replied flatly, perfect enunciation, making her way to the kitchen.
"You need help putting things up?" he tried again, taking a step towards her only to stop when she did, her head turning to him and giving him the full force of her dead stare.
Shit. He'd managed to find the one thing that was worse than her disappointed expression: an uncaring one.
"You can stop trying to kiss ass and get on my good side with volunteering for chores because it's not gonna work," she told him with a slight bite to her words, dark eyes icy. "I honestly just don't want to deal with you or even look at you right now so it would be in your best interests to do what you're best at and lock yourself in your room with zero interactions with anyone."
He inhaled sharply at her words, each syllable like a stab in the chest. It was just like the previous night when he'd finally gotten what he wanted—to be left alone—right when he was no longer sure if he even wanted it anymore.
"I'll call you when dinner's ready," she told him, one last blow to the gut, before continuing on her way to the kitchen.
Derek stared after her for a long moment, wolf whimpering and the human part of him wanting to make the same noise out loud. He felt the back of his eyes sting and he sniffed before picking up the folder of homework and slinking his way to the stairs then up them.
If he was shifted, his tail would've been between his legs. And rightfully so.
Maria wound up bringing him his dinner, which was further proof of how badly he'd fucked up. He finished the homework he'd been given, worked on his Lit project some more, then called it an early night, nothing else to do.
He dreamt about Stiles that night but rather than fucking and knotting him, he'd just clung to the Omega and cried as he begged for forgiveness. Stiles gave it to him and he woke up feeling even more sick with guilt than before, knowing he didn't deserve it.
His run was twice as long, partially for something to do, partially to get rid of nervous energy due to the full moon the next night, partially to get out of his own head for a while. Everyone was gone by the time he returned home and he indulged in a cliche long shower where he spent more time having existential thoughts about the meaning of his life than actual washing. Clean and changed into a pair of sweats and a black v-neck, he flopped facedown onto the bed and passed out.
Derek came to sometime later to the doorbell ringing. He let out a groan but made no effort to move—save for pulling a pillow over his head—mentally willing the person to go away. He still didn't get up when the bell rang a second time, then a third, hoping the person would take a hint. A check of his phone showed no messages, nothing from Melissa or Maria alerting him to any deliveries or repairmen stopping by for any reason, and he couldn't recall any conversation about such a thing either—not that it would matter, since his mom had a habit of telling him things like that at least three times and then texting an additional reminder "just in case".
No one important, meaning Derek wasn't getting up for whoever the fuck it was.
When the visitor finally realized this after their fourth ignored chime, they began repeatedly hitting the doorbell in quick succession, as well as pounding at the door with their fist. Derek popped his torso off the mattress, pillow falling off his head and to the side, letting out a low annoyed growl at whatever irritating jackass was pulling that shit. Clearly they weren't gonna take the hint and fuck off back to wherever they came so he'd have to tell them in person.
Fucking great.
He grumbled to himself as he pushed himself up and off the bed, movements spurned on by how very fucking annoying the ringing and banging was becoming, otherwise he would've taken his sweet time, shuffling along at his own sedate pace. Instead, he thundered down the stairs, stomped down the hall, feet pounding down the main stairs before he marched to the front door and threw it open.
To find the sheriff in full regalia, finger on the bell, fist raised to keep knocking.
Not who he was expecting to find.
His eyes went wide, brows high-fiving his hairline, lips parting in shock as he let out a prolonged noise from the back of his throat, mind struggling to come up with actual words. Well, words that weren't bleeped out on TV anyway.
"Mornin', Derek," the sheriff drawled, easygoing smile on his face that made the werewolf even more uncomfortable and anxious.
He clapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard, corner of his lips twitching up as he tried to smile back, tried to act just as casual as the older man. And failed, if he was being honest with himself.
"Sheriff," he replied somewhat flatly, voice raspy from sleep and he cleared his throat to get rid of it and the nerves, surreptitiously glancing behind John in the hopes of seeing some sort of clue or hint as to why he was there. But all he saw was an empty street, a couple bird pecking at the front lawn, a squirrel bounding across the road, crows cawing from the electricity line on the other side of the street.
Focusing in the visitor, he pulled his brow into a puzzled frown, pointing behind himself with his thumb. "My mom's not home," he stated, working hard to keep his tone casual and not make it seem like he was trying to keep the other man away from his Alpha's mate. Again. "No one's home really."
Stilinski shrugged like it was no biggie, hands clasping the buckle of his utility belt. "That's fine. I'm here to talk to you anyway."
Derek's eyebrows raised in surprise once more, the expression quickly wiped away. He scented the air, trying to catch a whiff of his chemosignals and coming up with nothing but determination and resolution and a fierce sort of protectiveness. Shit. Stiles.
He swallowed hard once more, shifting his weight between his feet, trying his best to keep his arms by his sides and not wrap them around himself in case the position was misconstrued as defensive. Which maybe he was feeling a little bit. But when a uniformed officer shows up at your door wanting to talk to you, you get a little defensive, especially after you'd gotten in trouble the day before.
Especially when you were legally an adult by both werewolf and human standards and you'd beaten the shit out of a technical minor.
Fuck.
"Am I in more trouble?" he asked cautiously, eyebrow quirked in curiosity and a little confusion.
John shook his head, unbothered pout on his face. "Nah. I actually came to ask a favor."
That had Derek's brows raising for a third time in less than a minute. Because the older man's heartbeat was completely steady, meaning he was being completely sincere, and the werewolf had no idea what to do with that info. There was nothing he could really offer that couldn't be given by anyone else, nothing he'd really done to earn the man's trust enough to fulfill this request. Sure, he'd stood up for his son the day before, but as far as he knew, John was completely unaware of that fact.
Unless Stiles came clean about it that night but Derek had a hard time believing the kid would do such a thing. Otherwise, the sheriff would've handled Stiles' bullying problem a long time ago. But since it was still happening—or at least had been as of the day before—Derek had no choice but to think Stiles had kept it all to himself out of fear of the repercussions that would come with tattling to his daddy, law enforcement or not.
No. Stiles hadn't told anyone, especially not his sheriff father, so the favor John was asking for was something Derek just couldn't fucking understand.
"Can I come in?" Stilinski requested, polite, cordial. "It'd be better if we did this away from nosy neighbors and prying eyes."
Derek just nodded dumbly before moving to the side, opening the door wider in a silent invitation. His heart was pounding, wolf whining, both sides of him clearly believing this had to do with Stiles. Really, it was what they both had in common—well, that and Melissa, but Derek had the feeling the man wasn't there to gain permission to ask her out. No, that protectiveness was still in his scent, a smell Derek only ever caught around parents when defending their kids, and he knew without a doubt, this conversation would be about Stiles.
John gave him a grateful smile before stepping inside, walking past him and heading straight for the living room. The werewolf took a deep breath to steady his nerves then closed the door, shuffling over to join the other man. He nodded when Stilinski pointed at the armchair in silent permission to sit, lowering himself onto the center cushion of the couch before remembering his fucking manners that he still had.
"D'you want a drink or anything?" he offered, pointing to the kitchen with his thumb, tensing his legs to stand back up again.
The guest shook his hand and waved it off. "Nah. I won't be long," he stated as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his fingers loosely entwined. "Like I said, I just wanted to ask a favor."
Derek nodded as he fought to remain casual, legs splayed, hands clasped on his lap. "With what?"
John's bottom lip pulled down, displaying his teeth, wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced as he winced. Reluctance spread into his scent, as though he was second-guessing his decision, thinking that maybe asking was a mistake. So Derek kept his mouth shut, waited him out, if for no other reason than curiosity.
And, admittedly, because he had a gut-feeling Stiles was involved and the masochistic part of him was dying to hear more about the Omega, for better or worse.
Fuck, after the day before, he hoped like hell it was for better.
The sheriff took a deep breath, bracing himself, shoring his courage, nodding absently to himself before speaking. "I'm sure by now you've figured out it's about Stiles."
Fucking shocker.
Although it was kind of nerve-wracking waiting to find out what exactly about Stiles the older Stilinski was going to discuss and why it would involve Derek.
Unless he did find out about why Derek had gotten in that altercation at school the day before. Even if Stiles hadn't told his dad, the guy was the fucking sheriff. He didn't get that job sitting on his ass doing nothing. No, he'd proven himself over the years to be a good cop and worthy of people's votes and support in order to get elected to the position. So chances were the man had figured it out for himself somehow in some way. It was just a matter of Derek and/or Stiles admitting that his theory was correct.
"He's never actually said anything," John went on, staring more at the coffee table than at Derek, scent hurt and a little disappointed. "But I can tell he's being picked on at school. The remarks he makes about being bullied that he thinks are jokes, the bruises that aren't quite healed, ones he tries to pass off as lacrosse injuries even though any sport tends not to involve a bruise across one's throat." At that, he lifted his head and gave Derek a pointed look, saying that it was obvious he was referring to the mark that'd been across Stiles' neck in the principal's office the day before.
The werewolf didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't agree nor argue. He didn't wanna betray Stiles like that, nor did he wanna lie to the guy's father—which he told himself was self-preservation, not wanting to be busted by the sheriff or have it come back to bite him in the ass when he was in enough trouble as it was, but that didn't feel entirely right. So he waited in silent stillness for the man to continue
"It doesn't take a genius to see what's really going on," the older man pointed out, gesturing with his still clasped hands. "But I like to think that what happened yesterday was that you—" he pointed at Derek "—somehow stumbled upon Stiles being bullied and intervened on his behalf."
He still didn't say anything but he found it hard to look at the man and not speak. Turning his head away, he stared straight ahead at the fireplace, at the mantle with a framed photo of what had once been his family situated prominently in the middle, a Day of the Dead skull on the side by his dad. His dad had been the one to teach him and Scott both the importance of looking out for those weaker than them, to not use their Alpha—or werewolf—strength or powers to harm anyone. Derek wondered that if his dad had still been alive, would he have admitted to Stiles being bullied, would he have told about how he'd stood up for the Omega, would his dad have been proud?
Moot point really. Because had his dad still been alive, he wouldn't have been forced into moving to Cali and wouldn't have met Stiles in the first place.
John let out a small sigh, but his scent grew lighter, happier, more pleased. "I'm taking your refusal to answer as an agreement," he informed, smiling at the shrug Derek gave in response. "Which is why I talked Mr Whittemore out of pressing charges against you."
His head snapped over at that, eyes wide. Sure, the thought had occurred to him that it was a possibility he'd go to jail for it, but having that fact said out loud... And then John had argued on his behalf, talked the lawyer out of it, all for a kid who'd done nothing but give him attitude and act rudely towards his son.
Although he probably didn't know about that second part.
Still, the first part was enough of a reason to say "fuck that guy" and let him get locked up.
"Thank you," he murmured, shocked into gratitude and manners.
John shrugged it off. "You seem like a good kid deep down, despite the anti-social attitude, but given your current situation—" he trailed off and ended it with another shrug, scent turning melancholic.
Derek remembered once more about how Stiles had lost his mom, his werewolf parent, and that his own mom wasn't the only one who'd lost a Mate. Time doesn't always heal, not fully, a fact he was slowly coming to realize through first-hand experience and despite the years that had passed since the death of Mrs Stilinski, the wounds obviously were still raw, still stung for the sheriff.
The older man cleared his throat before going on. "And like I said, I need a favor and I feel like you'd be the best one suited for it."
The reminder of such had Derek's eyebrow quirking again, and he knew he had practically no choice but to agree to it, no matter what it was. Even without the implication that he now owed the sheriff of Beacon County for not throwing him in jail, helping others out and doing them favors was part of turning his attitude around and being less of an asshole.
Which he was still kinda wavering on whether or not he wanted to actually do that.
He supposed with sitting in a room with the aforementioned sheriff, at that moment, he wanted to. Non-assholes tended not to get locked up.
"Stiles won't talk to me about the bullying, or anything really," John stated, resigned and disheartened, seesawing his head in a "what can you do?" fashion. "I dunno if it's 'cause I'm his dad or a cop or not a wolf and don't get it, but I was hoping maybe you could. I've taught him some self-defense stuff, but maybe you could teach him some wolf stuff?"
Derek frowned, not entirely sure what "wolf stuff" even meant, much less if he even wanted to do it. Because that meant spending time with Stiles, most likely alone, and... and as much as he was a wolf, he was also human. A man could only take so much temptation before he gave in and he was already having issues trying to resist the Omega and everything he was offering—like the "blanket consent" he gave to touch and to pin him against things, thoughts that Derek should definitely not dwell on while in the company of the guy's father. Being around Stiles more, one-on-one time without the distractions of other people and their scents and their ability to step in when shit got to be too much, it wasn't gonna make it easier to not touch or pin or hold or kiss or knot or any of the other five-hundred things Derek wanted to do to and with the guy.
Hell, he'd pinned the teen against the wall that first night with his family in the next room. He pinned him against his car out in the middle of the street. Not much had deterred Derek or his instincts when it came to putting his hands all over the guy.
Teaching "wolf stuff" sounded like something that would happen with just the two of them alone and that... that sounded fucking dangerous.
But he owed John for figuratively bailing him out. And he knew there was no way he could completely get rid of Stiles' bullying problem—although he liked to think he'd taken care of Jackson and maybe rumors would swirl about why Derek had assaulted him and others would learn not to fuck with Stiles—but maybe teaching him "wolf stuff" would help him defend himself in the future.
Not that he knew what he could teach an Omega, and a minor one at that, one who wasn't entirely developed and didn't have his full powers yet.
Still...
He was thinking in circles without reaching a decision, only ever coming back to one point: he owed John.
And with that thought in mind, Derek nodded, wringing the back of his neck as he exhaled long through his nose. "I'll do it," he agreed with a weak smile, the expression eclipsed by the wide smile on the sheriff's face and the gratitude overpowering his scent.
Yet for all the positivity the sheriff was radiating, Derek couldn't help but feel like he'd signed his own death warrant.
Derek was sitting on the Stilinski's front stoop when he heard the familiar rumble of Stiles' Jeep turn down the street and by the time the behemoth made it to the house, the Alpha was waiting on the driveway where the passenger side door would be when the car was parked.
Except Stiles stopped at the end of the driveway and killed the engine, glaring at the older man through the windshield, both hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, Derek could see the white on his knuckles even at his distance.
The Alpha bobbed his head to the side in concession. Clearly the younger man was still pissed and understandably so. Their last interaction didn't go all that well and ended with Derek once again dismissing any possibility of them ever being anything beyond classmates and neighbors and Stiles yelling to stop giving him mixed signals. Yet there the older man was, standing on the driveway in his jeans and a black v-neck, acting like he belonged there.
Derek would be pissed, too.
He approached the passenger side slowly, cautiously, hands loosely at his sides to show he wasn't a threat, feet scuffing along the tarred drive as he meandered over. He was giving Stiles an out, giving him a chance to put the Jeep in reverse and hightail it outta there, although he wasn't sure if he was doing it for the Omega's sake or for an excuse to say he tried but oh well.
The younger man's head stayed locked straight ahead but his eyes followed the Alpha, glare shifting into a skeptical frown as he tried to figure out what was going on. He finally moved when Derek reached the door, sniffing and ducking his head, fingers flexing around the steering wheel, leather creaking over the pinging of the cooling down engine. But he still didn't fully acknowledge the older man, didn't say hi, tell him to fuck off, ask him what was going on. Stiles, for once, was silent.
Derek felt his wolf pin its ears back in unease, worried, the emotion leaking over to the human half. But he'd expected a less than warm welcome, expected someone as stubborn as Stiles was rumored to be to act it and give him shit for the way he'd been treated.
Which was why the locked door was also expected.
Still fucking annoying though.
The Alpha huffed through his nose as he tugged fruitlessly at the handle before rapping his knuckles on the window. "Stiles, unlock the door. Please," he added on the last part in hopes it would make the teen more amenable.
Apparently not, judging by the rolling jaw and head shake he got, Stiles staring straight ahead out his windshield. "Nope."
"Stiles. Please," he tried again, keeping his voice level and calm, resisting the urge to give in to instincts telling him he was a fucking Alpha and that he should just bust the window open, reach inside, and unlock it himself.
Mainly because a) it was rude and b) he had the distinct feeling Stiles would literally murder him if he harmed his Jeep in any way, shape, form, or fashion. He was a fan of being alive.
The Omega twisted his lips in annoyance, glaring out the windshield, refusing to look at the older man for any reason. "Why should I?" he demanded to know, voice slightly muffled by the window.
Derek sighed, smearing a hand down his face, bracing himself for a fight. "Because I wanna talk to you."
He shrugged a shoulder. "We're talking right now."
He bobbed his eyebrows in concession. "Right," he agreed. "But I want us to talk somewhere more private where the neighbors aren't staring at us through their windows and anyone passing by can't listen in." He gave the younger man a pointed look, knowing it was noticed when Stiles peeked at him out the corner of his eye.
Stiles flexed his hands around the steering wheel again, shifting in his seat. His glare shifted into a thoughtful frown as he glanced over at Derek, then again, lips twisting some more. "And you wanna talk in my car and not in the house?" he asked skeptically, eyebrow cocked, focus out the windshield once more.
"I was hoping we could go somewhere else actually," the Alpha admitted while rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, slight wince on his face, unsure how the other man would react.
The younger man finally turned his head to him, brow furrowed again, lips parted in confusion. "Aren't you grounded?"
He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "Probably triple grounded at this point, but that hasn't stopped me from going out," he stated, scratching at his whiskered jaw. "Plus my mom thinks me being social is a punishment so I doubt she'd have an issue with this."
The ire returned to Stiles' face, features hardening, brown eyes icy as he scowled. "So being around me is a punishment?" he spat out, jaw clenching, and Derek was suddenly glad the window was up, almost afraid of how spicy with anger the Omega's scent must've been at that point.
Because of him.
Shit.
He roughed his hand over his face, glancing to the side for a moment to gather his thoughts, to figure out what to say in order to fix what he just fucked up. Only he wasn't entirely sure he could
Shit again.
Turning back, he found Stiles still glaring, and he took a moment to try once more to think up the right response, licking his lips as a ploy to fill time. "Not exactly," he answered honestly, watching Stiles' face fall ever so slightly before he regain control of his scowl once more. "Your dad wants me to talk to you and I thought we could do that somewhere more private and neutral, rather than in one of our houses."
The Omega worked his jaw in agitation once more, swiping a finger under his nose. "Like where?"
Reaching into his back pocket, Derek slipped out the directions Boyd had given him only two days prior, unfolding the paper and putting it against the window so Stiles could get a good look at it. "I was hoping we could check this place out."
Whiskey eyes flickered over the papers quickly scanning the words before nodding. "Fine," he sighed out, leaning over and pulling up the lock on the door then straightening back up. "Get in."
Derek nodded once in response, giving a curt "thanks" before doing as he was told, having to slam the door shut behind himself in order to get it to catch.
Nothing else was said as he put his seat belt on and Stiles started the engine back up, music blasting through the speakers and making the doors rattle, some pop-punk band that Derek had heard coming from Scott's room but he didn't know. The Omega looked him up and down, scent a jumbled, indecipherable mess, then let out a sigh before backing out of the driveway. It was gonna be a long afternoon.
The directions Boyd had given completely went past the main entrance of the Preserve, Stiles driving his Jeep around the side of it and parking at the end of a barely formed path. Neither of them had spoken the entire drive, Stiles still slightly stewing in his aggravation, Derek having no clue what to say. He knew what the sheriff wanted them to talk about, but he had no idea how exactly to start that conversation, how to go about it. Stiles had kept it all hidden for so long, it was highly unlikely he was just gonna spill his guts for any reason, especially not to someone he was still pissed at.
But he had to try.
Didn't he?
Technically no. He could always just tell the sheriff he'd given it a shot but Stiles was a stubborn asshole and said nothing. And with John being human—and his son actually being an actual stubborn asshole—he'd have no idea Derek was lying.
But...
But part of Derek wanted to try, wanted to talk to Stiles in the most likely futile attempt to actually get the guy to open up and tell the truth about the bullying and the bigotry he faced everyday. He couldn't explain why, except to say it was some primal need to protect an Omega, to take care of any and all threats, to keep him safe and protected and happy and that wasn't happening with people shoving him into lockers and pounding him solely for being perceived as a member of the so-called weaker subset.
Yet he still had no clue how to get Stiles to admit to being bullied.
The twosome exited the Jeep, Derek taking a deep inhale, taking in the scents of the forested area. It was a whole lot different than the park he shifted in with his dad, with the smell of tar and garbage and exhaust always an underlying note. Out here it was fresher, cleaner, sap and wood and dirt and decaying plant life that all combined into a strangely pleasing aroma that had his wolf rolling onto its back, tongue lolling out its mouth in happiness and contentment. It was nature at its most purest, something he couldn't experience in the city, and suddenly, small town life didn't seem so bad.
Stiles glanced around with his fists shoved in the pockets of his burgundy jeans, black Halsey tee and worn white Adidas sneakers completing his look. Derek watched as he scented the air, exhaling long through his nose, shoulders slumping as he relaxed, knowing there was no danger. Licking his lips, the Omega turned to him, wry grin on his face but scent still carrying a hint of nerves.
"Don't suppose you made me drive out here so you could kill me, huh?" he joked with a nervous laugh, smirk not quite reaching his eyes.
Derek rolled to just his eyes, but his whole head, huffing through his nose. "I already told you, I don't hate you."
"Actually," the younger man interjected, holding a finger up before shoving his fist back in his pocket. "You told me you don't not like me." This time his smirk was more genuine, proud that he was able to be an argumentative smart ass.
Typical.
"Whatever. Either way, I'm not gonna murder you," he stated, scenting the air and finding barely there traces of other werewolves that had passed through. Faded, so it'd been a while since they'd been there, and it was only a couple of them at most, maybe a single familial Pack.
Like his own had been.
Swallowing hard, he shoved the thought away, focusing on the here and now, on why he'd come there in the first place. "Like I said, your dad wanted me to talk to you and I wanted to check this place out."
Stiles nodded, still looking around, pressing his lips into a hard line as he thought. "Why'd you wanna come here anyway? What is this place?"
Derek glanced around as well, taking in the wind rustling the browning leaves, the bird chirping in a tree, a chipmunk darting out from a bush and racing into a hollow log like something out a Disney movie. "Boyd told me about it, said it wasn't all that crowded and would be a good place to shift tomorrow night. Figured I'd check it out before making a decision about whether I wanted to come here or not."
"Kinda leaving it to the last minute, aren't ya?"
He shrugged, not all that bothered. "Honestly didn't really get a chance to until now."
The Omega nodded again like he understood, turning to look at Derek, eyes narrowed analytically. "Why'd you drag me with you? I mean, you have a car, so it's not like you needed a ride or anything."
He shrugged again, scratching at a sideburn. "Your dad also wanted me to help you with. Wolf stuff." He shrugged once again, shaking his head with it this time as he made a helpless gesture to show he had no fucking clue what that even meant. Still.
Stiles snorted, eyes rolling. "The fuck does that mean?"
"No clue." He glanced around, finding a space between some trees that had a barely worn footpath and nodded to it with his head before walking in that direction, the younger man following close behind. "I guess he means things like finding an Anchor or controlling the shift, shit like that."
Stiles snorted again. "Yeah, I guess," he muttered absently, tripping on a stick and grabbing hold of Derek's shoulder to prevent himself from falling.
The Alpha peeked over to make sure he was okay, ignoring how long the teen's fingers were, how large his palm was, how he managed to completely cup the round of his shoulder. Stiles cleared his throat as he dropped his hand and Derek immediately missed its warmth, missed the tingles that had shot down his arm at the contact and the buzzing underneath his skin and the way his wolf had practically purred in contentment at such an innocent touch.
But he didn't say any of that, didn't tell Stiles it was okay, didn't try and soothe the hint of embarrassment and awkwardness out of the younger man's scent. Instead, he continued to make his way through the trees, Stiles right beside him, enjoying the fresh air, the sights of nothing but forest and no skyscrapers in the background.
It was a long few minutes of silence before Derek remembered why Stiles was even with him in the first place, and he scratched at his whiskered jaw before speaking. "You wanna talk about it?" he offered, glancing at the other man out the corner of his eye.
Stiles scoffed. "Thought you were gonna teach me shit."
Right. It was Stiles he was dealing with, a stubborn asshole whose biggest hobby was being a shit to everyone. Derek had forgotten that fact for a minute there.
The Alpha rolled his eyes, ducking under a low hanging branch, boots crunching the leaves beneath him. "I meant talk about what happened yesterday," he clarified, giving a pointed look at his walking companion, knowing he'd get the hint and know exactly what he was referring to.
Which, judging by the way Stiles' eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched it, the hint had clearly been taken.
"Nothin' to talk about," he muttered, scowling straight ahead at nothing in particular, kicking at a pile of leaves like a petulant kid. "I'm used to getting shit for being an Omega. Comes with the territory."
Derek bit back a growl at that, something possessive sparking inside him, his wolf raising its own hackles. Anger had his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his eyes narrowing into slits as they flashed red. No one should be just resigned to abuse like that, no one should believe that their lot in life included getting picked on and bullied due to some bullshit notion that they're weaker.
Especially not Stiles.
"Doesn't make it okay," Derek commented, slight rumble to his words as his wolf seemed to make its own thoughts known, too.
Stiles shrugged, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, resigned as he stared at the ground, feet still scuffing along the way. He didn't seem to agree, or believe, or even care to do either of those things, accepting the thought that he really was just set-up for a life of discrimination and abuse.
Which was bullshit.
"I mean it," he insisted, turning the full force of his serious expression on the teen. "No one should ever make anyone feel like they're less than someone else or treat them like shit because they think they're better for some fucked up reason."
The Omega gave him a sideways glance, brow furrowed analytically, scent skeptical. "That why you got involved and went after Jackson like that?"
He turned away, shrugging, pushing aside a thin limb from a sapling as he passed it. "That was part of it, yeah," he admitted lowly, swallowing hard, unable to look at Stiles, to see his reaction. It was bad enough catching the scent of his confusion and that ozone spark of hope as it flared to life once more.
Shit. That hadn't been his intention at fucking all. He'd spent their past two conversations trying to tamp that hope down, to put that fire out, to make sure that Stiles wasn't hopeful about any chance of anything happening between them. And now...
Now it didn't matter because that hope was back and Derek was gonna have to be a dick again and smash it all to hell once more.
Fuck.
"Did you, uh," Stiles began then paused, peeking at Derek out the corner of his eyes, head ducked down as he focused more on the uneven ground beneath them. "Did you also do it because you care about me?"
"Doesn't matter," he quickly responded, refusing to admit it, refusing to be caught in a lie.
Refusing to actually lie to Stiles at all.
The teen snorted with such vehemence his head rocked, eyes rolling so hard it had to hurt. "It matters to me," he stated harshly, venom in his words, head snapping to the side as he pointed a finger at the older man in warning. "And don't you fucking dare say it's just a biological imperative that had the Alpha protecting the Omega or so help me, I will castrate you and leave you to bleed out right here in the Preserve." There was a fire in his eyes and in his words that had Derek believing that he meant it and he turned away, unable to stand the intensity of his gaze for a moment longer.
He couldn't think up a good response, anything that wasn't enough of the truth to get away with a hint of a lie, to hide his own real feelings, anything that wouldn't piss Stiles off and leave him neutered, so he smeared a hand down his face, clearing his mental slate with the action. "That's not why we're out here," he reminded him, changing the subject.
Stiles narrowed his eyes at him for a long moment before realizing their previous topic was officially dropped and there was no point in trying to backtrack and continue it. "Right," he scoffed. "Wolf stuff." He shocked his head in disbelief, fists in his pockets once again. "Although really, I highly doubt there's anything you could teach me that I haven't already found out on the internet."
It was Derek's turn to scoff and roll his eyes. "Don't believe everything you read on there, all right? Half of it is bullshit based on false legends or humans who don't know jack thinking they're experts or made-up shit created to demonize us and create more hate for anti-wolf propaganda."
The Omega rolled his entire head, body doing a weird shimmy in a wordless comment of exasperation. "Fine, then teach me shit."
Eloquent as always.
And also incredibly vague and Derek was left once again mentally scrambling to decipher the meaning of a Stilinski man's words. Because he had no idea what to teach Stiles, how to teach him.
Fucking eh, what was he doing?
"Whaddya wanna know?" he asked, passing the buck, thinking it would be easier to let Stiles decide where to start and where to go.
That spark of hope came back to his scent, lips curling up in a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "All right," he began, still smirking, and Derek had the sinking feeling he was in trouble. Or at least about to be. "Do you like me? And not just in a 'I tolerate your existence' or 'I don't hate you' kinda way. I mean, like like me."
Jesus Christ, he was a third grader. Next he'll be passing Derek a note saying 'do you wanna be my boyfriend? Check yes or no' with two boxes right below it.
And he had no idea which box he'd mark, in all honesty.
He glared at the younger man, pissed he was being put in that spot again, pissed Stiles was annoying relentless about all of it. "Anything but that."
Stiles huffed, pouting, glancing around as they kept walking, nearly stumbling on a protruding root. "Okaaaay," he stretched the word out, irritated as well. "Why didn't you tell everyone the truth about why you beat up Jackson?"
Derek cocked an eyebrow, scowl gone, replaced with a disbelieving stare out the corner of his eye. He'd thought that had been settled already, that he'd explained all that and they'd put it to bed, that his generic bullshit over not liking the strong picking in the meek for any reason had been enough for the subject to be dropped. "I already told you why," he grumbled, jaw grit.
"Right," the Omega agreed, scratching at his forehead with a finger. "But I just." He cut himself off with a huff, gesturing to nothing before letting his hand drop with a slap, scent frustrated but aimed more at himself. "I didn't think you gave enough of a shit about me to go along with what I wanted. Anyone else would've just tried to save their own ass and say whatever they could to get out of trouble, other people be damned. But not you. And I don't get why." At that, he turned to Derek, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, like if he concentrated hard enough he could find the answer written on the older man's face or somehow develop telepathic powers.
The Alpha felt dissected once again, just like he had the previous morning with Erica. And once again, he couldn't handle it, especially not coming from Stiles. Because he was weak under that whiskey stare, because those analytical amber eyes were threatening to tear him apart and he knew he'd let it happen. He'd spill his guts, confess anything and everything, and he wouldn't be able to stop himself.
Alphas were the stronger dynamic, but this Omega wielded an intense power over him.
It was terrifying.
Derek swallowed hard, ducking his head and staring at his boot-covered feet as he walked over broken twigs and crunching leaves, taking care as he stepped over an exposed root that rose several inches off the ground. It wasn't a hard question, not really, and his wolf was yowling in his head as it tried to answer for him. But the implications behind the words and what they would actually mean, as well as the result that would come from them, that was the hard part.
That he didn't say shit because he knew Stiles wouldn't want him to and his instincts were constantly screaming at him to just do whatever Stiles desired. And he was starting to believe it was no longer an Alpha's biological need to please an Omega, that it was because it was Stiles making the request.
Fucking terrifying.
Clearing his throat, Derek lifted his head, staring straight ahead as he thought of a response that was enough of the truth to pass for a good explanation, while hiding the main reason why. "Because that's not how I was raised," he began with a nonchalant shrug, his father's face in his mind. "I was brought up to respect everyone, regardless of dynamic or species or gender or whatever. And I figured if you wanted it known that Jackson was giving you shit, you would've spoken up. But since you didn't, I kept my mouth shut.
Stiles nodded, lips pressed together and brow furrowed in thought. His scent was contemplative, eyes seeming far away, taking in Derek's words rather than the chirping birds or scurrying rodents.
"Why don't you want anyone to know?" the elder man asked after a long moment of silence, watching the other out the corner of his eye. "Bullying would've stopped had you just gone to someone for help."
The Omega's scent grew stronger, laced with embarrassment that was almost overpowered by anger and frustration. "I already get shit just for being the so-called weaker dynamic. Telling someone that I was getting picked on makes it seem like I can't handle anything hard being thrown my way and just plays into stereotypes."
Derek nodded, scratching his jaw. "That's what I figured. And why I didn't say anything." He lowered his hand, using it to push away a branch and signaling Stiles to walk ahead of him. "Not that I believe any of that shit about Omegas being weaker," he clarified as he followed the younger man, releasing the branch with a thwap. "I'm sure there are weaker ones, but not every single one of them. It varies." He winced, feeling like a moron and like he wasn't really making a point. At least not an intelligible one.
Amusement was rolling off Stiles, in his scent and in the grin he was struggling to hold back, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks. For not thinking I'm weak. And for not saying anything to anyone." His face grew serious as he nodded, scratching a sideburn and clearing his throat. "Means a lot."
The elder man shrugged it off, not seeing the big deal. What he'd done was what any decent person would do, human or werewolf. Like he'd told Stiles, it was just how he was raised, his parents both drilling good manners and behavior into him.
Although recently he wasn't exactly following their lessons. Shit, his dad would be completely disappointed in him if he was still alive. And it was no wonder shit was so strained between him and his mom. Sure, he could sit there and point the finger at her, blame her for the distance between them, her zombie behavior and lack of maternal actions after her husband's death causing them to drift apart. But it wasn't all her. It was his own douchebaggery once she'd snapped herself out of it, his own shit behavior and pushing her away and calling her "Melissa".
God, he was a bigger dick than he'd realized. He'd completely cut her off when she made an effort to return to a somewhat normal life. He'd expected her to understand what he was going through with losing his dad and Alpha while not even attempting to think of how much she must've been hurting from losing her husband. She might not have been a wolf and it wasn't like losing a Mate for them, but she still loved him fiercely to the end. She'd married the man despite her mother's disapproval of werewolves, she'd stayed across the country from her family for him, she'd had his kids and created a whole new family with him. That was her husband, her soul mate, the father of her children, and she'd lost him.
And Derek had been a selfish, uncaring asshole who refused to understand or think about what she was going through.
Okay, not the train of thought he wanted to hop on. Definitely not why he was out in the Preserve with Stiles.
At that, he turned his head, taking in the teen he was walking alongside of. The injuries were gone, but the memory of them were burned into Derek's mind forever. The cut lip, the red mark across his throat, the bruise on his jaw. He could still clearly hear the hiss of pain Stiles let out as he moved with sore ribs, the grunts as he bit back groans, the gasp he made when he was able to breathe again.
And Derek only knew of those two instances. God knew how many other times he'd been shoved around by Jackson, or even other assholes. God knew how many bruises he'd worn or hisses he'd let out. God knew how much more was to come.
But Stiles had endured it all, was gonna continue to endure it all, out of pride and a stubborn refusal to appear weak by asking for help.
Or maybe...because he was in the mindset that if he ignored the problem then it didn't exist, wasn't real. Denial was a strong coping mechanism. The only problem was when that bubble was burst and reality came crashing in. In the form of a five-foot-nine blond Beta jizz-rag.
"You know," he began, pausing to lick his lips. "Your dad's picked up on the fact that you're getting bullied."
Stiles bobbed his eyebrows in dismissal. "He picks up on a lotta shit. Being the sheriff and all." He gave the older man an unamused look, the "duh" going unsaid. "That why he asked you to talk to me?"
Derek shrugged, still not entire sure of John's intentions or why he'd wanted Derek to talk to his son. "I guess," he murmured, scratching at his jaw. "He probably thought you needed to talk to a mature wolf peer or something, get a wolf perspective, talk to someone who understands that side of you, that sorta thing." He dropped his hand, shoving both in the pockets of his jeans. "Also as a favor for talking Whittemore out of pressing charges."
The Omega's eyes went wide at that, brows shooting up as shock and indignation flooded his scent. His features schooled into a scowl as he glared at nothing right ahead of him, as he muttered a few choice words about Jackson under his breath that would definitely be bleeped on television. He roughed his hands over his face, wiping it all away, shaking it all off with a full body wiggle. "You said your mom would probably see this as a punishment, making you be social," he stated, reminding Derek of his earlier words when he was trying to get Stiles to unlock the Jeeps doors. "Does it seriously feel that way to you?"
Well shit. If that wasn't the million dollar question right there.
He glanced at Stiles, at his upturned nose and mole-dotted skin and cupid's bow lips. The sun peeked through an opening in the trees, highlighting his cheekbones and strong jawline, his eyes a sparkling amber that made Derek's next inhale get caught in his throat. His heart thudded in his chest, wolf showing its belly with its tongue lolling out its mouth, his own stomach doing this weird swooping thing that he'd never really experienced before. But despite the strange reaction, there was a warmth swelling inside, like just the sight of Stiles was enough to thaw away the ice that had frozen him over the moment he'd been told about his dad's death. And it was then that Derek realized he could actually be happy if he let it happen, if he let Stiles in the way the Omega wanted.
He just wasn't sure if he wanted it himself.
Because once he had Stiles, he had Stiles to lose, to be taken away. It was better to protect himself from future hurt by keeping up those walls, by keeping Stiles away, by keeping himself closed off.
But being around Stiles, it was hard to remember why he needed to do just that. Everything about the Omega was tempting, drawing him in. His scent, those lips, his pale skin that was practically begging to be marked by Derek's teeth—with permission, of course. All of it was appealing to his wolf, to the Alpha part of him, and he felt like the logical, human part of him was fighting a losing battle against his instincts when usually, every side of him was working together in perfect synchronicity. He felt upside down and inside out and it was all because of Stiles, and Derek had the very distinct feeling that if he were to just give in and be with Stiles, the chaos in his head would calm and every part of him would line back up and work together once again.
But he couldn't let that happen.
Wouldn't let it happen.
"Honestly?" he began, wincing as he rubbed the back of his head. "In some ways, yeah, it is."
The reaction was immediate, Stiles' scent plummeting into sadness and disappointment. His face fell, head ducking to hide the upset expression, the way his eyes turned down at the corners and his lips curved the wrong way.
Shit.
"I meant," the Alpha quickly tried to save his response, to better explain what he meant, to make Stiles understand and cheesily—and lamely—turn that frown upside down. Only he had no idea where the fuck his thought had been going or what the fuck to say or anything like that.
Shit again.
"Have you ever denied yourself something you want really bad?" Derek tried again, thumbs hooked on his belt loops.
Stiles frowned with a slight pout to his lips. "Not really, no. I pretty much always go after it. Usually I'm the one getting denied." His lips quirked up at the corners at his self-deprecating joke, but the sadness had returned to his scent and Derek had a feeling the Omega wasn't just referring to him.
He brushed it aside as a thought to obsess over later on, focusing instead on the conversation at hand and the point he was trying to make. "That's where you and I differ then," he began, pausing when the other man snorted, his head rocking out the corner of Derek's eye.
"No shit," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. "I don't see you ever being denied anything. I mean." He cut himself off, gesturing with both hands with flailing motions in front of Derek's torso, most likely a reference to his everything.
Which... okay, yeah, Stiles had a point. And Derek was ashamed to admit that he'd used his good looks to his advantage back in New York, flashing a smile, giving a wink, subtle flexing and stretching so his shirt rose up and his abs were on display. He got free passes rather than parking tickets, discounts at the movies, free dessert at diners, and he hadn't felt the slightest hint of guilt about it.
Until then.
He felt his face heat up and he cleared his throat to try and get rid of the awkwardness he was feeling that was threatening to make him squeak like he was suffering through puberty all over again. "I was referring to the part where you actually go after what you want. That's where we're different."
"Oh," Stiles replied, lips staying rounded as his own face flushed, red splotches staining his cheeks and neck. He wrung the back of his neck, wincing, licking his lips. "Okay, so we're different there, but we have shit in common, too." He gestured with an open hand, as though an example was on his upturned palm, his scent growing melancholic with loss.
His mom.
Derek's dad.
They'd both lost a parent, their werewolf parent.
Definitely not something you wanted to have in common with someone, whether out of the selfishness of not wanting to lose a parent or the more empathetic desire for that other person to not have suffered that way.
And at that moment, Derek had an intense thought that he cared more that Stiles had gone through something so emotionally debilitating than his own loss. He'd suffer it a thousand times over again if it meant Stiles would never have to experience it once.
Swallowing hard, he croaked out a low "yeah", facing forward once again.
Silence descended over them once more, both lost in their own heads, their own thoughts. Derek had no idea what Stiles was thinking about, but his own mind was focused on the younger man, wondering if he was okay, wondering how to salvage what was already a roller-coaster of an afternoon.
If it was even salvageable.
"I have a question," Stiles spoke up, breaking Derek out of his thoughts and causing his head to turn to the Omega. "That line about not liking bullies? You were quoting Captain America, right? 'Cause I mean, you don't strike me as the type to quote comic book movies, or even watch them in the first place, given the fact that they're actually fun and given your goth-tastic wardrobe and the fact that you live in the attic, I have a hard time believing that you watch anything but trash-tastic vampire movies or cheesy old school monster movies from before werewolves came out." He drew to a stop, forcing the older man to do the same, turning his body so he was angled toward the Alpha, lips pressed into a hard line, leg bouncing with the need to always be moving in some way.
Derek smirked, amused at the younger man's frustration, folding his arms over his chest in a casual manner as he faced the teen head on. "Well," he began, fighting back a bigger smile. "I guess this is the part where you point out my ice cold skin and tell me you know what I am."
"You did not just reference Twilight," Stiles groaned, folding his arms over his chest in a more aggressive manner than the older man.
"I' had a girlfriend who forced me to watch it with her," he stated, cocking an eyebrow. "What's your excuse for knowing what I was referring to?"
"Oh, fuck you," the Omega replied without any real heat, shoving at Derek's chest.
The Alpha chuckled as he let himself be pushed, stumbling back a step or two, arms falling to his sides. He didn't bother holding the smile back anymore, breaking out into a wide grin, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.
The teen did a double-take at him before finally letting his eyes linger on the older man. His lips were parted in thought, eyes narrowed and analytical, but his scent was amused, pleased, even a little proud. "You should smile more often," he declared, small grin of his own forming, hands slipping into the back pockets of his jeans. "It's a good look on you. Not that there's really a bad look on you, but still. It's a nice smile. You should do it more."
Derek felt his face fall, brow furrowing as his expression grew serious. "Not a whole lot to smile about these days," he murmured with a shrug, playing it all off, trying not to show how his heart was racing and his wolf was losing its shit at the compliment he'd been paid.
Stiles liked his smile. With his dorky bunny teeth and childish dimples. Fuck.
The younger man's scent bloomed, rich with joy and lust and daring. "Well," he began, head ducked eyes fixed on where his shoes were kicking up leaves as he scuffed his way closer, only stopping when he was toe to toe with Derek.
Derek felt his head spinning, his every inhale pulling in the Omega's citrusy-sweet scent until it was all he could smell. Stiles was so close that a deep breath would brush their chests together, that they'd be touching one another. He could feel the heat coming off the teen, could see the red flush spreading over his cheeks, could see his pupils dilating. His wolf was practically purring at the close proximity and he almost wanted to make the noise himself. Instead, he kept his jaw tense and his mouth clamped shut tight, fingers curled into fists at his sides so he didn't give in to the temptation of grabbing hold of the other man and closing that distance with a hard tug.
His eyes were drawn to movement, flicking down to watch a tongue dart out to wet pink lips. As it was, Stiles' own eyes were already focused on Derek's mouth and the Alpha had a good idea what was running through the teen's mind.
"We could change that," Stiles murmured, finishing his earlier statement, head tilting to the side and leaning forward ever so slightly.
And damn if Derek didn't wanna lean over, too, and give in to what they both clearly wanted.
But it wouldn't be just a kiss.
He wouldn't be able to stop there. And even if he could, it would mean more than just lips pressing together. It would be the start of something more, something bigger, the first step of many on a road to a relationship.
Which Derek had explicitly said he wasn't interested in. More than once.
With his wolf whimpering in his head and his claws digging into his palms, he stepped back, then again, and again, lips pressed into a hard line as though he was hiding them. Because as badly as he wanted to kiss Stiles, he knew it would be a terrible idea.
Or the best thing that would ever happen to him.
Terrifying.
"We should head back," he suggested, voice a harsh whisper, and he cleared his throat to try to rid it of the rasp that was in his words.
Disappointment and hurt overwhelmed Stiles' scent, practically punching Derek in the face with how potent it was. The Alpha felt thoroughly chastened without any words actually being spoken, his wolf whimpering with its head under its paws and its tail between its legs. Not the reaction he'd been going for, obviously. He'd hoped the teen would understand, would remember how Derek had told him he didn't wanna be with anyone, would agree that a kiss was a terrible idea.
But Stiles still didn't say anything about that, about whether or not it was the right thing to engage in a lip-lock or how Derek would feel about it. He just nodded, his own lips pressed into a hard line, muttering out a "yeah" before turning and scuffing back the way they'd come.
Derek stayed put, smearing his hands down his face, muffling his groan. Standing there in the woods, he wondered how many more times he could fuck up before Stiles gave up and completely cut him out of his life.
And how Derek would actually feel about it.