Spark Me Up

by CharWright5

After the sudden loss of their dad, brothers Derek and Scott McHale are forced to move to California, where Derek shuts down completely. That is, until his brother's annoying best friend keeps showing up everywhere with his scent, forcing the elder werewolf to open up and deal with everything he's hidden.

16. Bond

Derek and Boyd headed back to the cars when the sky started lightening, shifting and redressing. The aches were settling in but Derek knew they'd get worse as the day wore on. At that moment, it was manageable.

He invited Boyd out for breakfast, the Beta accepting then grabbing a shirt from the back of his parents' SUV before the two headed off to the diner. Derek thought it was strange the guy didn't leave a note or wait to tell them, and when he caught him texting in the passenger seat, the tired smile on his face told him he wasn't messaging his folks.

But he didn't say anything, didn't bring it up as they sat in the diner, indulging in their After Moon Special full of protein and carbs to help them recover. He hated people prying into his shit so he wasn't about to do it to someone else. Instead they made small talk over mountains of eggs, bacon, sausages, and steak, if they even spoke at all, Boyd responding to whatever Erica said when his phone buzzed against the chipped Formica table.

Derek had sent a text of his own to his mom when he'd first sat down, but like the night before, it went unanswered.

At least it showed that it had been read.

The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon when they left the diner, the sky an amalgam of pinks and peaches, bleeding into purples and blues, and Derek was struck once again by the beauty of small-town California. No giant skyscrapers cut into the watercolor sky, no blocks of gray or black obstructing the view, just bushy trees and the slate rooftops of houses they passed as he drove through the deserted streets of suburbia. There was no hustle and bustle of big city traffic, no one trying to beat the crowd to wherever, just early birds catching worms, squirrels getting a jump on nuts or seeds out of feeders that were designed to keep them out.

It was peaceful and Derek didn't realize until then that it was what he needed after a long night of overstimulation.

He dropped Boyd off at Erica's, sitting curbside as he watched the Beta go through a gate at the side of the house, a tall wooden fence encapsulating the backyard. It was only when the large man had disappeared that he pulled away and headed back to the Delgado-McHale house, parking in his usual spot on the side of the lawn.

The sheriff was exiting his own vehicle in his own driveway, powder blue Jeep noticeably missing, but the elder Stilinski didn't seem too concerned about that, allowing Derek to relax his own worry about Stiles' whereabouts. Instead he focused on John as the human shut his car door, the haggard look on his face, the tired smile he gave as he weakly waved.

Night shifts were apparently a bitch. Especially when a full moon was involved.

"Mornin'," the sheriff called to him sleepily, Derek giving him a wave and a head nod in reply. "You doing okay?"

Derek paused halfway to the front door, now even with the other man as he stood in his own driveway, staring across the lawn and a half that separated them. "I'm alive," he replied flatly, voice rough from the all-nighter and lack of use, giving a halfhearted shrug as backup.

John's face pulled into what could only be a sympathetic grimace, wrinkles standing out starkly even at that distance, bottom teeth on display. "You and I both know there's a big difference between being alive and being okay."

Fair point, Derek mentally admitted, turning away to stare at the front door, unable to hold eye contact.

"Seriously though," the sheriff continued, voice low with gravity yet still audible to the younger man. "You all right, son?"

He winced at the term, body tensing all over, shoulders hunching up. It was like a blow to the solar plexus, the air knocked out of him, and his lungs froze inside his too tight chest, unable to recover from the hit. His wolf curled up on itself, tail and paws over its face, pathetic whimpers escaping it and he felt like doing the same thing in bed.

Minus the tail, of course.

The older man seemed to realize what'd happened though, judging by the "aw, hell" he murmured before smearing a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, kid," he apologized, gesturing to Derek with an open palm in a much more subdued fashion than his actual son seemed capable of. "That term is somewhat a force of habit. I didn't mean to upset ya."

Derek didn't say anything at first, simply stared straight ahead, vaguely aware that he was nodding. Because what the hell was he supposed to say.

"It's okay"? No, it wasn't.

"You should be sorry"? Rude.

"Yeah, well, you did upset me"? Also rude.

Finally he settled on his usual habit of avoiding and running away, pointing to the front door. "I'm gonna go crash," he muttered, voice still rough, this time for the added reason of too many negative emotions and not enough strength to handle them.

The sheriff nodded, lips pulled into a tight lipped smile that was a combination of sympathetic and apologetic. "Okay," he replied lowly. "Take care of yourself, Derek."

He nodded once in reply, briefly flashing a hint of a smile before his features morphed into a scowl, suddenly irrationally mad. Why the fuck did he care if the werewolf took care of himself? What the hell was he to Stilinski? They were neighbors, barely anything more than that. Derek was the son of John's old high school sweetheart. John was the father of the guy Derek was trying not to fall for.

Although really, he had to question exactly how much he was trying in recent times. Avoided kiss notwithstanding.

Wanting the conversation over, Derek trekked the rest of the way to the door, quietly unlocking it then slipping inside the house. Two steady heartbeats thrummed away upstairs, the rhythm not faltering as he grabbed a bottle of water, as he showered, as he schlepped his way upstairs to the attic.

He gave in to the urge to peek out his curtain, finding Stiles' room dark and deserted, and he reminded himself-and his wolf-that the Omega must've been fine or the sheriff wouldn't have seemed so easygoing during their conversation.

Refusing to think anymore and just too fucking tired to deal with life, he collapsed face first on top of the mattress and promptly passed out.

---

The day after a full moon feels a lot like how Derek imagined it would be after a night full of drinking. Well, except less nausea and way more pain.

Totally expected really, when one's bones literally all break apart and rearrange into a new shape, his skin pierced millions of times over by hair that ordinarily wasn't there, not to mention the copious physical exertion of running around all night.

Yeah. Lots of pain.

He let out a huge groan as he rolled onto his back, arm flopping over his eyes as though he could shield himself from the world that way, block anything and everything out. In all honesty, he wouldn't mind just passing out again, sleeping away the day. A quick auditory check showed he was home alone, Maria and his mom both out, Scott presumably never having come home, so there was no need for him to get up and interact with anyone. And with it being a Sunday, he had nowhere to go. No job, no school, no obligations. Keeping his eyes shut and drifting back off sounded completely doable and highly fucking tempting.

Only his brain wasn't quite on board with that plan, kicking into overdrive with a thousand obsessive thoughts.

Those responding howls he'd heard the night before.

How it'd felt to run with Boyd.

Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

He had a gut feeling that the Omega had been one of those returned howls, that his wolf had wanted to go charging off to find him, and he was honestly surprised he hadn't done just that. He'd heard stories of folks in their wolf forms tracking down certain people, of waking up post-shift in someone else's bed because their wolf had wanted to be with them.

Granted that was generally when Mates were involved, and while Derek could no longer deny he was attracted to Stiles and possibly even had feelings that went beyond tolerating his existence, they definitely weren't Mates.

His wolf snorted as best it could and he pointedly ignored it. Stupid animal didn't know what the fuck it was talking about.

Realizing he'd gotten as much sleep as he was going to, he hauled himself up, groaning at the full body aches, at the way his bones felt like they had razors shoved in them and his muscles all felt sliced up and his skin felt like it'd been flayed and burned. He felt wrong all over, sore, stumbling to his drawers on shaky legs that were barely working and he'd forgotten how to use. His dad had told him it would get easier with time, that the more he shifted, the more he'd get used to it and the less it would hurt the next day.

A hollow ache in the center of his chest had him grimacing and he knew that sudden pain wasn't due to the post-shift sensations he'd been experiencing.

He wondered if his dad's advice would also pertain to the loss of his Alpha, that over time he'd get used to it and it would hurt less.

He thought of Stiles and how he'd lost his mom but seemed to function like a normal person. Derek knew it was an entirely different situation, that Stiles had been younger and as far as Derek knew, his mom hadn't been an Alpha or even the Head of Household, but it was still similar in a lot of ways. If Stiles could get to a point where he was okay, maybe Derek could, too.

That being said, it'd been how long since Stiles had lost his mom? Derek still had a long way to go.

Shoving all that aside, he slipped on a pair of mesh basketball shorts and a sleeveless tee, hissing at the feeling of clothing on his bare skin. He suddenly envied humans, with their lack of shifting and their ability to take pain killers and erase all their aches. Must've been nice.

A check of his phone showed no messages and he slipped it into an oversized pocket before shuffling his way to the stairs and down them. Steps were his enemies, knees protesting, thigh muscles not wanting to work, and he grimaced as he descended, mentally swearing at everything.

He paused when he reached the main floor, holding onto the bannister as he took a break, eyes shut tight as he grimaced more. Everything fucking sucked, he fucking hated everything, and the entire world could kiss his fucking ass for making him suffer this way.

Irrational, but fuck it. He was hurting. He was allowed to be angry and irrational.

The doorbell rang and he cringed, hissing at how fucking loud it was to his still sensitive hearing before glaring at the front door. Why the fuck did it always ring when he was home alone? People needed to work on their goddamn timing, leave him the hell alone, show up when other people were around to answer the door for him.

"Der?" came a familiar voice on the other side of the wood and he rolled his eyes skyward, mentally swearing more at his shitty luck, all the while his wolf started wagging its tail happily. "I know you're in there, man. I can hear you. Open the door."

"Fuck me," he muttered to himself, smearing a hand down his face before pushing away from the bannister and shuffling over.

"Didn't figure you for a bottom," Stiles responded, smirk evident in his voice.

The Alpha paused, hand freezing halfway down where he'd been dropping it, and he stared wide-eyed at the door. Was he fucking serious?

No. It was Stiles. From what Derek understood, he rarely took shit seriously.

"Oh my god, I was joking, dumbass," the younger man cleared up, exasperated. "Just open the door and let me in."

He ambled forward a step or two before stopping again, eyebrow cocking in curiosity. "You know Scott's not here, right?"

The Omega muttered out a few creative swears and insults, huffing as a rhythmic tapping started up, most likely his leg shaking and toes hitting the porch. "One day you'll realize that people show up at this place to see your grumpy ass, too."

Erica's cheeky grin flashed in Derek's mind and he shook it away, rolling his eyes at Stiles' words. "Why do you wanna see me?"

A frustrated groan tinged with a growl was the initial response, followed by an annoyed "just open the fucking door, Derek. I've been out here for two hours and I'm pretty sure the neighbors think I'm as pathetic as the stereotypes surrounding my dynamic say I am."

What in the fuck?

As outlandish as Stiles' statement was, Derek believed it. Because the guy was stubborn and annoying and waiting outside someone's home for a prolonged period of time totally went along with those winning personality traits.

Another eye roll then he shuffled to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open, wincing against the sunlight shining through.

Stiles stood there beaming brighter than the giant ball in the sky, dressed in the comfiest sweatpants Derek had ever seen, a white tee that was at least one size too big, and a giant black and gray striped hoodie that looked like it would be baggy on Derek. His smile didn't falter as he was met with a confused scowl, simply hitched the strap of a backpack up his shoulder and nodded his head once in greeting.

"You gonna move so I can come in?"

Derek's frown deepened before he grew too tired to keep it up, the expression falling away before he rubbed at his eyes. "Why are you here?"

The grin fell then, Stiles' scent shifting to something awkward and unsure, one hand gripping the strap of his bag, the other wringing the back of his neck. "Figured you'd need a hand as you recuperate," he said nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder, acting like it was no big deal.

Folding his arms, Derek stared at him skeptically, puzzled frown back, not entirely sure of the other man's reasons for wanting to help out. He knew it was paranoia making him feel that way, but all he could think about was his so-called friends back in New York and their ulterior motives whenever doing anything nice or decent toward him. And while he was well-aware that not everyone was like that, it was hard to stop himself from believing it.

"Why?"

Stiles shrugged again, this time with both shoulders. "I owe you after all that shit with Jackson and you not selling me out."

His eyes narrowed, still skeptical, maybe even more so. Because while that wasn't a lie, it also didn't feel like the entire truth. Something told Derek there was more to it than that, something he didn't wanna look at too closely.

So instead, he stepped to the side and opened the door further, wordlessly inviting the teen in. A small smile was on Stiles' face, head ducked almost bashfully as he made his way past. His scent was lit up with the warmth of happiness, that citrusy-sweet aroma getting stronger, making Derek's head spin and he barely stopped the growl from rumbling up his throat. As it was, his cock gave an interested twitch and his wolf drooled in his head and he felt like doing the same damn thing.

Closing the door, he subtly wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand to make sure he actually hadn't.

Okay, he needed to think of something else, needed to switch mental tracks, before his wolf decided the night before wasn't long enough to be in control and took over once again.

"Gotta admit," Derek began, making sure the latch clicked on the doorknob. "Still surprised you wanna lend me a hand. Considering how our last interaction ended." He turned around to find Stiles dropping his bookbag over the back of the couch, wincing, the happiness in his scent being replaced by mortification as he ducked his head to hide the red splotches forming on his cheeks. Derek had to fight the sudden urge to wrap the Omega up in his arms, to kiss every single patch of blush, to assure him that he had nothing to be embarrassed or apologetic about, that it was all on Derek.

Instead, he balled his hands into fists and shoved them in his pockets, planting his feet so he wouldn't move a fucking inch.

"Yeeeeeah, about that," Stiles began, scratching at a temple, still wincing, still hiding his face.

"Don't," Derek stopped him, hand held up before he slipped it back in his pocket. "It's okay, just. Don't go there."

The teen turned to him then. "It's not okay though, I know it's not." He gestured to Derek with an open palm. "You said you weren't interested and I pushed you anyway and tried to make a move." Hand dropped, he started fiddling with his fingers in front of his stomach, leg shaking. "It's fucked up. And I'm sorry."

Derek frowned, wondering how in the hell he'd been the one to make shit awkward between them but Stiles was apologizing. Stiles was always apologizing, always making up for whatever perceived wrongs he'd done when it was usually Derek's fault. Or at the very least, Derek was partially at fault.

"I'm sorry, too."

Stiles shrugged, arms wrapping around his torso now as he pressed his lips into a hard line, scent downshifting and making Derek's wolf whimper. "I'm used to rejection," he played it off with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, acting like it was all a joke and he wasn't bothered by it but...

But he was.

It was just like how John had said Stiles would joke about being bullied, pushing away concern, covering up hurt with quips.

Derek realized in that moment he wasn't the only one with a shield around himself.

While his was made of anger and anti-social behavior, Stiles' was comprised of self-deprecation and sarcasm. While his was for purely selfish reasons, Stiles' was to protect those around him from worrying as much as it was to protect himself from further hurt. But no matter the reasons or the emotions forged into hard steel and leather, they were both causing more harm than preventing it, keeping people out with a false sense of self-preservation.

In Derek's case, the armor was crumbling, banged up, weaknesses found and exploited until it was barely more than a disc-sized piece of tin.

Stiles though. Stiles was holding on to it like a lifeline, hiding behind it, using it as a weapon to hurt others before they hurt him.

Derek wanted through, wanted to see the guy behind it, wanted Stiles without any armor or shields or hard-edged quips used as swords that he swung without any real target in mind.

But to do that, he had to get rid of his own protective forces.

Wringing the back of his neck, he dug his nails into his skin, not sure if he was ready for all that.

Yet.

"Look," Stiles started, scratching his forehead with a finger, wearing a slight grimace. "Can we just drop it, forget Friday afternoon happened at all? The conversation? The—" He trailed off, gesturing to Derek—or, presumably, Derek's mouth, referring to the rejected kiss—then swept his hand across his body as though wiping an invisible table clean. "All of it."

The Alpha kept wringing the back of his neck, grimacing as he thought it over. Part of him wanted to do just that, thought it was easiest, to just pretend it never happened and move on.

But...

But there was no fucking way he'd ever be able to actually forget it. The heat coming off Stiles' body, the tingle of anticipation that zipped up his spine, the way he could practically taste Stiles' breath they were so close, his scent buzzing in his head. He couldn't forget any of that.

He didn't want to forget any of that.

Okay, so he wouldn't forget, but he could pretend for a little while, save both of them the awkwardness or embarrassment of that reminder hanging over them for...however long Stiles would be around that day.

"All right," he replied, finding it easier to just agree and be done with it. He shuffled over, trying to make his way to the kitchen on sore legs comprised of aching muscles and tender bones, fighting the grimace that was desperate to form on his face. Deep down he knew that had Stiles not been there, he wouldn't try to hide it, would wear the expression without shame.

But the Alpha in him felt the need to prove himself strong in front of the viable Omega, to show he was capable of dealing with pain, to make himself appear powerful and able to take care of the other man. It was vanity, pure and simple, stupid stereotypical bullshit behavior that not once had he ever engaged in, nor had he ever imagined himself engaging in it.

And yet...

And yet there Stiles was, watching his every move, and he was overwhelmed by the need to be a man—to put it in human terms—and act like nothing was bothering him.

He was Alpha. He was strong. He make good Mate.

Fuckin' eh.

Stiles frowned, scent shifting to concern and confusion, and he stepped to the side, directly in Derek's path and forcing the older man to stop. His hands raised as though to physically stop the Alpha, only to let them drop without making contact, fingers curling into fists then opening back up. "Where ya goin'?"

Derek's eyes were transfixed by the long fingers drumming against Stiles' thigh, remembering how they'd curled over the round of his shoulder, imagined them doing it again but with less clothing in the way, the Omega hanging on for dear life as he was pounded into, as he was knotted, as Derek ground the inflated gland against his prostate and made him cry out.

A low whimper came from in front of him and he lifted his eyes to see teeth sink into a plump bottom lip, to see brown eyes flash gold—the color of an immature wolf, and of an Omega. That sugary-sweet scent got stronger, added spice note of arousal that had his cock twitching and a growl rumbling up from his chest that he didn't quite stop in time. Which, in turn, kicked Stiles' scent up another notch, his eyes going gold and staying that way, his head tilting to the side in an act of submission.

Derek locked on to that pale skin, those chocolate moles scattered along the long column of his throat, and his gums started tingling, fangs threatening to descend. Fuck, what he wouldn't give to take Stiles up on his wordless offer, to mark that flesh up with hickeys, with bites, with a Claiming Bite, showing the world he was taken and who he belonged to. The color bled from his vision, wolf still too close to the surface, and given the general fatigue he was feeling after his all-nighter, he was barely able to rein in his inner-animal. One more act of submission, one of burst of scent, and Derek was done for. He'd give in to what his wolf was so desperate for, taking Stiles down right then and there, marking and claiming and knotting and...

Bad idea. Terrible fucking idea. Never gonna happen idea.

He cut the growls off, buried his face in his hands as he groaned in frustration, hating how he constantly felt torn between what his wolf wanted and what the human half of him felt was best. He felt even more ripped apart than he had during or after the shift, what few stitches he'd sloppily fixed himself up with after his dad's death now pulled out, his edges all frayed.

Unable to be put back together again.

At least not the same way.

But for all his mental hashing and rehashing and the constant back and forth about whether or not he wanted to change...he just wasn't ready. Well, not ready for Stiles, not ready for what Stiles would want or need.

Derek was Humpty Dumpty, broken and shattered and even if those proverbial king's horses and men could put him back together, he would still be covered in sharp edges that would cut Stiles open, flay him the way Derek felt he was. For all of Stiles' defensive behaviors and the shield made of sarcasm and self-deprecation, he was still in better shape than Derek, his own shattered pieces put back together with the glue of time—and possibly even therapy. Being with Derek would just rip his own stitches open and do more harm than good.

He shoved a hand through his hair, expelling a long breath, wondering when in the hell he'd become so noble and selfless, wondering if he really was even being selfless or just being a chickenshit, protecting himself under the guise of protecting someone else.

"Sorry," he said roughly, sighing as he dropped his hand, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. For not being good enough. For letting his thoughts head down an X-rated path-again. For having said thoughts affect Stiles and coax reactions out of him beyond his control. For all of it and more.

Stiles shrugged and shook his hand, waved a hand in dismissal, eyes blinking rapidly as the gold faded from them and his scent leveled out. "It's fine, it's cool, it's fine," he rambled, eyes squeezed shut and the fingers of one hand rubbing at them. "I just. The other day, when you—"

"I thought we weren't gonna talk about it," Derek interrupted, eyes closing and voice a rough whisper, almost pleading for that to be the truth. His body tensed up, waiting for the blow that was about to come, creating a sharp reminder of all his aches and pains. His wolf was whining low in its throat, head down, ears back, knowing something bad was about to come, and the human part of him had that same sense of dread, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

The Omega slumped, arms thrown in the air in exasperation before they dangled loosely from his shoulders. "I lied," he admitted—or covered up his change of mind, more likely—straightening up and licking his lips before continuing. "I just wanna know one thing."

Derek winced, glancing to the side, arms folding over his chest in a protective manner before they grew too heavy, before his muscles were too tired to even do that. Hell, just standing there was taking a lot out of him and he eyed the couch longingly, wanting to just crash on it and take a five hour nap.

"Der?"

He turned back to the younger man, to the reason why he was still standing and couldn't nap, letting out a "hmm?" to show he was listening, nodding to tell him to go ahead and ask.

Not that he thought Stiles would hold back if Derek told him not to say anything. In his experience, the teen went ahead and did what he wanted, consequences and other people's wants be damned.

"When you said you were denying yourself something you wanted," he began, leg shaking, fingers tangling in front of his chest, brow furrowed and lids blinking rapidly. "You, uh. You were talking—" He trailed off, smelling uncertain, embarrassed, like he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought in case he was wrong, unable to handle the consequences of it.

The Alpha knew he could lie, could change the subject, could make up some bullshit about how he was denying himself a Pack with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd or denying himself a family with Melissa and Scott—and kind of Maria—denying himself a chance to regain the life he'd had before—albeit a different one in a different place with different people, but in general the same.

But fuck, he was just tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally. And underneath that embarrassment and uncertainty and self-consciousness, that spark of hope lingered in Stiles' scent and Derek was weak to resist it even at full strength.

"You," he answered, voice rough, clearing his throat. "I was talking about you. Us. Both."

Lips pressed together tightly, Stiles nodded, eyes distant as he focused on a side-table beneath the staircase railing, lost in thought. But his scent gave away everything he was thinking, that hope sparking up further, the warmth of joy then the salt of upset, the three repeating, cycling, a never-ending pattern.

"You don't want a relationship," Stiles murmured, not expecting a response, seeming more like he was working things out by voicing them out loud. "Not right now anyway. Not a romantic one." His whiskey eyes flipped up to meet Derek's green ones, sparkling, shiny, flicking back and forth as he switched focus on each of Derek's orbs. "But a friendship maybe?"

His eyes widened, brows shooting up with them, before fatigue pulled them all down again. But the shock remained, lips parting and hanging open, struggling to think of a reaction beyond the utter fucking disbelief that had his brain flatlining. He honestly didn't think he was the kind of guy anyone would wanna be friends with, Erica's comments over him being Grumpy Cat coming to mind, Melissa's own surprise over him having guests who actually wanted to spend time with him soon following. Yet the Pack kept hanging around him, yet Stiles was standing in the living room offering friendship, and Derek just...he couldn't fucking wrap his head around any of it.

Couldn't believe he was seriously considering saying "yes".

Could totally believe it wouldn't ever feel like enough.

"I don't," he started then stalled, watching as the corner of Stiles' eyes turned down and his scent downshifted, settling on the salt of upset. "I can't be just friends with you," he admitted, shrugging helplessly, wringing the back of his neck. "I don't think I can really be friends with anyone to be honest, but I. I definitely can't be just that with you. I'm sorry."

Stiles repeated his earlier pressed-lips, head-nod action, fingers drumming on a clenched fist held on his chest. "Do you think maybe we could try anyway? At least for today? I." He paused, trying to gather his thoughts, grimacing for a brief moment. "I dunno if it's an Omega thing or just a feelings thing, but my wolf literally won't quit freaking out." He huffed, flinging a hand in Derek's direction before he began pacing back and forth in the small two foot space between the stairs and the back of the couch. "All I can think about is making sure you're okay and recovering all right and was someone taking care of you, did you need help, were you hobbling around like an old guy." He paused his pacing, glancing at the Alpha, smirk tugging up the corner of his lips. "The last one's true apparently."

Derek flipped him off and Stiles breathed out a laugh before sobering up once more, scratching at a sideburn.

"My dad used to take care of my mom," he admitted lowly, shoving both hands in the pockets of his giant hoodie. "The day after a full moon? She'd be sore and tired and just wanted to laze about. He always made sure to have that day off so he could stay home and help her out, make her food, tuck her in, read to her and help her relax."

"And you, what? Wanted to continue to tradition?" Derek asked, skeptically, feeling his heart sink a little that Stiles wasn't really there for him, but to relive memories of his mom, of his parents together and happy.

"No. I wanted to take care of my—" he cut himself off, turning away, licking his lips then pressing them together.

The Alpha waited for the rest of the statement, for Stiles to admit what neither of them were brave enough to say, to even admit to themselves. His wolf thumped its tail in his head with a level of uncertainty and hope, feeding off the human's half and what he wanted the other man to say.

What he wished he could say himself.

Even if it was just in his own head.

Stiles winced slightly then met Derek's eyes, his wide and pleading, brow furrowed to match. "You feel it, too," he said lowly, gently, taking a step towards the older man, hand outstretched to gesture at him. "I'm not saying we're exactly what my parents were, but we're something, even if you're not ready for us to be anything."

Derek swallowed hard under the weight of the teen's words, under his stare, under the pleading way he was asking the Alpha to understand and admit it. And goddamn if Stiles hadn't hit the nail on the head.

And goddamn if Derek's wolf wasn't arguing with the part about how they weren't like Stiles' parents.

He mentally reminded himself that he knew nothing about the elder Stilinskis, beyond the dad being the sheriff and the mom being a wolf—and deceased—and therefore couldn't judge either way, couldn't make any sort of comparison. But he could, however, comment on the current discussion.

"Yeah," he breathed out, clearing his throat.

Cocking his head tot the side, Stiles' brow furrowed and his lips pursed in question. "Yeah? Toooo what?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "All of it."

The younger male smiled, eyes lit up, practically glowing as he bit his lip. "Soooo, I can hang out? Help you out?"

Derek peeked behind him at the kitchen, his original destination, thinking it was further away than the fifteen feet it actually was, then turned to the couch, checking out the mere three feet it would take to round it and flop down. Fuck, help sounded really fucking good at that moment.

But it was more than that, more than aching bones and sore muscles and tired everything, and he knew it. It was the fact that he wanted Stiles to stick around, wanted to spend time with him. It didn't matter if the guy was helping him with his post-shift blarghs, just that the guy was there.

He felt pathetic and lame.

And he really didn't fucking care.

Because Stiles was there, around him, voluntarily, and wanted to be there as much as Derek wanted him there.

He nodded, focusing on the Omega, tired smile on his face. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Stiles' smile shifted into a mischievous smirk, mirth sparkling in his eyes as he reached out and playfully shoved at the older man's shoulder. "Your lazy ass just wanted a slave for the day so you could slob it up on the couch."

He snorted, rolling his eyes, rounding the end of the sofa before cautiously lowering himself down onto it, depositing his cell on the table in the way down. "You caught me," he deadpanned, slouching, legs spread eagle and head laying on the back of the couch.

"Knew it." Stiles took his hoodie off, laying it on the opposite arm of the settee from where Derek was slumped, his backpack right beside it, before leaning on the back of it. "You eat yet?"

The Alpha groaned at the idea of food, eyes shutting tight, fingers of one hand rubbing at them while his free arm draped over his midsection. "Chewing hurts," he grumbled, dropping his hand from his face. "Stomach can't handle food."

"You gotta eat something though."

"Protein shake. Usually have one, helps with the aches and muscle recovery. Was on my way to make one when this annoying li'l shit knocked at my door." He peered up at said annoying li'l shit who was smirking proudly and giving him a wink.

"You're welcome," he quipped, drumming the couch with his hands before pushing himself up. "One protein shake comin' up!" Two more pats on the furniture and he made his way to the kitchen, humming to himself.

Derek let his eyes drift closed again, sinking further into the couch, lulled by the sounds of Stiles puttering about in the kitchen. Cabinet door opening then shutting, blender being pulled out on the counter, fridge door, freezer door, a drawer, another cabinet, then another. Apparently the kid couldn't find what he needed, a thought that put a smile on his face.

"So where exactly does it hurt?" Stiles called through, unscrewing the cap of the protein tub. "Do you need an ice pack or anything?"

He snorted humorlessly, wincing at the way it caused his body to curl up and twinge sore muscles. "Hurts everywhere to be honest," he admitted, pride be damned, no longer caring about the tough guy Alpha bullshit facade from earlier.

"Something to look forward to, huh?" the younger man remarked over the slosh of milk being poured. "Guess you'll just hafta return the favor and take care of me."

His mind was inundated with images of just that, lips curling up despite himself. He could perfectly picture tucking the Omega into his bed, covering him with his blankets and his scent. He could perfectly picture making shakes and fetching drinks, hand-feeding the younger man. He could perfectly picture holding him close, leeching away his pain, taking his aches so he didn't have to suffer.

It could happen, it could be his reality in the not too distant future. If he let it.

He murmured out a sleepy "okay" as he shuffled about to get comfortable, eyes closing once more, drifting off to the sound of the blender whirring at full speed and a rabbiting heartbeat thrumming along.

Before he knew it, a large plastic cup was being pressed into his hand and he reopened his eyes to find Stiles standing over him, nudging the cup once more. He wrapped his fingers around it, muttering a "thanks" and feeling his heart skip a beat at the smile he got in return. Unable to maintain eye contact\lest his body betray him with some other embarrassing reaction\he focused on what was in the cup, taking in the thick chocolate shake with...

Darker brown chunks?

He flipped his gaze back to Stiles, eyebrow cocked in question, waiting for the Omega to put his backpack on the ground and sit down in its place before speaking. "What's in this?"

"Chocolate protein powder, milk, and mint chocolate chip ice cream," he replied in a duh manner, shifting so he was sitting with one leg folded on the couch, body tucked in the corner of it.

The older man frowned at his drink before raising it to his nose and scenting it, catching a whiff of mint underneath the chocolate. "I usually just mix it with water and ice."

"Gross," Stiles uttered, making a face then shuddering. "True milkshakes have ice cream. My mom used to make mine just like that." He pointed to the cup still in Derek's hand. "Same kind of ice cream and everything. Chocolate sauce instead of protein powder though."

All right, so now Derek had to drink it, or risk offending the guy's dead mom. With a mental shrug, he brought the cup to his lips, tilted it back, and took a couple swallows.

And promptly moaned out in satisfaction. Goddamn, that was tasty. Thick enough to still be drinkable, the chips big enough to catch before he choked on one, the chocolate taste rich on his tongue and leaving the sharp bite of mint behind. It was better than any of the crap he got from various fast food restaurants or diners, and while part of him thought that maybe his opinion was a little biased since Stiles had made this one, he honestly didn't care.

It was fucking good.

Stiles' scent spiked, warm notes of pride and joy, an underlying hint of arousal from the groan Derek had let out. But fuck him, it was good. And had it not been for the risk of brain freeze, he would've chugged the whole thing right then and there. So instead, he only took a few swallows before pulling the cup away, feeling the frozen liquid coating his throat and his esophagus as it made its way down to his stomach, chilling him from the inside out in a good way.

Having something in his stomach helped ease some of his discomfort and he turned his head to glance at the bag on the floor, pointing to it with his cup. "Plannin' on doing your homework?"

"Hmm?" Stiles questioned, eyebrows raised, before following the pointing finger. "Oh. Nah, finished already." Bending over, he unzipped it and reached inside, removing a thick hardcover book. "Like I said, my dad used to read to my mom and this was one of her faves. She used to read it to me, too." Holding it up, he let Derek see the cover, the light blue background with the cartoon depictions of the characters, a flying bed in the back with grandparents holding on for dear life, a young boy shaking hands with a man in a purple suit wearing a large top hat that reminded Derek of Abraham Lincoln caricatures. His eyes drifted over to the title in all white, author's name in blue right below it, reading it out loud.

"The Complete Adventures of Charlie and Mr Willy Wonka by Roald Dahl." He tilted his head to the side, staring at it curiously. "Didn't know there was more than one adventure."

"Yup," Stiles stated, putting the book on his lap and flipping through it, wistful smile on his face. "Everyone knows Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but no one knows about Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. It's all about his life after he and his family move in to Wonka's factory and he starts learning about making chocolate and how to take care of the Oompa Loompas." He made it to the front, closing the book and running a hand over it reverently. "It was my mom's favorite."

A small smile formed on Derek's face, thinking back to when he was a kid, his parents taking turns tucking him in and reading to him. Picture books at first, then chaptered ones for kids, Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, Ralph Mouse, and Derek's personal fave:

"Fantastic Mr Fox," he said, pausing to chew the chocolate chips in his mouth. "It got to the point where my mom refused to read it to me anymore, said she was getting sick of it. But I always managed to talk my dad into it with a few pitiful whines." He smiled sadly into his cup, watching as he swirled the remains of his milkshake around. "I think she was probably also sick of how I'd also play Fantastic Mr Fox the next day, crawl into the kitchen on my stomach and pretend I was sneaking into Boggis' farm to steal a chicken or Bean's farm to steal cider, when really I was swiping cookies or extra juice boxes and she'd yell at me about too much sugar." A humorless laugh blew out his nose and he brought his cup to his lips once more, longing for the days when his mom was pissed about him being hyper and possibly ruining his appetite before dinner.

The Omega nodded, eyes still fixed on his book, thumbing the frayed edge of the paper cover used to protect it. "Well, this day got depressing as fuck real fast," he commented, rubbing at the top of his head and mussing up his already unruly hair.

Derek snorted, the sound echoing in the cup. "You did imply that we had it in common."

Stiles seesawed his head, conceding the point, Derek draining the rest of his shake before putting the cup on the coffee table. "I can read something else," he offered, rubbing a finger under his nose. "Or not read at all. You guys got Netflix? If not, I brought my laptop."

The older man shook his head as he got settled once more, adjusting his tee around his lower back then lolling his head over so he was looking at Stiles. Looking at Stiles' eyes, his mouth, those fucking lips he wanted to feel against his, the long column of his neck where his larynx resided, voice deeper than one would expect to hear when looking at him. "Read," he murmured, swallowing. "Please."

Small smile on his face and warm happy notes in his scent, Stiles nodded, replying with a soft "all right". He turned so he was facing forward, toeing his shoes off before putting his feet on the coffee table, then opened the book up, flipping past pages of credits and publication notes and other bullshit. He opened his mouth to read, book propped up so it was angled slightly towards Derek, only the Alpha cut him off before he uttered a syllable.

Because the Alpha's wolf was still too close to the surface and his mind was somewhat stuck in the past and he was unable to resist the urge that had overcome him.

Surging forward, he laid across the couch, settling with his head on Stiles' lap, face turned in towards his stomach, causing the younger man to freeze all over and let out a prolonged confused "uhhhhh?"

He peeked up into puzzled whiskey eyes, Stiles holding his arms up so he wasn't touching the other man, book hardly being held in one hand it was so heavy. "Is this okay?" he questioned, tensing up as well, ready to move.

Stiles nodded rapidly, excitedly, heart beating faster than usual. But his scent wasn't uncomfortable or upset, just unsure and surprised, which, understandable, given Derek didn't actually ask for permission. "It's cool. Get comfy, big guy." An easygoing smile formed on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners, sparkles in the dark orbs, and Derek made good on the offer as Stiles slumped down on the couch.

He wrapped an arm around the teen's middle, scooted over so his nose was close to his taut stomach without impeding his breathing, inhaling the sugary-sweetness of the Omega, along with the warm contentment and happiness he was giving off. His eyes drifted closed as Stiles laid the book on his upper arm, pointing out how he wouldn't be able to see the pics that way, but Derek didn't care. He...

He was holding Stiles.

He had his head in Stiles' lap.

He had Stiles' scent in his nose and body heat against his and his wolf was more content and at peace that he could ever remember it being.

Something settled inside of him and he let out a deep sigh, feeling the tension of the past couple months leaving with it, and suddenly, life didn't seem so bad.

A hand settled on his head, long fingers sliding through his hair, blunt chewed on nails scratching at his scalp and he was pretty sure he was purring. A low chuckle left Stiles and he cleared his throat before he made attempt number two at reading.

"Chapter One: Here Comes Charlie," he began, voice a soothing rumble in Derek's ear, covering him better than an old quilt and warming him better than a hot chocolate. "These two very old people are the father and mother of Mr. Bucket. Their names are Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine."

Derek was out before the rest of the Bucket family had been introduced.

---

Derek woke up a couple hours later, feeling more rested than he had previously—and also feeling a wet streak falling from the left side of his mouth.

Jesus fuck.

He cautiously lifted his head, moving slow so as to not call attention to himself or wake up the Omega that had apparently passed out some time after he had. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he glanced down to find a wet patch on the lap of Stiles' sweats, right where his head had been, and immediately he felt his ears burn in embarrassment. Big tough Alpha drooling like a fucking baby all over someone's crotch. Yeah, totally the image he wanted to give.

He stifled a groan, his wolf covering its face with its paws and he totally couldn't blame the animal. If he could, he'd do the same damn thing.

Hell, he was tempted to go wolf and do that very thing.

Terrible idea, he decided, lifting his torso up just as cautiously as he had his head, glancing at Stiles as he moved. The Omega let out a snort that was less than delicate, his own mouth hanging wide open, head having fallen back against the couch, and swiped at his face with a limp hand. He shuffled a bit, head lolling to the side, but otherwise seemed to stay asleep.

Meaning Derek's drool spot was safe from discovery for a little while longer.

With careful movements, Derek managed to get off the couch without waking Stiles, stretching out stiff muscles and joints that had gotten cramped from laying for so long. He spotted The Complete Adventures of Charlie and Mr Willy Wonka on the floor and he picked it up, checking to make sure no pages had gotten bent or torn. Thankful it was damage free, he closed the book and put it on the coffee table then grabbed his empty cup and shuffled his way around the couch to the kitchen.

The trek sapped a good majority of what little energy his power nap had given him and he sank down in the chair situated in front of the fridge, putting the cup then his elbow on the table, face in his hand. It'll get easier one day, he mentally assured himself, rubbing at his thigh with his free hand and working up the strength-and the motivation-to stand and set about making another shake.

Any second.

Aaaany second...

Fuck.

His ears pricked at the rustle of fabric in the next room, wolf lifting its head in interest. He tuned in to hear Stiles' heartbeat change tempo, picking up its pace as he slowly regained consciousness and returned to the waking world. Derek tried to keep his own heart even, trying not to let it be known that he was stupidly pleased Stiles was waking up, that soon the Omega would go looking for him, would find him, would join him.

He tried telling himself he was just happy he didn't have to get up and make his own shake.

He knew it was a lie.

He was just stoked to be around Stiles again.

Because snuggling up to him and napping, that sugar-sweet scent in his nose with every inhale, his heart rate and voice in his ear, that apparently wasn't enough for Derek. He was too fucking greedy when it came to Stiles.

Jesus, what a hypocrite. Kept pushing everyone away, but wanted Stiles close, closer, always, couldn't get enough of the guy.

Maybe he was changing. Maybe the walls really were crumbling and his frozen heart was being thawed, all thanks to the heat of the Omega he'd just been wrapped around.

Shit.

Because it would no longer be just Stiles working his way in with his persistence and stubborn refusal to take "fuck off" as an answer. It would be Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, too. He'd have actual friends. And if he got friends, next he'd be working shit out with his family, apologizing to Melissa, to Scott, telling Maria what she could do with her prejudices.

And the second he had them back in his life, the second he had friends, he'd have something to lose.

Cupping his chin, he stared straight ahead at a row of rectangular tins, vision going wavy and blurring the seventies-tastic orange and brown daisies painted on them. Losing his dad had numbed him out completely and he was only just beginning to feel like he could maybe break free of that frozen state two months later. Losing someone else? He wasn't sure he could recover from that.

A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, the action failing to dislodge it. He was being a pussy, a broken record, a pain in everyone's ass—including his own—but...

But in all honesty, he kinda didn't give a fuck.

Yet...

Yet he was starting to give a fuck, about his repetitive bullshit, about other people, and he was honestly starting to wonder if the latter would really be so bad. Yes, it meant he would have something—someones to lose in a worse case scenario situation but it was just that: a worst case scenario. Just because he'd lost his dad didn't mean he'd lose everyone.

Okay, an argument could be made there that his dad had lost his family, but from what little amount of info Derek had gathered about the McHale half of his DNA, the younger Alpha figured it was a voluntary move and that it had been after he'd met Melissa, so he wasn't entirely alone.

Derek hadn't been entirely alone after losing his dad either.

His loneliness had been self-imposed though and he got a strange sense of "like father like son" smacking him in the face. Fuck, he'd heard that phrase so many times growing up, whenever he met someone his dad knew: a coworker, an old college buddy, a friend he played pick-up basketball with on the weekends, Derek's old lacrosse coach in Queens that his dad had played with in high school. Usually the comparison was welcomed, Derek always grinning and puffing his chest out in pride, his dad the ideal man to look up to, Alpha wolf or otherwise. In this instance, however, Derek wasn't entirely sure how good or healthy the similarity was, if he was right to feel shitty over a commonality of voluntarily cutting oneself off from one's family.

Smearing his hand down his face, he wondered how his dad would feel about his eldest son following in those footsteps, only to realize...he wouldn't be all that proud. Derek didn't know the reasons for his dad's ostracizing himself from his family and Pack, but he had a feeling it was nothing to do with death and possibly something to do with what his abuela had hinted at the day before. His dad always did things for good reasons, after thinking it through, and—the elder McHale admitted—with a little bit of gut and wolfen instinct.

It wasn't instinct or a good thought process that had caused Derek to build walls up between himself and his remaining family members though; just selfishness and fear.

"Life is nothing but a series of risks, kid," his dad's voice sounded in his ear, advice given to Derek on more than one occasion, whether it was fear over the first day of school, joining the lacrosse team, coming out, asking someone to the dance. "It gets boring otherwise. Sometimes you gotta stop staring at the water worrying about how cold it is, if the waves are too rough, are you gonna get tired before you reach the other side, if there's an other side. Just dive in, make the adjustments, and swim like hell. You might get lost, you might get knocked around, you might get hurt, but life isn't about sitting on the shoreline watching the others have fun swimming and horsing around. It's about risks and getting your feet wet. So dive in, kid."

A strangled groan came from the living room, bones popping as Stiles stretched, and Derek's heart pounded even harder. He knew without a doubt that his dad would be giving him a meaningful smirk at that, a wink, mouthing the words "dive in" before coming up with a lame excuse to leave and give them space. And he'd be right. Derek needed to stop being a pussy, stop worrying about worst case scenarios, stop letting it hold him back and build those walls. He needed to embrace the cracks, help them further demolish those bricks of terror and selfishness, tear down his armor.

Death was an inevitability, it happened to everyone, some sooner rather than later. He shouldn't let it hold him back and stop him from living.

Stop him from diving in.

And yet...

No.

No "but"s, no "yet"s, no excuses. He'd done enough damage over the past two months, not only stopping himself from living fully but also fucking up the lives of those around him. It was time to stop, time to get back on track, time to make his dad proud once more.

Stiles shuffled though, scratching at his scalp, tawny hair sticking in a million different directions, flattened on the back of his head from the couch. Sleepy eyes turned to Derek on the table, corner of his mouth rising in a smirk, brown orbs lighting in amusement as he dropped his hand to point at his lap.

And the obvious dark wet spot on his sweats.

Shit.

"Did you drool on me?" Stiles questioned, amused more than anything, lips fighting back a bigger grin and potentially a laugh.

Derek felt the tip of his ears go red and he forced his brow to pull into a scowl. "No," he grumbled, turning away when Stiles' smirk grew.

The Omega breathed out a laugh as he made his way over, scent lighting up in humor and joy. "It's alright, big guy. I'm sure I've done worse in my sleep," he assured, ruffling his hand through Derek's own bed head and making the Alpha freeze at the contact.

Because only his parents ever mussed up his head in an affectionate manner like that.

Because the action was so carefree, almost absent-minded in the way it was given, a gesture that almost seemed second-natured.

Because it had honestly felt good and Derek couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched in a manner that had not only resulted in a positive reaction within himself, but had been so damned welcome.

Alright, maybe those two instances when he'd pinned Stiles in place and scentmarked him but that had been all instinctual and Derek'd had no clue he was doing it until it was happening. Not to mention it was him doing it to someone else. But this? This was a touch given, an innocent one with no deeper meaning, no instinctual need to mark, no x-rated intent behind it. Just a simple ruffle of the hair that had his scalp tingling in pleasure and his wolf lolling its tongue out its head, and the human part of him wanting to practically purr.

He held back on the noise though, figuring he'd embarrassed himself enough with the wet patch on Stiles' pants.

Stiles seemed completely unaware of what he'd done or the reaction he'd gotten from it, hand slipping free of black locks and wrapping around the forgotten cup on the table. "Refill?" he offered, already making his way to the counter next to the fridge, putting the cup in front of the blender.

The Alpha stared for a moment, still dazed, mind caught up in wondering if Stiles had left his scent behind and if so, would Derek actually bother with a shower later or try to keep it there as long as possible. Eventually he caught up, clearing his throat and letting out a rough "please", rubbing at his sore thighs once more.

With a point of the finger, a wink, and a click of the tongue, Stiles set to work, grabbing the jar of the blender and carrying it to the freezer. Opening the door, he scooped the ice out the box by hand rather than letting it rumble through the dispenser on the door, obviously aware of how sensitive Derek's hearing still was.

The older man frowned as he watched the entire process, as he thought back over the entire day since Stiles had shown uninvited and unannounced. He didn't have to take care of Derek, didn't have to stay or even show at all. The Alpha wouldn't have blamed him or spare more than a pitiful passing thought over how he would've liked Stiles to be there but didn't deserve it.

Yet there the Omega was, making him another protein shake to help him recover, after having read to him, let the Alpha snuggle on his lap and drool into his pants without a single complaint.

He thought back on everything he knew about Stiles, the time he'd volunteered to help Derek find a bookshelf despite not being wanted, helping carry in their belongings when the moving truck arrive and bringing a forgotten box of Derek's up to the attic without having been told to, vague memories of Scott saying how Stiles was helping him cope with everything.

Meanwhile Derek's old friends back in New York would've come up with every excuse possible to get out of helping move shit, would've told him to go fuck himself and storm off had he shown any hint of attitude, had offered superficial condolences over the death of Derek's dad. None of them had ever volunteered to help anyone else out, for any reason, much less aid a grumpy Alpha who made a habit of shunning them.

But Stiles did, was, and probably always would.

The cup was placed on the table next to him and he gave a grateful smile and a low "thanks", Stiles smiling proudly and scent bursting with happiness over having done good, before he retreated back to the counter and poured a shake of his own, enough of the thick brown liquid left in the blender for one, if not two, more cup-fuls. Derek watched the Omega lean back, arm loosely folded over his stomach as he took a deep gulp, chocolate mustache left behind when he pulled the cup away.

Derek took a drink of his own, the frothy liquid cold as it slid down his throat and into his chest, the afterbite of mint sharp on his tongue, the shake just as tasty as before as he chewed on chocolate chunks. For a moment, he let his mind wander, allowed himself to imagine that it could be like this every month, Derek achy and tired from the shift, Stiles taking care of him, until he hit eighteen and would full-shift with him and they could take care of each other.

But he didn't deserve it. Didn't even deserve this.

With another big gulp, he put his cup on the table, chewing up chocolate and swallowing, tongue darting out to chase the flavor off his top lip before he spoke. "Why are you doing this, helping me?" he asked lowly, voice still rough from sleep. He kept his head tilted down, frowning at the linoleum beneath Stiles' feet but still able to make out the Omega turning his head to him with an eyebrow cocked, cup still lifted up to his lips as he paused drinking. "And don't say it's payback for that Jackson shit, because really that's me paying you back for all the shit I've done to you since I moved here." He finally lifted his head, taking in the confusion on the younger man's face and in his scent. "I don't get why you're being nice to me when I don't deserve it."

Stiles slowly lowered his cup, gulping loudly as he swallowed what had been in his mouth while placing the drink to the side. He cleaned off his top lip as a frown formed on his face and Derek had a moment of regret over asking if it caused the Omega to look so upset. But he needed to know the real reasons behind it, needed to know it was more than just an obligation he felt or a way of saying thanks.

The younger man wrapped his arms around himself and scowled at the floor in front of himself. "Thought you already knew," he said weakly, sniffing and shrugging a shoulder. "I mean, we talked about it earlier."

Derek bobbed his eyebrows and titled his head in concession, memories of that conversation coming back, remembering how Stiles had said there were feelings there, settling for friends and being okay with holding off on anything more. Even if it meant nothing more would happen.

"I guess I just don't understand how you could possibly stand to be around me or why you like me or anything like that," he admitted, scratching at his stumbled jaw. "Other than it being a result of-"

"I swear to god if you make another reference to our biology, I will claw your dick off and make a shake out of it," Stiles threatened, eyes shut tight as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Alpha shut his mouth with an audible click.

A sigh came from the younger man as he reopened his eyes and refilled his arms, shrugging and shaking his head. "Biology is a small part of the attraction, yeah, sure, I'll admit that," he began, scratching at his forehead with a finger then shrugging again, not looking Derek's way. "But it's not all of it. I." He paused, sighed again, ducked his head and stared at the floor. His scent grew embarrassed, red splotches forming on his cheek, and Derek grew still, his every sense zeroed in on the other guy. "I kinda had a crush on you before I met you, as weird as that sounds. Like, I saw your pics on Scott's Facebook page and thought you were hot, yeah, but. But it was the stories, man, the things Scott told me about you, the way you were always there for him, how he'd brag about you and whatever game you just played, family stuff or bro stuff, whatever." He smiled briefly before growing embarrassed again and he cleared his throat. "I dunno, it's probably stupid, but I guess part of me feels like that guy from before is still in there and I'm hoping he'll come back. Kinda dumb huh?" He finally turned to Derek, self-deprecating wince on his face.

The Alpha stared dumbfounded, part of him hating the mortified scent and expression the younger man was wearing. But the other part of him was... well, honestly, he didn't know what it was feeling or thinking. The tips of his ears were burning in embarrassment again, strangely complimented by the admission and having a hard time to accept it. And there was also a sense of guilt, a huge weight settling in his chest with the knowledge that he wasn't what Stiles had come to know and expect from the stories he'd heard. He was a bigger letdown than he'd originally thought and while he was struck by the urge to wolf out and hide from the shame of it, he was also equally motivated to do something about it.

Maybe.

Fuck, it sounded so easy in his head but he knew it was gonna be hard as hell actually doing it and he wasn't sure he could do it, could change, go back to the way he used to be. Or at least close to what he used to be.

He roughed his hand over his face a few times before laying his forearm flat on the round table, hand dangling off the side, fingers playing with those on his right hand. "I'm not that guy anymore," he stated lowly, wincing at the way his wolf was whining and hiding its head beneath its paws.

"I know," Stiles replied just as quiet, sniffing once. "You don't go through something like that and come out the other side exactly the same."

"Right but I turned into the world's biggest douche."

"Eh." The Omega shrugged a shoulder and gave him a smirk. "Met bigger."

Derek just rolled his eyes. "Point I'm tryna make," he redirected the convo, attempting once again to get it all out there. "Is that I don't get why you're into me now. Most other people would've given up and decided to have nothing to do with me."

The smirk stayed, Stiles bobbing his eyebrows. "I'm not most people."

The Alpha licked his lips rather than responding, because the guy had a point. And on top of that, the fact that Stiles wasn't like most people was part of his appeal and why Derek had been drawn to him in the first place, and why he couldn't stay away.

"And like I said, I'm hoping that guy maybe a little bit comes back." Stiles gave another shrug, scratching at a sideburn then gesturing at Derek. "Or you at least become less of a douche."

A snort left the older man, head rocking as it hung loosely from his shoulders. "I want to," he confessed quietly. "I didn't before cause I didn't really give a fuck. But I do now." He stared at his hands as his fingers tangled together, as he began picking at a hangnail on his left thumb. "I know it won't happen overnight and it'll take a lotta work and probably groveling but. But I wanna do it. Not sure how but I'll figure it out I guess."

"Admitting it is the first step," Stiles quipped, saluting him with his cup before taking a big gulp of milkshake then chewing the chocolate chunks.

Derek rolled his eyes, the green orbs landing on his own cup and his half-melted shake. His broken record thoughts returned to how selfless Stiles was being helping him out despite rude behavior aimed his way, to how Stiles was willing to back off and try for a friendship because it was what Derek wanted, to how Stiles was willing to wait until Derek was ready for more.

Not that it would matter in Derek's eyes. Even if he ever did reach that point where he felt as though a relationship was doable, he didn't think he deserved Stiles, not after the way he'd treated the Omega. Sure, he could make it up to him somehow, but he honestly believed it would take the rest of his life to do just that.

And that was after he got his shit together and made himself worthy of being with Stiles in some capacity. And with his behavior over the past couple of months and the wounds that were barely beginning to heal, it was a good chance that would take years. Stiles didn't deserve that either, having to put shit on pause while he waited for some asshole to straighten up and get right. He should be out there having fun, dating around, testing the waters, having relationships...

His wolf grumbled in his head, a low growl that didn't seem to have an end, obviously not pleased with the idea of Stiles being with someone else. And the human half of him wasn't too thrilled with the idea either, his chest getting tight with upset and jealousy and a sort of possessiveness he'd never experienced before.

But if it was what Stiles wanted, he knew without a doubt he'd back off. He just wanted the Omega to be happy and Derek knew that wouldn't happen if he was sitting around waiting for something that would take years to occur.

"Maybe you really should just give up on me," he suggested lowly, eyes locked onto where his hand was wrapped around his cup, thumb rubbing at the condensation on it. "Or at least date someone else in the meantime while I get my shit together."

Stiles snorted, causing Derek to lift his head and shoot the younger man a confused look. "Sorry, I just. I never thought I'd hear an Alpha say something like that, especially to their—" he stopped short, peeking at Derek out the corner of his eye, scent shifting to a strange combination of unsure yet absolutely fucking positive. "Crush?" he suggested with a shrug, shaking his head before wrapping his arms around his torso once more.

Derek stared at him for a long moment, taking in a sharp jaw and an upturned nose, a lean body and broad shoulders, tawny hair and dark lashes. He knew Stiles was attractive, just like he knew water would be wet and the sun would rise in the east and the day ended with a "y". But it never failed to stop his heart and freeze his lungs when he took in just how beautiful the younger man was.

He hoped that reaction would never change.

"Yeah," he breathed out, knowing it was heard by the way the Omega inhaled it sharply and held it. "Crush works."

There was more to it and they both knew it. But shit had been heavy enough that day with full moon recoveries, talks of dead parents, and fuck ups. And knowing was enough. At least for Derek.

At least for the moment.

Stiles nodded his head like he agreed, taking another long drink of his shake and Derek mimicked the action. "Just so you know," the younger man began once he swallowed his mouthful and put his cup aside. "I'm not gonna. Date others or whatever bullshit it was that you just suggested."

Derek lowered his cup and opened his mouth to argue but a hand held up in his direction shut him up before he uttered more than an objecting syllable.

"I think by now you've figured out how fucking stubborn I can be," Stiles stated, giving him a pointed look that had Derek turning away. "I'm not giving up on you or the idea of an eventual us so get the fuck over it. Besides you probably need my help getting your head out your ass." He smirked at the last part, visible out the corner of Derek's eye and the Alpha scowled at it.

Once again he was struck by the need to argue, wanted to point out how he was perfectly capable of extracting his own head, but... but he wasn't entirely sure if that was even true. He had to admit, having help wouldn't hurt and it would go a long way to making amends if others knew he had someone already in his corner backing him up every step of the way. And if he faltered, stumbled, tripped in his way to straightening his shit out, he'd have someone to catch him, to turn him back in the right direction.

Only...

"I have no idea where to start," he muttered, brow drawing into a worried frown, free left hand rubbing at his thigh and feeling the slick mesh fabric of his shorts slide.

"Apologizing would help," Stiles suggested with a shrug of a shoulder, not even needing to know what Derek was referring to in order to understand. "Actually talking to people and telling them where you're coming from, what you're thinking and feeling, rather than just shutting them out. It helped with me and my dad."

The Alpha nodded, knowing it was good advice, feeling even more sound in his own belief that having the teen in his corner would be a giant help. Stiles had been there, had acted out after the death of a parent—of his werewolf parent and would know what he's talking about. All of his advice would come from a place of experience and while their situations weren't one-hundred percent the same, it was similar enough to where his words would still ring true for Derek.

He lifted his head and gave the other man an earnest expression, swallowing hard before speaking. "I'm sorry."

A burst of surprise colored Stiles' scent, his eyebrows lifting momentarily before his features morphed into a small smile. "It's okay."

Derek frowned at the easy forgiveness, at the tightness that was around Stiles' eyes that spoke to an underlying hurt that still remained. "No, it's not. I slammed you into things, I growled at you, I pushed you away. I'm gonna make it up to you, I'm gonna explain it all. One day, just," he paused, wincing, wishing he was ready to say it all, wishing he knew how to explain his past behavior when he didn't fully understand it. "Not today."

"I'll be here ready to listen whenever you're ready to say it." The smile on his face was easy this time, no tensing around his eyes, no hidden wince, no hurt note buried in his scent. Just an easy acceptance and a conviction that spoke to his faith in Derek and his ability to become a better man, a better Alpha, a better person.

Rising to his feet, he walked over to Stiles with an ease he didn't feel ten minutes ago, sore, tired muscles healing even more. He didn't hesitate once he reached the Omega, simply slid his arms around him and buried his nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling that citrus-sweet scent and relaxing into the first hug he'd voluntarily gave since the news of his father's death. Stiles froze for half a moment, his heart doing the same before picking up double-time, and he put his cup down on the counter before his own long arms wrapped around Derek's upper back.

The Alpha let out a sigh of relief at the embrace being returned, tension leaving his body on a shudder, his own heart racing the other man's. The warm notes of happiness and contentment filled his nose with every citrus-tinged inhaled and he felt his wolf roll over to show its belly, just as pleased and peaceful as the rest of him, and he shut his eyes tight to block out the rest of the world. All he needed was the Omega in his arms, that scent in his nose and that heartbeat against his chest.

"Thank you," he breathed out, words muffled against Stiles' skin.

A cheek rubbed against the side of his neck, making him shiver, a smile pressed into the same spot soon after. "Any time, big guy."

Derek buried the smile on his face into Stiles' skin, ignoring the content rumble that came out of his chest in response to the promise.

---

"Have you ever had sex?"

The question scrambled Derek's brain momentarily, causing him to nearly choke on a chocolate chip as he struggled to figure out exactly how they had gotten to that point.

Okay, so after holding on to the guy for longer than sociably acceptable and mentally chalking it up to his wolf still being too close to the surface—a lie really but he was refusing to think about the truth—they both finished off their milkshakes and pointedly ignored the extended hug. Stiles poured the rest between their two cups and rinsed the blender out before they both settled back down on the couch where the Omega shared more stories about his dad helping his mom out post-shift, which then led to stories about staying with friends during a certain time of the year.

Which, apparently, led to Stiles asking Derek if he'd ever had sex.

Because of course.

He lowered his cup, turning to the teen he was sitting on the couch with, watching as he blinked rapidly, brown eyes wide and expectant with an air of innocence he had no fucking right to project given the question he'd just asked.

Classic Stiles.

Derek mentally shook it all off, chewing what was in his mouth, shrugging a shoulder and nodding. And not entirely seeing the point in the question.

All right, maybe he did. It'd become glaringly obvious over the past couple days that his... thing for Stiles was reciprocated, which meant that Stiles would be interested in things like Derek's past experience in relationships—and in the bedroom. Which, of course, further meant that Derek now wanted to know every single fucking thing Stiles had ever done, who he'd done it with, and how he could sink his claws into those motherfuckers and...

And do nothing because they weren't like that. Not to mention that sort of thing was illegal since humans just didn't understand the primal urge to rip apart competition.

Not that he was gonna compete with anyone for anything. Stiles wasn't a prize, this wasn't medieval times, and Derek wasn't a fucking barbarian.

He wasn't. He wasn't. He wasn't.

He also wasn't convincing himself very well.

Fuck.

Stiles nodded like a bobble-head, frowning down at where he was repeatedly stabbing a spoon into his milkshake—because he needed something to fiddle with, of fucking course—scent hard to figure out. "Soooo," he stretched the word out, curiosity becoming the more dominant note in his chemosignals, with a slight hint of worry and self-consciousness. "Waaaaas it good?"

The Alpha drew his brow together contemplatively, lips pulled down in a thoughtful pout. "Which time?"

He snorted in disbelief, head rocking, mouthing a "wow" as his eyes widened and he turned to the older man. "Why am I not surprised you've done it more than once?" he muttered, probably to himself more than anything, continuing at a slightly louder volume. "And with more than one person, right?"

Derek nodded, not seeing the point in lying, not entirely sure if he was proud of his past experience since it meant he knew what he was doing in bed and would be able to please Stiles, or embarrassed and regretful, wanting to have Stiles be the only person he'd hooked up with.

Not that it mattered really. If there was one thing he'd learned over the past two months was that you couldn't change anything about your past. Make up for mistakes? Maybe, if you were willing to put in the work. But you couldn't undo anything, couldn't erase it completely, couldn't make it go away, just make it hurt a little less when you looked back on it.

"Paige when I was fifteen, we dated a few months before she moved away," he told, voice low, eyes focused on the contents of his own cup. He couldn't look at Stiles while coming clean about this shit, felt too open, those holes in his walls widening, gaping now. Eye contact would make the crumbling mortar and cracked bricks completely fall apart and leave him impossibly bared under heavy whiskey eyes.

Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat, swirling his cup around, watching chocolate chips spin around the melted portion of his milkshake. "Then a summer fling with this guy Adam at a lacrosse camp upstate, then I dated Kate for about two years."

Stiles nodded, taking it all in, drinking deep from his milkshake then wincing at the shot of brain freeze that came as a free chaser. Swallowing hard, he rested the cup on his knee, the other one bouncing, anxiety and self-deprecation growing stronger in his scent but still overpowered by his curiosity. "Scott told me she was a bitch," he commented, shrugging a shoulder and swiping a finger under his nose like it was no biggie, like he didn't care, like it wasn't important.

Frowning, Derek kept staring at his drink, kept swirling it around, thinking back on his time with Kate. Hindsight was twenty-twenty and he felt like he'd just had Lasik, allowing him to clearly see all the bullshit their relationship was comprised of. She was rude, callous, uncaring, selfish, egotistical, entitled...basically, a bitch.

"Yeah," he breathed out, raising his cup to his lips. "She was."

Confusion was an overwhelming scent and out the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Stiles shifting in his seat, turning so he was tucked into the corner of the couch, facing Derek full on. A puzzled sneer was on his face, spoon shoved in his mouth, and he pulled it out with a pop. "Why'd you date her then?"

"She wasn't a bitch in the beginning," he argued, feeling a strange need to defend her—or, more accurately, defend his decision. He smeared a hand down his face, rubbed at his whiskered cheek, then gestured at nothing. "I dunno. I guess it just made sense or some shit. Varsity basketball player, varsity cheerleader. All the cliches say we should've been together." He paused, letting out a sigh as he shook his head helplessly. "After a while, it was just safer to stay together. We both got used to being together and didn't wanna look elsewhere for anyone or whatever. Plus," he gestured with his cup. "The sex wasn't terrible so." He wrapped it up with a shrug and took a drink.

Stiles scowled at his now empty cup, scent shifting to full-on upset and staying there, shoulders hunching as he curled in on himself. Immediately Derek felt like he'd fucked up in some way, that he'd said the wrong thing, that his words had been what had caused such a negative reaction in the Omega.

But what exactly it was that he'd said that had caused it...

He'd been completely honest, for better or worse—probably more worse, considering the salty taste of sadness that hung in the air and the way Stiles was now completely still, brow pulled in a hard line and teeth sinking into his bottom lip. But maybe...maybe it wasn't his honesty or too much honesty or not enough, it was just the facts he'd stated. His and Kate's relationship started out as an image thing and really only progressed to a sex thing. Derek had thought it had been love, but chances were it was just hormones at work and the fact that he was regularly getting his dick wet.

Now, looking back, with fresh eyes and a clear head, he knew it wasn't what he thought it'd been. And deep down, he'd probably known that at the time, but had grown too comfortable in his role as Kate Argent's Boyfriend and what came with it—like the power behind the Argent name and the ability to get laid without too much effort in seeking out a partner. He'd never really cared about her, not in the deep way he was supposed to love someone. It'd been the same amount of concern he'd felt for his friends, his teammates, nothing like what he was feeling even now for Stiles. For Erica, Isaac, Boyd.

For his family. Maria included.

He glanced at the saddened Omega on the couch with him, took in long lashes and a sharp jawline, pouting lips and an upturned nose. His chest grew tight at the sight of him, his stomach doing that weird swooping thing where it felt like it was falling, and he inhaled sharply, a minute quirk of the eyebrow the only hint that Stiles had caught the noise. With Stiles, it wouldn't just be sex or an image thing. It wouldn't be the cliché of varsity cheerleader and captain of the lacrosse team. It wouldn't be a power play out of some stupid superficial bullshit need to gain even more popularity by combining it with another's. It would be deeper, heartfelt, powerful in a completely different way.

It scared the shit out of Derek.

Yet for all the terror it induced, he couldn't help but want it, one day in the future. He wanted the making love rather than having sex, he wanted to hold hands for the connection rather than a show, he wanted to kiss for the feel of Stiles' lips on his rather than one-upping someone else's PDA. He wanted date nights and anniversaries and to say cheesy shit, pay compliments, wax poetic over mole-kissed skin and cupid's bow lips and not be told he was pathetic and a loser and asked what the fuck was wrong with him, was he retarded. He wanted to know what made Stiles' breath catch and thighs shake and lips part on a moan not so he could get the guy wet so he could get laid already, but because he wanted to bring the Omega pleasure more than he wanted to be pleased himself. He wanted to take care of him, provide for him, protect him more than punching out some pissant Beta in a locker room.

He wanted a real relationship. He wanted it with Stiles.

He just didn't think he was ready for it quite yet.

He opened his mouth to explain all of it, to actually admit it out loud for once in his pathetic life, only to have the doorbell ring and completely shatter the moment. His head snapped towards the door, a low growl leaving him, lip pulled back in a sneer as his wolf raised its hackles and echoed his sentiment. Whoever was there had made a very fucking stupid—and deadly—decision by choosing to come over, by choosing to interrupt him while he was spending time with his Omega, and they were fucking gonna know about it, too.

"Open up, Alpha-Man!" demanded a familiar female voice, fist pounding on the door for back-up. "We know you're home! Quit growling and let us in!"

Goddammit, Erica.

Putting his cup on the coffee table, he rested his elbows on his knees, roughing his hands over his face as he let out a few choice swears. Out of all the times and days for her to come over and be obnoxious...

His attention was pulled away from his internal ranting by the sounds of fabric shuffling and he lifted his head to find Stiles rising to his feet, grabbing his backpack from where it'd been laying on the ground. Immediately his heart began pounding faster, harder, wolf whimpering in his head, hand reaching out to wrap around Stiles' wrist as the teen bent over to pick up his book where it was laying on the coffee table.

"You don't have to leave," Derek declared, swallowing hard as he stared up at the Omega with pleading eyes. But Stiles wasn't looking at him, eyes locked on where fingers were wrapped around his bare forearm, on the thumb rubbing at his pulse-point, his own heart beating faster than it had all afternoon—save for the moment when Derek had spontaneously used his lap as a pillow and the just as spontaneous long ass hug in the kitchen.

He really needed to have a discussion with his wolf about personal boundaries and dragging people into cuddling.

"It's fine," Stiles murmured, voice rough, lifting his eyes to give the older man a shaky smile. "Seriously. I should head home anyway, see if my dad's up."

It wasn't a lie, but there was still something in the way he held himself, in the way he spoke that gave voice to reluctance, to a desire to not do what he'd just said he was gonna do. Derek felt an all-consuming urge to volunteer to go with him, to suggest he send the Pack home and that he join Stiles at his house, that maybe they could continue the book over there, maybe even with his dad joining them.

Only he didn't say it out loud.

Because it was too much, too close to the relationship thing he'd briefly contemplated moments before, and he suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed by everything, by Stiles and the thought of having him as something more than what this afternoon had been.

So with great reluctance of his own, Derek nodded and let his fingers slip away from a slender wrist, immediately missing the feel of soft skin on his palm, the tingles the contact had induced. "Okay," he whispered thickly, hand falling onto his lap, head ducking to stare at it as he tangled his fingers together. "You can finish reading it to me some other time then."

A throat was cleared, the book lifted off the table and placed inside the backpack with great care, and Derek caught the scent of happiness, swirling in the air with the sadness of Stiles' impending departure. "Yeah. There's always next full moon, right?"

The knowledge of that had the Alpha's sluggish heart kicking up a beat again, corner of his lips pulling up despite his desire to mope and pout. "Right."

Stiles nodded and without another word, he walked around the coffee table and made his way to the front door, opening it up to reveal a surprised Pack.

"Why, hello there, Stilinski," Erica greeted, smirk evident in her voice, mischievous giggle leaving her.

"Hey, guys," Stiles returned it companionably, shuffling his way past them. "Bye, guys."

Footsteps, the door shutting, and Derek buried his face in his hands again, wolf whimpering in his head with a patheticness he wanted to echo out loud.

"Oh, Alpha-Man," Erica sighed out as she drew closer, the sound of two more pairs of feet following, Isaac and Boyd clearly having joined her. She flopped back on the couch right before someone gingerly lowered themselves onto the armchair—Isaac, Derek guessed—slipping her shoes off then repeatedly poking him in the thigh with her toe. "You got some 'splainin' to dooooo!" she quipped, Ricky Ricardo accent on point, mischievous giggle from moments before back in full force.

"Shit."