Chapter Five, The Mysterious Mister Hale

To say things were tense was an understatement, Stiles thought to himself. Derek had been avoiding him. Was avoiding him. Except for every night, between two and three in the morning when he would break into Stiles' room and ask for forgiveness for crimes he wouldn't talk about. Crimes if it could even be considered that. Stiles really had no idea.

He spent the three days getting more acquainted with the others and learning what he could about the enigma that was Derek Hale. The most he got was that Derek favored roasts and bacon (Chris), he wasn't a show-off and liked to keep to himself (Allison), he was an excellent kisser even though he rejected her (Erica), he liked being in control and needing to feel in control (Boyd), he was misunderstood and way too hard on himself (Melissa), he had his secrets and they were eating him alive (Isaac) and the most useless information of all was that Derek was the biggest douchebag to ever douche and he couldn't give a shit about anyone else (Scott). Peter arched his brows, proceeded to check Stiles out and then said: "I'm more interesting." Lydia had just huffed and rolled her eyes and didn't answer.

Overall, his three day vacation from Derek was wasted. Internet searches got him nothing. And when he tried to join the study sessions that Peter and Lydia spent all their time caught up in, he was disturbed to find that it was mostly them bantering over a book or two, almost like they had given up on ever getting free. At least they weren't miserable pits of despair and rage like Scott. Not that it was Scott's fault –his life sucked and he could blame it on Derek. And he did have every right to do it. He just wasn't helping anyone in the anger and despair he was keeping himself cloaked in and in the end, he would do himself more harm that way.

Day four, Stiles got up earlier than usual although it was near hellish to do so. He was running on about six hours of disturbed sleep as he snuck back downstairs and made waffles. It was his mother's recipe. He had it memorized and although it took him twice as long to make it as it usually would, due to his struggle for locating ingredients, he still made them. From scratch, just the way she used to do it. He served up a plate and made his way upstairs, towards Derek's room. His three days had also been good for learning the layout of the house.

He didn't knock, not wanting to have to endure the useless banter of how Derek didn't want to see him or whatever he would say. He opened the door to see Derek sitting up in bed, watching him warily. Stiles paused for a moment before holding the plate out to him. Derek reached out, taking it, shooting Stiles a suspicious glare before sniffing the meal.

"I didn't poison it," Stiles snapped.

Derek's lips twitched. "Thought you might have been testing out that theory, seeing if my death would release you or curse you."

Stiles scoffed, "Yeah because I'm just that badass to poison a guy with apology waffles."

"Apology waffles?"

"Yeah, something wrong with that?"

"What if I don't want the apology? What if I just want to eat the waffles?"

"It's a package deal. You eat the waffles, you accept the apology. Or you don't eat them or their apology."

"I didn't know waffles were capable of being sorry." His lip was definitely twitching, and it seemed to require extra effort from him to keep himself from smiling.

"Would you just eat the damn things already?"

Derek smirked, looking up at him. "With my hands or my teeth?"

Stiles looked at his plate and realized that he had forgotten the silverware downstairs. "Uh…"

"I'm not an animal," Derek continued, that cocky smirk glued to his face. "I at least need a fork, Stiles."

"Uh, right, of course."

Stiles ducked out of the room, fleeing back downstairs to the kitchen to grab the fork that he had forgotten before hurrying back upstairs. When he got to Derek's room, it was to see him pulling a shirt on. His plate was empty except for a small trail of syrup.

"Needed a fork, huh?" Stiles asked dryly, reaching for the plate.

Derek smirked as he tugged his shirt back down. "Well you didn't seem to mind," he teased.

"Oh come on," Stiles said, exasperated. "Really? Next time, buddy, you can get your own fork. I'm not your servant."

"Unless this really is Beauty and the Beast, right?" Derek asked casually, not even making eye contact. "Because if I'm the Beast, then everyone's my servant."

"Your cursed servants," Stiles added. "And if we went with the Disney version of events, I demand that you break out into song. Like right now."

Derek arched a brow. "I don't have to listen to a servant," he said, almost smugly.

"I am so not a servant; I'm not a teacup or a singing candlestick."

"Then who would you be?"

"Clearly the Beauty. I'm the Beauty to your Beast man, we just gotta commence with the kissing and everything'll be great again, right."

Derek's other brow raised to greet the first one. "Commence with the kissing?" he repeated dryly. "I don't think it was the kiss that saved the Beast. You got your stories confused, Stiles. What kind of studying have you been doing?" He smirked as he walked past Stiles.

That, that right there was seriously unfair. And Stiles would blame his filter as being the only thing capable of causing the next scenario. He casually leaned out of Derek's bedroom.

"So that's a no to kissing? I mean it could work." It worked for Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and it would have worked for The Little Mermaid. "It's worked in the other documented cases," Stiles added with a snicker.

Those fairytales were the only documented cases, unless he wanted to start putting faith in television mythology and exploring what other avenues there could be. Honestly, true love's kiss would be the easiest solution to this curse –and that wasn't saying or implying that Stiles was Derek's true love, because there was no way.

Not that Derek didn't have a great personality… but he really didn't. And Stiles didn't know near enough about him. But he could say that Derek was fit and very attractive to standards –not Stiles' standards, but the world at large and probably most of the female population. If he tidied up that scruff and maybe lost some of the growly, surly werewolf act. But his attractiveness was still pretty up there, Stiles realized.

And during his internal dialogue, thoughts churning about the attractiveness of one Hale, he never noticed that Derek had turned back and was walking back up the stairs towards him.

"It almost sounds like you want to kiss me," Derek said, his expression guarded as he watched Stiles.

"Something's better than nothing?" he laughed nervously.

He wasn't exactly averse to the idea of kissing Derek, especially in comparison to being stuck here for who-knows-how-long. And the research he had suggested that it could work. Fairytales –they had good morals and those morals were based off ancient retold stories. No one really knew how much truth was in them, or had been in them at the time. And there was no true explanation about true love's kiss after all –like, was it true love because both parties knew they were in love or was it something closer to love at first sight and soulmates and the magic would just work if it was meant to work? Maybe if he really believed it would work, but somehow he didn't think it would be that simple.

Derek stopped in front of him, eyebrow arched as he looked at him skeptically. "And you think this is going to work? Because of some Disney movies?"

"No! Because of Grimm's fairytales and Hans Christian Andersen. Kisses worked for Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and it would have worked for The Little Mermaid too, you know."

Granted, it had worked on Snow White because the piece of poisoned apple in her throat was dislodged around the time of the kiss (and not because of it) and it had worked on Sleeping Beauty because her curse was specific to that and the hundred year's aspect of her sleep had faded… There was no reason true love's kiss wouldn't have saved the mermaid, if only she had been able to attain it before she died. Disney had all the fluffier versions.

"It won't work, Stiles," Derek sighed. "It won't work for me, for us, for them."

"How do you know?" Stiles questioned. At his silence he carried on, "Have you tried it before? Do you know a reason why it wouldn't work?" He looked at Derek daringly, seeing the hesitation in his gaze.

If Derek knew it wouldn't work, he could at least explain why. So it was either a kiss or information to get out of the kiss. It wasn't like he could make Derek do either, but they had to do something. Things had been at a stalemate for far too long.

Derek moved abruptly, catching Stiles completely off guard as he pressed his lips against Stiles' chastely for less than two seconds before he was pulling back. "Told you," he said quietly, doing a cursory glance at his hands before he went to turn away.

"You can't just-just do that!" he hissed, staring at Derek in shock.

Derek paused, peering at him worriedly. "I thought… that was what you wanted? To see if it would work?"

"Not-not like that!" Stiles squeaked out, turning away from him.

"I thought… I'm sorry." He walked away briskly, leaving Stiles alone in the doorway.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted Derek to kiss him, wasn't it? He had. He had wanted Derek to kiss him, but that was entirely based on an experiment that might break the curse or to force information out of him. But instead, he got nothing out of the man. Except a kiss and some sinking feeling that was churning disappointment and guilt into an ugly combination of bitter regret. He shoved the feelings aside. No progress was some progress, right? Process of elimination. He stared after Derek.

So what if his first kiss was totally just taken by a man at least five years older than him? It didn't mean anything. There were probably a lot of people who had first kisses who were less than ideal. At least Stiles could say that he had asked for his. Although he had imagined it involving soft, non-stubbly lips and a feminine figure a little closer opposed to the slightly dry, stubbly lips and a body that was clearly off-limits.

Stiles was mostly in shock. He had expected Derek to cave and tell him something, not to kiss him. His virgin lips were no longer as virginal as the rest of him. That was okay, he guessed. It wasn't like there was something else he could do about it. And after pushing Derek to that point, he totally shut the guy down. With a guilty sigh he headed down the hall to find Derek.

"Have you cleared this relationship with the PETA yet?" Peter drawled, leaning against his doorway smugly. "I bet they'd have some strong words for you."

Stiles stared at him, horror and shock bubbling their way to the surface. He felt the hair on the back on his neck standing on edge. The guy was seriously creepy. His arrogant smirk combined with his narrowed, suspicious eyes really didn't do much to help with his appearance either.

"I mean really. Was that really "consent"?" Peter smirked. "Could he consent to that? That was practically extortion," he shook his head disapprovingly. "If you wanted him that badly, you should have at least followed through with it."

Stiles didn't bother to dignify him with a response, simply flipped him off as he hurried back downstairs. He didn't want to think about what Peter had seen, or why Peter was blatantly calling Derek an animal. It didn't matter. Family spat, right? Stiles felt even more reassured by his decision to research alone and give Lydia and Peter whatever space they required. It wasn't like Derek was an animal or anything; he was a human being underneath the extra hair, fangs and claws. Derek never asked for this –except, there was that niggling doubt in the back of his mind.

Stiles knew nothing about Derek. At all. Other than that he ate breakfast without silverware, had a kickass body… was unfortunately cursed. But Stiles didn't know about why the curse had been placed on the guy and until he did, he wasn't sure just how much he could trust Derek. That was hard. What if the guy had done something to deserve it? What if he had killed someone? It didn't mean he deserved this –whatever he had done –this was punishment to more people than just Derek. Everyone Derek tried to help, everyone who stumbled onto this property got saddled with the same curse. It wasn't fair to them. Maybe it was meant to make Derek suffer more, but that didn't make it anymore fair. This curse was wrong and unjust. If Derek had even done something to deserve it.

Stiles found him in the basement after nearly an hour and a half spent searching for him. Derek was doing pull-ups on the entryway of the middlemost cell, his back to Stiles. This left all the more for Stiles to ogle, considering somewhere along the way the lycanthropic man had lost his shirt. And actually, if he was actively looking for it, the teenager spotted it hanging two cells down. He considered breaking the pleasurable silence as he watched Derek routinely pull himself up and lower himself back down, the breathlessness of it making him realize that Derek probably did this sort of stuff frequently.

"So this is what you do in your free time?" Stiles blurted out.

Derek dropped to his feet and in testament to his physique, Stiles couldn't tell whether he had dropped from surprise or whether it was a controlled drop. "And I see this is what you do," he snarked, glancing at Stiles. "Stalking isn't healthy, Stiles."

"And neither is obsessively exercising," he retorted. "And I was not stalking you. Just… looking for you. Besides, I can hardly stalk you inside your own house."

They would run into each other everywhere. Derek's house may be a mansion, but still, it wasn't that big. Stiles could go out shopping for groceries in Beacon Hills and run into eight people he knew, easy. Derek's house could probably hold twenty people and there were only about ten staying here. Running into Derek in his house could hardly be constituted as stalking. Although if that ever made it to a court, in any sense with any person, it would be really interesting to see what the legal ramifications would be once everyone got over the hysteria of it. They might not classify it as stalking either; probably something along the lines of unlawful confinement if that was more suited to the details of the case.

"You found me," he ground out flatly, snatching a towel from a nearby cell and wiping his face off with it. He did a quick rub over his chest and back before grabbing his shirt and pulling it off.

"So… not what I expected these cells were used for," Stiles responded, trying not to seem too distracted by Derek's muscular body. He felt so weak, and tiny, in comparison to the buff, broad shouldered man in front of him.

"What did you think they were for?" Derek arched a brow at him.

"Uh… sex dungeon? Y'know with sex slaves and the chains and the whole shebang. Thought that might've been your kink…"

Derek's eyebrow twitched –and that was either some impressive muscle control or… or a lot of rage judging by the look in the older man's eyes. "And what changed your mind?" His tone disguised the irritation seamlessly, Stiles had to admit.

"Uh, you know… that you held my dad down here. And his clothes were on and um, you didn't keep me down there and no one really mentioned it…"

"They're for the full moon," Derek said tightly.

"Oh my god!" Stiles shouted excitedly. "You are werewolves!"

"We're cursed," he corrected with a weary sigh. "Peter, Lydia and I are the only ones with enough control to survive the night. The others have to be locked up. Especially Scott and Erica. This is the hardest on them."

"Whoa. What kind of… what do you mean?"

Derek sighed heavily. "It's not a big deal, don't worry about it."

"Excuse me! It so is a big deal. I live here now. You can't just arbitrarily keep me in the dark like this!" he scowled.

"Uh yes, I can, actually," he growled. "This is my house, in case you've forgotten."

"Oh how could I?" he sniped. "I'm the one stuck here. This isn't home to me."

"And you think it is to me?!" the werewolf roared.

Stiles flew back from him, seeing the red in Derek's eyes brighten. He stumbled back towards the stairs, tentatively peeking out towards Derek. His clawed hands clutched the bars of the cell as he pressed his face against the cool metal.

"I didn't mean to lose my temper," he said quietly.

Stiles jumped when he heard the footsteps behind him, whirling to see Isaac walking towards him. He flashed him warm puppy eyes and gestured for them to go back upstairs. Stiles looked back over at Derek, then to Isaac. He seemed to understand what it meant though, or chose to ignore it; it was hard to tell considering he repeated the same gesture again. Reluctantly Stiles went after him. Only when they were on the last step did another feral roar thunder through the house as they heard metal squealing and more growling. Isaac shut the door quickly and the sound was abruptly cut off.

Stiles stared in surprise. "What the hell was that about?"

"That was Derek," Isaac supplied unhelpfully. He smirked at the look on Stiles' face. "This happens sometimes, has been happening more frequently though. It freaks him out. It's like… he just gets so angry sometimes, it explodes. He's never hurt anyone before," he added quickly at Stiles' stricken look. "He'll be okay."

"Yeah, but are we going to be?"

"He would never hurt us," Isaac replied confidently.

Stiles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "So this… this happens a lot?"

"No, well…" Isaac hesitated, looking towards the steel door. "I mean, it didn't use to happen. When we were younger. When he was. It wasn't so bad. He kind of made things fun for us, as best he could. I appreciated his efforts. But as he got older, he started to get these…" he paused, shrugging, "attacks, I guess you could say. Of rage and anger and he'd just do his best to demolish whatever he could get his hands on.

"Between Chris and Melissa, they managed to set up that room to be Derek-proof. Not just for him of course. As he got those sorts of attacks, typically just before the full moon, we started getting them too. It's-it's like we're more animal than human then," Isaac frowned sadly. "Things just keep getting worse as this drags on."

"That's perfect!" Stiles exclaimed, hugging Isaac tightly. "Thank you –that –that really helps a lot!"

He didn't bother waiting to see Isaac's confused expression as he raced back upstairs to the study he had been using. He booted the computer up. More animal than human. Wasn't there a Greek myth about that? What if this was just an altered version of it? Some evil sorceress slowly turning them all into animals –a little bit drawn out and infinitely more complicated that Circe's simple enchantment. She had turned a crew of men into pigs or something. Stiles typed it in and let the Internet work its magic for him.

Somehow, what was just meant to be a brief five minute search turned into an all-nighter on a nearly empty stomach. At midnight, right on the dot, Derek stumbled into the room. He was dirt streaked and sweaty, dark circles under his eyes while bruises were scattered across his forearms.

Aiming for wit, Stiles managed a weak semblance of a smile. "Did you beat those chains up? Soften them up some?"

Derek half knelt, half fell to his knees at Stiles' side. He picked Stiles' hand up in his own, looking up at him with red eyes that were slowly fading.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Of course," Stiles mumbled, smiling at him. "It wasn't a big deal, you didn't scare me. In fact, I think I have some answers that might help you out."

Derek sighed, drawing back, the human features returning to their beastly quality as he dragged himself back to his feet. "Yeah, tomorrow. Goodnight." He walked away, not even lingering to hear Stiles' soft, "Night Derek."

Apology waffles for everyone! :3