A/N: Wow, are you guys amazing. Seriously. Go team fangirls and fanboys, because there was no way I was going to be able to just let this fic die after you rallied behind me. It was so hard losing something I had worked so many hours on, and that I was so proud of, but huzzah, today I return to you with that lost chapter, now rewritten.

Besides your support, which was crucial, let me tell you, the final push was that I finally got my invite to join Archive of Our Own today, and was able to start sharing fics there. If you don't know AO3, go there now, because it hosts some of the best fics around. I just never got around to becoming part of the site, and when I finally went to try, the waiting list said I'd be sitting on my thumbs until JANUARY, even with friends who are members recommending me. But today, I got the invite, made my account, and posted the first half of Perchance to Dream. Ah to share fics with more awesome people. It just gave me this great surge to write, and I flew through this rewrite much faster than I anticipated.

I hope to get through the next chapter fast as well, considering it will be wholly devoted to making this fic earn its rating. :-) Thank you all again for sticking with me during a difficult time. More soon!

Mr. Harris was the Devil. He was always a jackass, and seriously, how did that guy even get a teaching license, but on the worst of days, he was literally the Devil. Stiles was a good student—a straight 'A' student, even—and yet Mr. Harris still singled Stiles out more than anyone else and called him a waste of space.

Stiles was doing his best to ignore the Chemistry teacher, which wasn't difficult since his mind had been wandering all morning. Derek had snuck out early, just as Stiles was getting ready for school, though he had promised he would see Stiles later, which Stiles hoped meant Derek would take him up on his offer to crash the school. If no one noticed creepy stalker older Derek hanging around campus, they definitely wouldn't pay attention to a kid who looked like he belonged there.

And then it was, just as Stiles was half-dozing in Chemistry, with his head resting on his hand, gazing out the window into the parking lot, that he spotted said occupying figure of all his mind's attention, leaning against the side of his jeep. There were a handful of other students outside who were lucky enough to have a free period, so a handsome teen in a borrowed red hoodie didn't stand out at all. Except to Stiles.

The hoodie. Stiles' heart rate picked up simply from looking at the form of young Derek wearing his red hoodie, one of his most prized possessions, which he hadn't even known Derek had swiped. Stiles wasn't upset by this revelation at all, either, but instead couldn't help thinking about how much the sweatshirt would smell like Derek once he got it back.

Their eyes met across the parking lot into the Chemistry room, Derek probably able to hear Stiles' erratic heartbeat from all the way outside. Derek smiled, and Stiles' thoughts immediately strayed to the night before, when they had been so tightly pressed together again, they had kissed, and Derek's hand had trailed down Stiles' belly…

"Mr. Stillinski," interrupted Harris' aggravated—aggravating—voice.

Stiles jumped, because if he was called up to the board or something, he was so screwed. He shifted in his seat, willing his natural reaction to go the hell back down.

"Since you are so entranced by this beautiful cloudy and cold autumn day, why don't you read starting from page 79?"

If Stiles hadn't already read the chapter on covalent bonds three weeks ago, he might have been ruffled, but he could answer anything Harris threw at him after he was finished reading out loud. Dick.

Once the mandated torture was over with, Stiles risked a quick glance outside again, no longer spotting Derek beside the jeep but on his way inside the school. Stiles' pulse quickened again. He remembered a time when his pulse would pick up upon seeing Derek for wholly different reasons. He definitely liked their new arrangement better.

Which was actually part of the problem.

Stiles finally saw Derek up close after his last class had finished while he was fishing around in his locker for his lacrosse gear. Derek was down the hall talking with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac, the same carefree and smiley version of the Alpha that Stiles had been growing so close to.

A lump formed in Stiles' throat as he watched them talking happily, casually, without any care or fear of what was to come.

"Still hot," came Lydia's apathetic voice as she leaned against the locker beside Stiles.

Stiles turned to see that Alison was also there, both of them staring down the hallway at Derek.

Alison nodded, answering with just as much detachment. "Still hot."

Of course Stiles wasn't surprised that both of them had been filled in on recent events, but their offhandedness annoyed him a little. "I'm so happy hotness is the important focal point of the situation," he grumbled, dropping his remaining books into the bottom of his locker loudly after tugging his lacrosse bag out.

Lydia turned to regard him with a flip of her strawberry blonde hair. A potent stare from her still made the blood rush up into Stiles' cheeks. "Considering the way you were staring just now, I figured it was the important focal point."

Her green eyes shifted from Stiles to the other end of the hall where Jackson was already heading off to practice. Lydia pushed away from the lockers with a brief but pointed final look at Stiles, before hurrying off to catch up with him.

Stiles continued staring into his locker for a moment, not really needing anything else, but not really keen on moving right away either. Then he remembered that Alison was still standing behind him. He turned to look at her and saw how much more calculating her gaze on Derek had become, like she was trying to work out some equation tattooed to the guy's head.

"Hey…you're not…planning on capitalizing on the situation in any…homicidal way, are you?" Okay, so not Stiles' most subtle approach, but he had seen Alison act pretty damn psycho recently.

Alison turned, shaken from her thoughts, and her expression softened. "I'm fine. This Derek doesn't even remember anything. And…even if he did, I…I know what really happened that night with…Mom. She was trying to kill Scott, and when Derek went in to save him, the wolf's bane in the air disoriented him. He never…he never meant to bite her. He didn't even know he had. I believed him when he told me that. Besides…he didn't force Mom to make the choice she did."

Yeah, the cowardly choice, Stiles thought, though of course he didn't comment. Although, cowardly wasn't really the right word, because Stiles was pretty sure he would never have the strength to go out that way, even if the zombie apocalypse finally descended.

"That's…good, I guess," Stiles said. "You're part of the pack, you know. And we like it that way."

An honest though small smile filled Alison's expression, and then she steeled herself, pulling on a veil of some hidden, inner confidence, and headed off toward Derek and the group of wolves since Scott had just joined them.

Once again, Stiles simply looked on, watching the way Derek moved and laughed, and then lit up when Scott introduced him to Alison.

"Let me guess…Miguel's younger brother?"

Stiles jumped—again. What was with everyone sneaking up on him lately? He turned to find Danny gathering his own lacrosse gear a few lockers down. "Uhh…well…"

Danny smiled in his usual knowing, charming way. "Dude, I'm just teasing you. Jackson told me everything. I didn't even know who Derek Hale was that first time you conned me. You could have told me his real name."

A small part of Stiles wanted to be pissed at Jackson for just spreading their deep dark pack secrets to all his friends, but then Stiles had already admitted to himself and others that Lydia and Danny were both more or less pack themselves. "Yeah, well…live and learn. And right now we're going with 'Joe', if anyone asks."

Danny grinned wider and nodded, shutting his locker as he hoisted his lacrosse bag over his shoulder.

Stiles shot another quick look over at the group down the hall and caught Derek staring at him. He immediately swallowed and licked self-consciously at his lips.

"So…Joe, huh?"

"Yeah."

"And you've been in love with him how long?"

Stiles nearly bit his tongue, turning an unattractive gape upon Danny—and he knew it was unattractive when he gaped like that, because he looked like a suffocating fish. "Wh-what are you talking about? We're just…it's just…like…a thing. A small thing. I'm not—"

"And how long has Joe been in love with you? Or should I say Miguel this time, since I'm pretty sure he was giving you some intense looks back on that first day—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles interrupted, holding both hands up, which unbalanced his lacrosse bag from his shoulder and nearly caused it to flop to the floor. "I wasn't even on Derek's radar before all this younger version stuff happened. You're crazy."

Danny raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? Coz I'm pretty sure a werewolf letting you pimp him out for information is a big sign of adoration. You weren't exactly subtle in how you got me to help you out that day, and he just played along."

"He smashed my face into my steering wheel for that later."

"Oh? Did he hurt you?"

Stiles considered that and had to admit that…well, no. Sure, it had hurt, but if Derek had meant the attack seriously, he could have broken Stiles nose with a move like that. Stiles hadn't even bruised. It was like Derek had planned the moved perfectly to make sure Stiles mostly protected himself with his hands. Like it was all just…for show.

Against any better judgment of his own, Stiles found his eyes drifting over to the group again, not really noticing when Danny left. Derek was still casting glances at him, not at all subtly, either, and Stiles felt his knees weaken at the same time that the lump returned in his throat. He didn't want to go over to the group. He didn't trust himself with Derek in a group setting right now, for fear he'd make a complete fool of himself, because his emotions were scattered and fighting for dominance in some whirling cyclone of crazy. Part of him was just…angry, because after finding this feeling—the intense combination of feelings that Derek brought out in him—he didn't know if he could handle losing it.

So instead of risking humiliation or any number of other outcomes, Stiles softly said, "Hey. Can you tell Scott and the other guys to get their asses in gear? We gotta get to lacrosse practice."

Derek nodded, of course able to hear him down the hall and over the constant din of the students.

"Thanks. I'll…see you there?" Stiles asked hopefully.

Derek nodded again, tilting his head a moment as if to ask, 'What's wrong?'

"I…nothing, I just…like knowing you'll be there." And that wasn't a lie; Stiles wanted Derek to be there, to just…be there, with him, but he couldn't shake the fear that everything was temporary, and his crap-life would soon rear back up and take something that mattered away from him again.

Stiles hurried off to practice without looking back.

Practice was equally awesome and a total disaster. A disaster because, for the first twenty minutes, Stiles slipped and fell on his ass about ten times. The sight of Derek in the stands with Alison and Lydia turned out to be more than he could handle—at least as far as focusing any better than he normally did.

At one point he even tripped into Coach Finstock, which prompted the tactless teacher to say, "Stop watching your girlfriend in the stands, Stillinski. We've got a game coming up." Which, of course, had Jackson and Scott falling over each other laughing.

Stiles didn't find it very funny.

But then, as practice continued, little by little something amazing started happening. Instead of tripping over himself and acting like a complete idiot, the sound of Derek's cheers alongside Alison and Lydia's started to have the opposite effect on Stiles, and he was filled with a confidence he hadn't known since that night he scored all those goals in front of his dad. He even got a goal past Danny, which possibly made Stiles even prouder than scoring against an opposing team.

By the time practice was over, Stiles being on first line no longer seemed like a fleeting thing, and other players were constantly offering encouragement. Even Jackson smacked Stiles good-naturedly on the back as they were heading into the locker room.

Stiles was so high on the attention and adrenaline, he didn't notice that he was being followed until a firm hand was suddenly around his mouth and he was being pulled into the back corner by the lockers no one used. Panic flared in Stiles' chest for only a second, before his mouth was released and he was whipped around to face a smiling Derek.

"Dude, boundaries. Do you know how many times I've been kidnapped and knocked unconscious?" Stiles reprimanded in a hiss, though he couldn't really bring himself to be mad when Derek was looking at him like that while wearing his red hoodie—like he wanted to bury his nose in Stiles' hairline or…lick him.

"You were awesome out there," Derek beamed. "You know…once you found your feet."

"Hey! You were…distracting me."

"Yeah? Well, I can think of better methods of distraction." Derek tugged Stiles in close by the front of his jersey. "I missed you," he whispered, and before Stiles could stop him, they were kissing, hot and hurried in the dark corner of the locker room. Derek's tongue felt so right against his…

Stiles snapped himself back to attention. "Derek," he hissed again, pushing on Derek's chest as he pulled out of their kiss. "We're surrounded by unenlightened teenage lacrosse players who do not need another reason to poke fun at me."

"I thought the goalie was gay. And everybody loves him," Derek said matter-of-factly, looking all smug with his lips slightly red and…moist.

"Yeah, well…still."

Derek just grinned wider and pulled himself in closer against Stiles, not kissing him this time, but sniffing intimately along Stiles' neck. "God, you smell amazing."

Stiles licked at the sweat on his top lip. "I just got done with practice. I probably reek."

Derek sniffed deeper behind Stiles' left ear to refute that, and his hands skimmed the edges of Stiles' jersey to the padding and skin beneath.

Stiles felt his pulse quickening again, like he was back on the field, only the blood was definitely rushing somewhere inappropriate. "Down boy," he said, pushing on Derek's chest again, though it was decidedly more unmovable this time. "Later…okay? We'll go back to my house once I'm cleaned up."

Derek pulled away finally with a quirked grin. "Really?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, not to…I-I didn't mean…you know, but…well, maybe a little." Damn, Derek made it hard to form coherent sentences. "But you're not getting anything if you don't let me change and escape the complete and utter shame of being caught back here like this, so…wait for me outside?" He contemplated batting his brown eyes at Derek, but then figured he would just look like a twitterpated Bambi, and that was not a manly expression.

After successfully dislodging himself from Derek, Stiles managed to sneak out from the unused lockers to his own without anyone noticing, though the snickers and whispers from the wolves—i.e. Scott, Jackson, Isaac, and Boyd—proved that they could probably smell Derek and knew exactly what had gone on.

Stiles pointedly ignored them. Because, despite all the negative emotions and warnings going off in the back of his brain, he liked this Derek, he loved kissing him, and if he was destined to one day wake up from all of this like a dream, then he should damn well enjoy it while he had it…right?

Right?

Stiles had managed to banish his anxieties at least partially by the time he and Derek were heading across the school parking lot toward his jeep. Sure, there was an unspoken—well, also partially spoken—deal between them that their make-out session would continue once they reached Stiles' house, but for now they were chatting away like usual.

"I'm not sure Dad would be willing to give permission for a second viewing, since I went into a pretty impressive tirade on the arsenal in Dredd's gun afterward, but I'm telling you, dude, Dredd 3D was way awesomer than the Stallone version."

Derek laughed. "Awesomer is not a word."

"It is when I say it," Stiles smirked back.

They laughed together as they continued their way across the parking lot. Stiles looked ahead and noticed Alison waiting on one of the benches in front of the school just a short distance away. He waited until her eyes settled on the pair, and then waved.

Instantly, Alison's eyes filled with fear. Stiles couldn't fathom why she would react that way…until her father's black SUV pulled up between them, only a few yards away.

Stiles froze in place, heart rate jumping through the roof as the vehicle came to a stop and Chris Argent casually climbed out to approach his daughter.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

Alison was an angel, a god damn angel, because she pulled on a smile and swiftly nodded, hurrying for the SUV before Chris could turn and see—

"Chris?"

Fuck.

Derek's small voice cut through the air—and through Stiles' shaken resolve—like a knife. Stiles could see the way the unexpected voice startled Chris, probably with recognition, even before he started to turn. As soon as those intense blue eyes landed on young Derek, Chris' expression fell into a very rare look of shock, and Stiles knew that Chris was aware of exactly who he was looking at.

Bless Derek, for all his stupidity for opening his mouth. Stiles didn't dare move, didn't know what to say or even how to speak just then.

"Derek…?" Chris gasped in disbelief, and then the gears started working visibly behind Chris' eyes as his sharp hunter brain put recent events together. "The witch…" he said. "It would seem Scott conveniently forgot to mention a few things."

"Look, Mr. Argent," Stiles tried, holding his arm up just slightly as if to guard Derek behind him, "I know you don't exactly trust Derek these days, but—"

"He doesn't?" Derek interrupted, his voice softer still and concerned. Then, obviously devoid of any sense of self-preservation right now, he stepped around Stiles until he was in front of him. "You don't?" he addressed Chris directly. "But…what did I do?" Derek paused for a moment, and then Stiles imagined a light coming on behind his eyes. "The fire…" he whispered, still looking at Chris. "I blamed you. But…I know it wasn't you now. You're a good man. My parents always said so. I know you didn't do it. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. We're…" he took a step closer to Chris, "…we're okay now, though, right? Stiles said you help us sometimes. Everything's…okay now?"

Part of Stiles wanted to grab Derek by the shoulders, pull him into the nearby jeep, and run. But Chris didn't look at all trigger happy. He looked…haunted. He looked ashamed. He looked like…like he was seeing everything Stiles had been seeing lately, and was remembering just how good of a boy Derek had been…but wasn't allowed to remain after all the horrors that had happened to him over the years with so little to hold onto.

And Chris knew—Stiles could see it on his face—that even if it wasn't his fault directly, there was still so much blame to go around.

"Yeah…" Chris said softly after a long pause, nodding and allowing his shoulders to relax. "We're okay. I'll…I'll see if I can get more men on tracking down the witch. We'll…we'll fix this," he said, nodding again, like he was trying to convince himself that someone he could actually fix this—fix Derek.

But Derek didn't understand why there was a heaviness that settled in Chris, much the same as one was settling low in Stiles' gut too, he just stepped those last few paces forward and held out a hand. Chris took it, shook it, and they parted amiably, with Derek smiling wide enough to split his face when he finally turned back to Stiles. Alison was smiling too, because she didn't get it. She couldn't get it.

But Stiles did. And he wanted to scream.

Stiles clenched his steering wheel too tightly the entire short drive to his house, unable to look at Derek or even speak. Derek didn't push or ask what was wrong until they had entered the house—which was blessedly empty of the Sheriff, since he was still at work—and they climbed the stairs to Stiles' bedroom.

Stiles threw his book bag onto the floor, feeling hot, and so angry, like he wanted to just hit something.

"Stiles…?" Derek finally spoke to break the tension. "Is everything okay? Why are you so upset?"

"Why?" Stiles shot back, whipping around and feeling the weight of all his emotions surging through him like he might literally explode or fall prone to a panic attack at any moment. "Because it's not fair! It's not real! This isn't really you!"

Derek's eyes drooped, and he stood frozen and ashen in front of Stiles, which immediately made Stiles want to take it all back.

He pressed his nails into his scalp and dragged them back through his short hair. "I mean…I know it's you, the real you, the way you were when you were sixteen. But at twenty-three, you're broody and angry, a huge loner most of the time, emotionally disconnected, incapable of trusting anyone, even within your own pack, and damn it, you earned that. It's your life and years got taken away from you and it's not fair. It's not fair because…I know this will all go away when you remember it all and turn back into that older you. Even getting to see you smile and have the chance to handle all that awful loss a little better, I know it's only a matter of time…before you're Sourwolf again. I want to give in and just enjoy whatever this is," he gestured vaguely between them, "but if I do…twenty-three-year-old you is going to kill me when he gets back and it's just going to be so much…harder."

The reaction Stiles expected from Derek was mirrored anger and grief, maybe for Derek to yell back at him until an impressive screaming match erupted, but that didn't happen. Derek just smiled. "It won't be like that, Stiles, even if I do change back."

"Derek…"

"You're mine. You're my mate, Stiles. I can smell it. Feel it." He crossed the room until he was right in front of Stiles, and his arms came up to grip Stiles' shoulders. Stiles was entranced by the intensity and lack of anger or grief in Derek's hazel eyes. "Don't you understand what that means? It means the older me knew too, maybe from the first second he met you. And maybe…maybe he pushes you away because…you're younger and he's scared and it's all been so complicated, but he knows. The scent of you…drives me crazy. It's what I've always wanted—someone just for me, like what my parents had, like what some wolves spend their whole lives looking for. A true mate is the one person who was made just for us. And you're mine…"

Stiles swallowed low in his throat. Licked his lips. Breathed. "But…"

"But nothing. If I know it now then I'll know it at any point in my life, no matter what happens from here on out. And besides, what if there is no way to turn me back? What if this is just it, both of us sixteen and getting this chance to do things better a second time around? Because if it is…I don't want to waste a single moment."

Then, right there in Stiles' bedroom, with so much emotion pulsing between them, and so many uncertainties waiting in the wings, Stiles realized…he could let it all go. He could let it all go easily, when Derek gripped the back of his neck and kissed him.

And the last thing he wanted was to stop at a simple kiss.

tbc...

Who requested for Derek to run into Chris? I can't remember, but you deserve kudos, coz that was all for you!

Also, see Dredd 3D if you like good comic book adaptations and excessive violence. One of the best films of the year, and it's doing terrible at the box office. Seriously, see it, or it won't get a sequel! Karl Urban's got that strut DOWN.

~Crimson