A/N: Work has been crazy this week, but it gave me time to think this over more, and...now you're getting two chapters. Here's part one, with one more to follow to close off the fic. :-) Enjoy!

The cascade of voices around Stiles were more irritating than comforting, demanding whether or not he was alright, shouts of his name, tittering over whether or not he had a concussion since he had been thrown against the tree, and whether or not they should bring him to the hospital.

Stiles was somewhat comforted when he felt Erica grip his hand—he knew it was Erica and not Alison because of just how strong her grip was. And it was kind of nice to hear how concerned Scott sounded. But the rest was a din; all of it was just a bunch of noise…until Stiles was able to focus on Derek's voice, urgent and deep, but also gentle, coaxing, as his larger, warm hands settled on Stiles' face and he told Stiles to breathe.

"It's okay...Stiles, it's okay," Derek said, which reminded Stiles of the night before, when Derek had said that to him under very different circumstances, with his sweet smile.

Stiles came back to full consciousness slowly, his breath evening out as he looked up and Derek's hazel eyes came into view.

"I'd…punch you in the face...if I didn't know how much…more…it would hurt me than you..." Stiles managed to gasp up at Derek, before remembering that the others were all there too, and Erica was still gripping his hand. Their hovering faces swirled in front of Stiles.

Jackson was smirking.

Isaac's eyes looked huge with worry.

Scott clearly didn't understand what he'd just missed.

Alison elbowed him, and realization dawned soon after.

Erica gave Stiles' hand another firm squeeze before letting go, standing up to take Boyd's arm. They both looked down with furrowed brows.

Damn it.

Then, to Stiles' genuine surprise, Derek leaned in beside his ear and whispered, "I thought you were going to key my car?" There was humor in his eyes when he pulled away, mixing with the traces of regret that still lingered. The regret…

Stiles looked away, then he sat up and pushed Derek away, attempting to avoid meeting gazes with any of the others, because he knew they all...knew, and while he also knew that none of them would judge him for his feelings or what had happened between him and the younger Derek, he just couldn't face any of their sympathies right now either. He definitely avoided looking at Jackson.

As Stiles tried to get to his feet using his own power, Derek interceded and pulled him up with an easy strength. Even after Stiles was standing and steady, Derek didn't let him go, hands locked around his elbows.

"I'm taking you home," Derek said, eyes knitted close together, all humor gone again, replaced with a more common expression of firm resolve.

"Derek..." Stiles tried.

But Derek tightened his grip, sliding his hands up Stiles' arms to hold him securely. His expression breached no argument. "I'm. Taking. You. Home."

"Fine," Stiles huffed, looking away again, because looking at Derek was bordering him too closely on totally losing his shit again. "Don't forget my bat. It came in so handy."

Stiles was admittedly not feeling very well, so some of the next several minutes went by in a blur. Derek grabbed his bat, as requested, but he kept hold of Stiles with one hand as the group started travelling through the woods toward the cars. It didn't take long, since Derek was leading and he knew these woods better than anyone. The previous din had fallen to mostly silence amongst the others, which Stiles was grateful for, because he really didn't want to answer any questions.

When they reached the cars, only the jeep and Chris' SUV remained. Chris was still there, presumably waiting for Alison. He agreed to give the rest of the wolf pack rides as well, since there was no other way for them all to get home. Stiles did note that Derek actually thanked Chris for helping out, especially since the SUV was soon packed, leaving the jeep to only Derek and Stiles.

Then Derek got into Stiles' driver's side, and the next thing Stiles knew, they were on the road, just the two of them within the silence of his jeep. Stiles let his head lull to the side away from Derek, focusing on the hum from the engine.

"Don't close your eyes. Look forward. I need to know you're alert."

"I don't have a concussion," Stiles said absently.

"...I know."

"It was a panic attack."

"I know."

"I haven't had one since—"

"I know." Derek's voice bordered on a growl, but he didn't say anything else.

Stiles lulled his head the other way to face Derek, allowing himself a moment to study the slightly more masculine jawline and the even distribution of dark stubble. "My head does kind of hurt."

Derek glanced at him.

"I can't believe you're driving my jeep."

Derek snorted. "I do have a license."

"Not in those pants."

A chuckle escaped Derek before he could stop himself, his smile widening to reveal those adorable crooked eyeteeth.

The corner of Stiles' mouth twitched up as he saw a flash of the younger Derek in the expression. Which immediately made his smile slip again. He found himself staring at Derek like he might penetrate through the years with a single look, and somewhere underneath he'd find the boy he had lost.

Derek glanced at him again, his smile slipping as well. "Stiles..."

"Please...don't give me a Dear John speech right now...or I might throw up on you..." Stiles didn't want to lift his head from how it was leaning against the seat, and he did feel nauseous. "Maybe I do have a concussion..."

Derek frowned. "You just need to take some ibuprofen when I get you home, and rest, but if you start throwing up, I'm taking you to the hospital."

Stiles glanced down Derek's body, not really listening to him, taking in the ruined shirt and jeans...and how tight it all was, and how...Derek had unzipped the pants so they wouldn't pinch so much, and with the way the shirt was pulling and hitched a bit, there was all this skin...

Instead of being turned on...the sight made Stiles' throat close up and he just wanted to cry.

"Stiles, stop it. I've been back for...minutes. Can you give me some time to adjust? I haven't even said anything..."

"No, but you've done enough, and looked like you couldn't get away from me fast enough...enough. Like I'm nothing but this huge regret you can't take back, and you're just...pitying me now." Stiles heard the strange emotionlessness to his voice, but he couldn't help it. He felt numb, like he had in the woods. He felt utterly defeated. "Yeah...I think I'd rather you were throwing me into walls again."

Derek's hands gripped around the steering wheel too tightly, pulling on the material covering it like he might tear it right off. They had been driving for longer than Stiles had realized, because they were already pulling up in front of his house. Derek parked, but kept the engine idling, staring forward through the windshield for several moments.

Stiles flinched when Derek suddenly slammed his hands against the steering wheel, causing the horn to blare for a fraction of a second.

"Of course I'm filled with regret. I remember everything." Derek turned toward Stiles sharply, eyes stern and brow scrunched, so that Stiles couldn't tell if it was just older Derek's default face showing or if he was really that angry. "Don't you get it? You made this all so much harder, because now I know how much easier it might have been…if I'd just had you with me in the beginning."

Stiles stared dumbfounded back at Derek. There was this thin line of anger and frustration rising up within him, but it wasn't entirely his own. He could feel Derek, just like he had in the woods, and the dull thrum of emotions all mixed together were too confusing for Stiles to really understand what Derek was trying to say.

So Stiles didn't respond, just continued to stare, trying to dissect the strange puzzle that was Derek Hale.

"Stiles…I'm not used to you being this quiet. Ever," Derek said after a while, calmer now, though his eyes were still intense with warring emotions. "Tell me what you're thinking. What you're feeling. I mean, I can feel…" Derek shook his head, like he didn't want to admit that he could feel Stiles the same way Stiles could feel Derek. He wanted Stiles to tell him, so the answer would be plain and undistorted.

"I feel like…I lost my best friend," Stiles said, feeling the weight of the truth of that statement crush down upon his shoulders. Then he quickly added, "Don't tell Scott I said that."

A corner of Derek's mouth twitched upward. "I'm still him, you know. I'm the same person."

"Yeah…I think you are. But I don't…fit into your life the same way anymore, do I?"

Derek answered with a long sigh, which Stiles took for confirmation…until he started at the feeling of Derek's hand reaching for his across the seats.

Stiles looked up into hazel, amazed to find Derek's brow…smooth.

"You idiot," Derek said fondly, "I regret alot of things...too many things...but not you."

"But…I thought…don't you think I'm too young for you now? Or something?" Stiles wanted to sit up further, move his face away from being pressed into the headrest, but he wasn't used to such an open and young expression on older Derek's face, and he was afraid to disrupt the feeling of Derek's warm skin on his wrist. He thought of the woods again. "The way you were looking at me before…"

"Stiles…you are too young," Derek interrupted, gripping Stiles' wrist harder and pulling Stiles' hand in against his chest, "but I don't care about that. I don't regret what happened with you, I just...hate that...I didn't have you there when I really was sixteen, when I…needed someone who wasn't just out for themselves. In the woods, I kept thinking about how these last few days have been...and then...how things really were..."

"With...Kate?"

Derek's expression melted into equal parts anger and anguish, before he shook head to clear those feelings away. "Of course I feel regret. Because I had her...and I wish it had been you…" He trailed, like it was all too much, and the words weren't enough to really explain everything he meant.

Stiles could feel what Derek meant. Touching Derek, pressing his palm to Derek's chest while Derek held on to his wrist, intensified whatever their strange connection had grown into, almost as if he could hear Derek's words inside his head. Stiles licked his lips, almost overheated from the constant contact of Derek's gaze, but he didn't want to look away.

"It's different with the others," Derek said. "I knew from the beginning that I was handling things with them…well…"

"Shit-poorly?" Stiles suggested with a slight grin.

Derek frowned, but the expression didn't stick the way it used to. "Yeah…I guess that sums it up pretty fairly. I didn't want that. My dad never ran things like a dictatorship; he wouldn't want me to, either. I want to be better, like I promised the others. I can be. Maybe not exactly the way I was the past few days, but…"

"I get it," Stiles nodded.

Derek nodded with him, like a thread was connecting them. "It's different with the others," he said again. "You're…different. I used to tell myself…that this—us—would be a bad idea…even though I wanted you…god, right from the second I first saw you…knowing you're my mate, the only person I could be happy with—the one person meant for me. I held back because of your age and the situations we were in. But I don't want to keep telling myself that wanting you makes me weak...when I know how strong you make me feel."

The feeling of Derek's other hand coming up to cup Stiles' face melted away any last traces of nausea or a headache—at least right then, in the car, caught up in this strange, connecting circuit with Derek. Stiles could hear his and Derek's hearts beating in tandem.

"If you think age is too big of a divider for us…I can wait for you," Derek spoke on, softly inside the car, with the low hum of the engine still surrounding them. "And if you don't want anything to do with me anymore...I can accept that too."

All at once the rest of the world came back to Stiles, and he remembered that there was life outside of his jeep, outside of Derek Hale…but he wasn't sure if he could handle a life that didn't have Derek weaved into it. "Dude," he said, grinning as he took the palm that had been pressing to Derek's chest and gripped the already stretched T-shirt. "I'm sixteen. I don't have the patience to wait for anything."

There were only a few inches separating them; pulling Derek closer so that their lips met was easy—so easy. And it felt so strange. The burn of Derek's stubble was so different from the smooth-faced Derek that Stiles had first kissed, and while his lips felt and tasted the same, they were…larger, the whole experience making Stiles feel smaller, encompassed. He didn't mind any of it, because the emotion behind each press of their lips, each swipe and caress of Derek's tongue, was the same as it had always been from their first stolen kiss in Stiles' bed.

Stiles gasped for air, losing his grip on Derek's shirt since there wasn't much slack, and let his head fall forward to press against Derek's. "You're wasting my gas," he whispered.

Derek smiled, and there was enough of the younger Derek there, mixed with experience and pain that would always be just below the surface, that Stiles thought he liked this smile on this Derek best of all. Derek pulled away so he could turn off the jeep, then removed the keys and handed them to Stiles.

"You should...probably come in. You know...make sure I'm okay. I don't think Dad's home yet," Stiles added, with a nod toward the empty driveway.

Derek's smile shifted into a smirk. "Eventually, he is going to be an...issue, you know."

"Probably won't believe Joe had a growth spurt, huh? I'll figure something out." Stiles blinked his large brown eyes at Derek, totally uncaring about using the Bambi expression if it worked. "Come in?"

"Well…I suppose you do still have my jacket. And clothes that fit." Derek pulled uncomfortably at the shirt he had ruined, practically ready to pop all of its seams by now. He got out of the keep and followed Stiles toward the house.

Along the way, Stiles couldn't help glancing down Derek's body a little more appreciatively. "I don't know, Derek...I kind of like that look. Danny sure did," Stiles added with a wider grin.

Derek shook his head, but he was still smiling.

Danny. Damn that awesome gay boy and his…knowing.

The second Stiles had the door open, mouth moving, about to say something to Derek, he realized his mistake in assuming his dad wasn't home. The car must have been in the garage, because the first thing he saw as he entered the house was his dad coming out of the kitchen.

"Uhh…"

"Hey, you're back. Good day at school?"

Stiles froze for a moment, then glanced behind him to see that Derek wasn't standing there anymore. He leaned back just long enough to catch a flash of too tight jeans disappearing into the branches of the tree that led up to his window.

Thank god for wolf reflexes, Stiles thought, as he closed the door behind him.

"Yeah...pretty good day," Stiles said, realizing what time it was and that he had managed to get home decently around when he normally would after lacrosse practice. "Hit my head a little at practice, though, and, uhh...Coach suggested I take some ibuprofen and get some rest. Don't want to take any chances."

The Sheriff frowned and nodded. "I'll get you some. You let me know if you start feeling any worse."

"Of course," Stiles said as he followed his dad into the kitchen. He was anxious to get upstairs, since he wasn't sure if he had left his window latch unlocked or not. One of these days a neighbor was going to notice the dark figure hanging outside Stiles' bedroom window.

His dad got him some meds and a glass of water. There was sloppy Joe mix heating up on the stove. At first whiff, it smelled glorious; at the second, Stiles quickly downed the ibuprofen and willed his stomach to remain settled. At this point, he plain refused to have a concussion.

"I think I'm going to go lie down," Stiles said with a grimace.

"Okay, but try and stay awake, if you can. I'll come check on you after a bit, see if you're ready for dinner."

Stiles nodded, always grateful for his dad's care and how concerned he was over even the slightest cold sometimes, let alone a possible head injury. "Thanks." Stiles turned to go, but barely got through the door before he heard his dad call after him.

"Hey…about that…Joe kid."

Stiles stiffened.

"I saw that he stayed over again last night. Seems like you boys have gotten…pretty close."

Slowly, Stiles turned back around to face his dad, a little terrified at first to see what expression the Sheriff might be wearing. He was surprised to find a kind of calm resolution.

"He fits in nice with that group of friends of yours, and…well…seems like a good kid. I'd still like to speak with his uncle once he's back in town, but…I suppose I don't mind if he comes around." The Sheriff paused, brow furrowing for only a moment before he added, "You're, uhh…" he cleared his throat, "…being safe, right?"

"Dad…" Stiles groaned.

"I'm just…asking."

Stiles did have to admit that his dad could be asking much more intimate details, or yelling at him. He pulled on a smile. "Safe as safe can be," he said, since, after all, a werewolf wasn't exactly prone to STDs, and he was pretty sure they didn't have anything in common with seahorses. "Promise."

The Sheriff nodded, seemingly satisfied by that answer. They shared a silent moment of understanding, then he said, "Just…let me know next time he's over, okay?"

Stiles tried to imagine how that conversation would go, especially considering that 'Joe' was probably in Stiles room right now. But nope, he'd save that for another day. "Will do," he said, before finally freeing himself from the kitchen and making his way upstairs.

About a foot from his closed bedroom door, Stiles hesitated. Sure, things weren't as bad as he had first thought back in the woods, but it still wasn't the same as how things had been the past few days. What was appropriate now? Were they a couple? How were they even going to do this?

Stiles thought about their kiss in the car, and as much as it had also been...nice, and gentle, and awesome, it had still been different. What if everything was different? Too different. What if they didn't have anything in common anymore? He couldn't really imagine adult Derek picking up comics. Although...maybe he had a secret stash somewhere in the den...

As all of these thoughts danced through Stiles' head, he reminisced over all the ways they had just been...kids together the past few days, and easy friends. He liked the kissing and...other parts too, but it was the friendship that he was most afraid to lose.

Steeling himself to just deal with this and take whatever happened as it came, Stiles opened his bedroom door...on Derek standing in the middle of the room in his underwear.

Derek had to know that Stiles was there—hello, wolf senses—but he seemed preoccupied with the clothing he had laid out on the bed. The clothes he had been wearing that night when he had first been changed into his younger self, clothing that actually fit him, and that had been washed and put away in one of Stiles' drawers. It was like some grand, final shift from what had been…to what was—young Derek was gone.

Stiles tried not to think of it that way, and took another step into the room. Finally, Derek glanced at him, and immediately seemed to remember that he was in nothing but underwear...underwear that was still a little too tight since they were the ones he had borrowed from Stiles that morning—with Batman on them.

Derek frowned. "Sorry," he said, probably because Stiles was staring with an expression that was not so much appreciative as...tragic. Derek quickly snatched up the jeans he had laid out, even though he was still wearing Stiles' underwear.

Stiles licked his lips slowly and took a breath. "Remember...when I gave those to you this morning...and you started geeking out over the Burton films and...and the animated series?" he prompted hopefully.

A familiar young-Derek grin spread over Derek's face as he pulled up the jeans. "And you had to go and spoil it all by telling me about the new movies."

"Hey, you'd already seen Batman Begins. You said you liked it okay, just—"

"Just that Christian Bale is not Bruce Wayne, and my opinion hasn't changed now that I have seen the rest of the franchise. Dark Knight Rises was good, but...he's no Batman."

Taking in Derek's expression and how easily those words had tumbled out of him, Stiles allowed a smile to overtake his face too. There he was, after all—Derek. All of him. "So...you found the time to go to Dark Knight Rises despite our harrowing adventures? Maybe you are still the geek I fell in love with."

Derek had just finished pulling the black T-shirt over his head. He stared at Stiles, stunned.

Stiles reached back...and closed his bedroom door behind him.

tbc...

That Batman underwear moment was brought to you by Kalira of the flames. :-) Thanks, hun!