Chapter Sixteen

"Don't you think it's at least worth considering?" Scott couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice—Derek had dismissed his suggestion before Scott had even finished voicing it.

"No."

"I'm going to talk to him about it. He's never asked, but I think given the—"

"No." The vehemence of Derek's refusal had Scott's hackles rising. Derek was being completely unreasonable and Scott was having a hard time keeping his own temper in check.

"This isn't your decision."

"I'm making it mine. I won't let you."

Scott pressed his lips together, trying not to let his anger get the better of him. They needed to have an actual conversation about this. Letting Derek turn it into a fight would accomplish nothing. "I don't understand why you're so against this. You gave Isaac the choice. Why not Stiles?"

"Because we're trying to keep Stiles safe. In case you haven't noticed, I think we've already risked enough on that front." Derek crossed his arms over his chest, looking meaningfully at Scott's closed door. Stiles didn't have superhuman senses but he was still in the house. The last thing Derek wanted was for Stiles to overhear their argument.

"Yeah, and that's worked out so well for everyone."

"Can we not—"

"I just don't see why we can't ask him! If he wants to be a werewolf, great. He'll be able to hold his own against whatever supernatural thing comes for us next."

"If he survives the bite."

"I did, Isaac did, Jackson did, Erica did, Boyd—"

"Paige didn't."

"Paige? Who's…" but the words died on Scott's tongue and he looked away, suddenly ashamed.

"He told you." Derek wasn't surprised.

"Yeah, he did." It was so long ago now that Scott had almost forgotten. Stiles's dad had been out of town and Scott had gone over to stay the night. They'd been in Stiles's family room, watching Young Frankenstein, when Stiles had turned down the volume until it was just a low murmur of background noise and told Scott what Derek had told him the night before. Stiles had never once looked away from the TV, his back ramrod straight and his hands twisting uselessly in his lap, and Scott knew why.

Stiles had been worried—terrified, more like—that because of what had happened to Paige, Derek would never let himself love him. He hadn't said it, but Scott could see it in the taunt line of his neck and the way he couldn't meet Scott's eyes. They'd only been together a few months at that point, barely a month after the clusterfuck with Ray, the man who had been drugging werewolves so that they would lose control of themselves. Despite that, Stiles had never been happier. And then he learned why Derek's wolf eyes had been blue before he became an Alpha.

When Stiles had finished repeating the story, he'd picked up the remote and turned the volume back up, like they could just go back to the movie and nothing would have changed. Scott had grabbed the remote out of his hand, shut off the TV, and forced Stiles to turn around and look at him. Maybe he hasn't said it yet, Scott had said, his hand stilling Stiles's knotted fingers, but Derek loves you. Stiles looked at him with his brow still furrowed, uncertainty painfully stark on his face. We can smell emotions, Scott explained, he's been teaching us to identify them. He could hear Stiles's pulse jump. You mean it? Hope was still a tentative thing in Stiles's voice. Yeah, Stiles. I wouldn't lie about something like that. The grin that broke over Stiles's face was like the sun.

Now, the memory tasted like ashes in Scott's mouth.

"Stiles isn't…" Scott didn't know how to continue without sounding like an insensitive jerk, but when Derek just raised an expectant eyebrow he fumbled through. "He's not a high school cellist. Stiles has been through just as much as I have, only he's been human the entire time, and he's survived it. He can survive the bite."

"I won't risk it. Do you understand me? I will not lose—"

Jackson opened Scott's door, undeterred by the glower both Alphas sent his way. "I'm tired of listening to the two of you argue. It's stupid. If Stiles wanted to be a werewolf don't you think he would have asked his Alpha werewolfbest friend or his Alpha werewolf boyfriend at some point in the last, I don't know, three years that he's known you guys?" He shook his head in disgust. "I think the two of you seriously underestimate him. You get that he's, like, saved our asses more times than both of you combined?"

"I don't think that's—" Derek began, but Jackson just talked over him.

"Whatever. You guys are being totally lame, and it's a Friday night. I'm going to do something more interesting and productive with my life. There's a party at my dorm and I'm going." Without waiting for a reply he vanished out the doorway and headed down the stairs.

Scott glanced at Derek, but the other Alpha appeared to be at a loss for what to say. With a groan of annoyance Scott followed Jackson out of the room. "You can't go by yourself," he called down the stairs.

"Fuck off, Dad." Jackson responded with a rude gesture.

"Scott's right." Derek followed Scott out of the room and down the stairs. "And I don't think it's a good idea for you to go anyway."

"I'm going," Jackson insisted, already grabbing his jacket from the front closet.

"Going where?" Stiles stuck his head out of his room and wandered over to the balcony to peer down at them.

"Party."

"Wait for me." Stiles disappeared back into his room. Jackson dropped his head against the front door with a sigh, resigning himself to waiting.

"Wait, where's everyone going?" Isaac sidled out of the kitchen, looking for all the world like he hadn't been able to hear every word spoken in the house for the last hour.

"Party," Jackson mumbled against the wood of the door. "Beer. Chicks. Not being stuck in this house any longer."

"Huh. I'm coming too." Isaac hurried to grab his own jacket as Stiles emerged from his room and jogged down the stairs.

"You guys," Scott swung his arms out in disbelief, "We're not going to a party. In case you've forgotten we're in the middle of a war, here."

"Soldiers get shore leave," Jackson countered, turning around so that he was no longer facing the door. "Or, sailors do. Whatever. Either way, you're not keeping me here anymore."

Scott looked at Derek for support, but Derek just shrugged. "We have been kind of cooped up."

"You're kidding me."

"Sorry, Scotty," Stiles patted Scott on the shoulder. "The tribe has spoken. Have fun being at home alone."

"We're all going," Derek said firmly.

"What?" Scott whirled around to face him. "No. I don't want to go."

Derek shouldered on his own leather jacket. "We have to stick together."

"For fuck's sake," Jackson protested, "Nothing is going to happen! It's a human party, full of humans, doing normal, human things. I really don't think we all need to—"

"We're all going," Derek repeated, tossing Scott's coat his way, "Or none of us are."

"I never should have left London," Jackson muttered.

Stiles was going to get drunk. He did realize that the last time he'd gotten drunk at a student party Isaac had almost died and he'd made out with a werewolf from a rival pack, so on paper it might look like a truly terrible idea to be working on his fifth glass (well, plastic cup) of beer. But this time he was at a party with an entire pack of werewolves. His pack.

What could go wrong?

Yeah, fine, a lot of things could go wrong, and Stiles had probably jinxed the entire evening by asking the question—even in his own mind—but he couldn't be bothered to get too worked up over it. If something awful was going to happen, there probably wasn't anything Stiles could do to stop it. He had a knife strapped to his ankle, his vial of mountain ash looped around his neck, and a fully charged cell phone. He was as prepared as he was going to get.

Besides, he'd spent the last couple weeks in a state of twitchy restlessness. The only thing that had helped was driving down to Beacon Hills on the weekends—with Scott in tow, since he'd refused to let Stiles go alone—and spending as much time with Chris as possible. Stiles kind of had the feeling that Chris was getting annoyed by his stubborn insistence that Chris teach him everything he knew, but what the hell else was Stiles supposed to do with his weekends? He couldn't very well stay at the house in Terrace Bay—not with Derek lurking around every corner. He was sick of Derek. Sick of all of them, really. Jackson was a giant pain in the ass to live with, and Stiles was surprised that Danny had managed to do it for as long as he had. And Isaac was… okay, there was nothing really wrong with Isaac, but he was just there all the time. Stiles got the feeling that he was almost as irritated by Stiles's presence as Stiles was with his. Which was super unfair.

It wasn't Stiles's fault that Derek was in their house. Stiles had been firmly against that plan. He'd been the only one to realize what a bad idea it would be. And he'd been right, hadn't he? The pack had hardly gone a day without fighting since Derek had moved in.

Infuriatingly, though, Derek seemed to be the only one who managed to keep his temper. Except for earlier tonight. Stiles was pretty sure he'd heard Derek raise his voice while talking to Scott, which—for some reason Stiles refused to look to closely at—had caused him to feel an irrational surge of jealousy. Derek hadn't yelled at Stiles for weeks. He'd just stand there, patient and cool as could be, while Stiles shouted and began to feel more and more insignificant. It was like whatever thing Stiles was annoyed about was beneath Derek's notice.

Scowling, Stiles tilted his cup and finished the rest of his beer. He could feel the alcohol buzz through his veins, that particular kind of drunk that came with cheap keg beer and knocked aside whatever intelligent thoughts a person might have, which was exactly what he was looking for tonight. Stiles Stilinski was done with thinking. All he wanted was to have a good time and not think about a certain cold-hearted and apparently emotionless Alpha werewolf.

Weaving through the crowd of drunken college students Stiles made his way towards Jackson's old room.

"Great party!" he shouted into Danny's ear when he finally pushed his way beside the keg.

"Thanks!" Danny hollered back, leaning close so Stiles could hear him over the music. "I'm surprised you guys came."

"Yeah," Stiles rolled his eyes as he refilled his cup, "We never get to do anything fun anymore."

"Are you sure it's—"

Stiles let out a loud groan. "Yes. Perfectly safe. Do you see any werewolves? Cause I don't see any were—"

"Dude!" Danny glanced around nervously. "Don't say the 'W' word."

"The—seriously?"

"Someone might hear you," Danny hissed.

"And think, what? 'Wow, werewolves must be real things!'? I'm pretty sure they'll just think we're huge nerds who are, like, part of an online gaming community—"

"Exactly," Danny said. "I'd like to get laid in the near future. I don't need people thinking I'm into Twilight role playing."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles conceded. "But for the record, at this point, I'm definitely Team Edward—"

"Stiles, shut up."

Derek lifted a can of beer to his lips, trying not to let the disapproval he felt show on his face. He was beginning to wish he'd taken a firmer stance against going to the party—it was loud and crowded and there appeared to be at least three different kegs on this one floor alone. He probably could have just sent Scott—it was stupid of him to insist that they both go.

"…and I don't know how anyone could suggest that male entitlement isn't a huge problem in our society. I mean, just look at Robin Thicke's new album! It's crawling with misogynistic—hello? Are you even listening to me?"

Derek blinked, trying to focus back on the conversation he'd been having with one of the girls from Danny's dorm. Her name was…

"Whatever, the good-looking ones are always idiots," she sighed as she turned away and melted back into the crowd. Derek opened his mouth to protest, but the pang of guilt in his chest stopped him. All she'd been trying to do was have a conversation with him. It wasn't her fault he had so much on his mind that he couldn't focus.

He'd hoped that a night out of the house would allow the pack to get rid of the nervous energy they'd been carrying for the last few weeks. They'd been stuck together for so long that it was taking a toll—he'd even heard Isaac snap at Scott the other night. A college party would not have been Derek's first choice, but at least this way they could mingle with other people while still remaining within eye- or ear-shot of each other—and it seemed highly unlikely that anything supernatural would happen with so many humans packed into the building.

Unfortunately the 'safety net' of humanity was beginning to feel more and more confining, and when the second frat boy of the night stumbled into Derek, spilling beer and slurring apologies, Derek could feel his skin tighten with the need to escape. The press of people was becoming too much, and despite the deliberate attempt to slow it down he could feel his breathing quicken, his heart rate close behind.

Knowing it was a stupid risk but unable to stop himself, Derek used his werewolf reflexes to make his way through the press of the crowd without touching anyone. He could only trust that they'd be too drunk to notice the speed at which he made his way to the door at the far end of the hallway. Pushing through, he closed it behind him, letting out a sigh of relief as the noise of the party cut down slightly. He could still hear the throb of the bass, the mingled voices, and the thousands of other noises that came with a dorm party, but out here it was slightly less overwhelming. He couldn't actually leave, not after insisting on coming, but this way he wouldn't have to be part of the party. If he concentrated hard enough he'd be able to pick out individual conversations, checking in to make sure his pack was alright.

Leaning forward, his forearms resting against the railing, Derek closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, taking slow, even breaths.

When Danny's plans to get laid seemed to be approaching in the very near future, judging by the gleam in the eyes of a redhead who'd come up to talk to them, Stiles wandered back out of Jackson's room and into the hallway with another cup of beer. He could see Scott in the doorway of another room, stars in his eyes as he listened to the animated conversation of a pretty Asian girl. He couldn't see Jackson, but Stiles could hear him a room or two over, loudly recapping his lacrosse days for anyone who cared to listen. Making his way down the hall, Stiles found Isaac slouching casually at a kitchen table and apparently winning a great deal of money at poker. Mildly surprised, Stiles was about to head in to see if he could take a peek at Isaac's cards when he caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head just in time to see Derek slip out the door to the stairs.

Not bothering to stop and think about whether or not it was a good idea, or why he wanted to in the first place, Stiles followed.

Derek felt the tension crawl back up his spine before the door even opened behind him, knowing it was Stiles by the soft scuff of sneakers and the way the knife he wore on his ankle altered his gait just slightly. "What do you want?" he asked, not turning around as Stiles shut the door.

"You said we had to stick together." Derek heard Stiles lean back against the cement wall to the side of the door, the quiet rasp of denim as he stuck his hands into his pockets.

"I needed some air," Derek replied shortly.

"College party not your scene?" Stiles asked sarcastically.

"Not really, no."

"Guess you should have stayed at home then. That'd be my home," Stiles added, "Since you won't go back to yours."

"You know what, Stiles," Derek straightened, turned around. "This is getting old."

"Is it?" Stiles widened his eyes in mock surprise.

"You're acting like a child." For the first time in weeks Derek let some of the exasperation he felt towards Stiles's attitude leak into his voice. He'd done his best to steer clear, he'd refused to engage in any of Stiles's attempts to aggravate him, but Stiles would just not stop pressing.

Anger flared in Stiles's tawny eyes, but he said nothing, just lifted his cup of beer to his lips and took a slow sip.

Derek's eyes dropped to the red cup and fear was a shard of ice sharp in the centre of his chest. His hand shot out and Stiles jerked back, cracking his head against the wall as Derek knocked the cup out of Stiles's hands.

"What the fuck? Ow!" Stiles exclaimed, reaching up to touch gingerly at the back of his skull. "I was drinking that, you—"

"There was a reason we picked up our own beer—in cans—before we came here." Derek was furious. "Or have you forgotten exactly what GHB does to a werewolf?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not a werewolf." Stiles's protest was half-hearted. "I'd have just puked. And passed out. We know what GHB does to me," he joked weakly.

"Jesus, Stiles," Derek rubbed a hand over his face, willing the image of Stiles lying limp and barely breathing to dissipate.

Stiles bit his lip, feeling suddenly ashamed. "Yeah, right, bad joke."

Derek said nothing, just looked at Stiles as the line of worry between his eyes deepened.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said, reaching out to place his hand on Derek's arm, the leather of Derek's jacket almost skin-warm under his fingers.

Derek stilled underneath Stiles's touch. "It's fine."

"No," Stiles shook his head, "I shouldn't have said that."

Stiles was standing close enough that Derek could feel the heat of his body, feel the weight of his hand even through the layers of clothing between their skin. It took every ounce of Derek's control not to close the distance. It would be so easy to take that final step, to feel the long lines of Stiles's body against his, to glide his lips over the soft bow of Stiles's mouth.

Stiles's lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them, and Derek had to close his eyes. He could feel the way the air around them thickened with desire, and when Stiles's fingers tightened around his arm Derek pulled back.

"Stiles," he began, voice hoarser than he'd intended, but before he could continue Stiles had pressed closer, pushing Derek back until he hit the railing behind him. Stiles's arms were on either side of Derek, hands gripping the railing, and Derek could taste the copper of his pulse in his dry mouth.

Stiles let his gaze wander down Derek's body, lingering over the bulge in Derek's jeans before coming back up to meet Derek's eyes. Derek clenched his jaw, breathing shallowly through his nose and trying to ignore the way his skin prickled with anticipation.

Stiles leaned in, brushing his mouth over the rough hair of Derek's beard. Not touching his skin, just dragging his lips over the bristles, his breath hot and moist on Derek's cheek. Derek made a choked sound low in his throat, his stomach tightening as he struggled to remain still.

He could feel Stiles grin against his beard and then Stiles was pressed flush against him, his smaller frame crowded against Derek's larger one so that he fit inside the opening of Derek's jacket. All that separated them was the thin fabric of their t-shirts.

Derek's hands came up to grip Stiles's hips just as Stiles's parted lips covered Derek's. His tongue slid into Derek's mouth and sudden pain arced, scorching, through Derek's body.

His fingers convulsed on Stiles's hips, his muscles gone rigid with shock, before Stiles jerked back, horrified. "The mountain ash, Derek, I'm sorry." He yanked the chain out from under his shirt, pulled it off his head. "I forgot I was wearing it."

Derek felt like the breath had been punched out of him, pins and needles filling his mouth. Stiles reached out to him and Derek flinched away.

"Shit," Stiles winced. "I didn't mean—"

"Don't." Derek shook his head. "Just… don't." He could still feel the aftershocks from the mountain ash shuddering through his system and his fingers trembled.

"Derek," Stiles took another step towards him but Derek moved to the side, avoiding Stiles's touch. "It's in my pocket, it won't—"

"No, that's not it. I said I wouldn't do this again, and I meant it."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Come on, you're not going to let this stop us from fucking, are you?"

"We're not going to fuck."

"Please, you can't tell me you weren't just as into that as I was."

"It doesn't matter. We're done. This isn't going to happen again." Derek was firm. He should never have let himself get caught alone with Stiles, not after promising to stay away.

"You say that every time," Stiles tried to move in again but Derek put a firm hand against his chest, stopping him.

"No."

Stiles flushed with indignation. "Are you serious right now?"

"Go back to the party." Derek could feel Stiles's heartbeat through his shirt and he fought not to pull away.

"Fine. Whatever." Stiles moved back, stiff with anger, and reached for the handle of the door. "I'll just give Peter a call," he pulled the door open. "If you're not up for it, I'm sure he is." He walked through the doorway and let it fall shut behind him.

Derek couldn't stop the growl that tore from his throat and he yanked open the door, nearly colliding with Stiles who had stopped just on the other side of it. Stiles stood rigid, tension knotting the muscles of his neck, and Derek's gaze followed his to the couple standing, motionless, in the middle of the crowd of students.

The male, blonde and muscled, raised his hand and gave a little wave of his fingers that were sharp and pointed with claws. Beside him, the woman grinned, and her eyes flashed a cold, clear blue.