Author's Note: I would like to say that I don't leave you guys with cliffhangers on purpose but that would be a lie, and Stiles and I are working on our honesty.

It was half past midnight when Stiles stirred, not so much sleeping as he was trying to stop existing all together. The wolf within shivered, a reaction to his Alpha drawing near and a detail of his new life Stiles swore he would never get used to.

"You good?" Scott asked, a smirk trying to curl one side of his mouth as he climbed in through the window, bringing with him the scent of forest and a few stray leaves sticking out of his hair.

"Absolutely." Stiles lied, rolling onto his side so that he could look at Scott with slightly squinted eyes. "How went the recon?"

Scott, amazing bro that he was, took the change of subject for what it was even though Stiles had no delusions about the fact that he was drenched in Derek's scent. "Uneventful, thank God." Scott sighed tiredly, falling into the chair at Stiles' desk. "Really informative, though."

With the tease of new information hanging in the air Stiles scrambled to perch on the edge of his bed, leaning forward and threatening, "Tell me everything or I swear to God I will put your cup in the freezer before each and every practice."

"You're a terrible person." Scott's nose crinkled adorably and he squirmed in his seat.

"You better believe it. Spill." Stiles urged, his thirst for information and the promise of a good distraction making him jiggle his leg impatiently.

"Well, they're definitely planning something. They've got enough hardware to wipe out us and the entire population of Beacon Hills." Scott made a face, threading his hands through his hair and frowning at the leaf he found. "Carrick wasn't there but his second was, some bag of dicks named Sean. Anyway, Erica and Boyd overheard them talking about going after an Alpha but they didn't catch any names."

"Like that matters?" Stiles growled, glad to let his wolf free now that he no longer had to hide him. "Who else could they possibly be talking about, Scott? Satomi and her pack aren't technically part of Beacon Hills proper and we'd know if there were any other Alpha's on our territory."

"Oh, no. It's definitely me." Scott shifted, wincing down at the chair he was occupying before grumbling and climbing to his feet. He plopped down beside Stiles, sprawling flat on his back on the bed. "Looks like Lochlann was right."

"They're coming after us." Stiles nodded, biting at the skin around his thumb nail as he considered that. "Alright, we can handle that, right? We've taken on hunter clans before and come out on top. Even the Calaveras learned not to fuck with us. How bad can a couple rogue hunters be?"

"According to Chris? Pretty bad." Scott didn't bother sitting up to watch Stiles when he started pacing.

"Kanima level, bad," Stiles wanted to know, "or professional assassins level, bad? These are important distinctions, Scott."

"Like, if Deucalion and Peter had a secret love child levels of bad, dude." Scott snorted blandly, shifting up on the bed and rolling onto his belly so he could burrow into Stiles' pillows.

And that... That was going to give Stiles nightmares. "Shit." he huffed out on a rough exhale, flopping down beside Scott.

"Yep." Scott agreed, voice muffled by the pillow he'd smashed his face into.

Silence settled between them, easy and familiar. Stiles had just begun to wonder if Scott had fallen asleep when a frustrated snuffle sounded from the pillows next to his head.

"Okay, I tried, but I gotta ask."

Stiles whimpered dramatically, kicking himself for not taking an hour long, scalding hot shower the minute he got home.

Scott turned to watch Stiles' profile, eyeing him with hesitant interest. "Do I want to know why you smell like Derek rubbed himself all over you?"

Unable to stop the embarrassed laughter that burst from his mouth, Stiles threw an arm across his face to uselessly hide the flush splotching his cheeks. "I think you just answered your own question, buddy."

Scott hummed as though that were exactly the answer he'd been expecting. "So... Is this a thing? Or just, like, a one-off type deal?"

"I genuinely could not even begin to tell you." Stiles shrugged, no more sure of where he and Derek stood than he'd been when he hightailed it out of the loft. After a long beat he added, "It could be a thing. I mean, I think it could be, anyway."

"Do you want it to be?" Scott questioned, bending a knee up between them, arms shoved under his pillow. "I know that you were pissed at him for leaving but, well, he's back now, right? Doesn't that count for anything?"

"I think I liked you better when you thought he was a murderer." Stiles grumped, glaring up at the white expanse of his ceiling as he slipped his arm beneath his head.

Scott chuckled, bumping his knee to Stiles' hip. "I'm just saying, man. Derek is a good guy. A little angsty sometimes, but I think he's got a right to be. He doesn't scowl nearly as much as he used to, you know? And, he even smiles sometimes now. Have you seen the way he smiles when someone talks about you? It's disgustingly cute." his tone teasing the last part.

Warmth bloomed through Stiles' bloodstream, his pulse stuttering. "Liar." he denied, pleased despite himself.

"Whatever, asshole." Scott punched his shoulder playfully. "I'm just saying, maybe see what happens. You never know, Stiles. It could be awesome."

Stiles finally looked over at his brother, seeing nothing but open honesty glittering in his dopey brown eyes. "You think we'd be awesome?" he asked, whispering it into the small space between them, wanting to believe but terrified to let himself.

"I think you could be. Weirder combinations exist." Scott shrugged again, his mouth tugging up at the corners. "Orange and blue, right?"

"Oh my God." Stiles groaned, a fresh wave of embarrassment flooding through him at the memory of his failed attempt at trying to talk Lydia into giving him a chance. "You heard that?!"

Scott laughed at the surprised flail Stiles let out, ducking to avoid a rouge limb. "Werewolf hearing, dude. What can you do?"

"I hate you so hard right now." Stiles groused even as he rolled sideways to tangle their legs together, his wolf rumbling contentedly at the contact.

"Me too." Scott yawned, settling more solidly into the mattress. "Set an alarm?"

Stiles caught the end of Scott's yawn with his own, suddenly feeling heavy-limbed and like he might actually be able to sleep. "Way ahead of you, bro." he mumbled, already slipping into unconsciousness.

Derek had almost forgotten how quiet, how empty, his loft felt without the pack around to fill it with sound. With all of them at school the silence was deafening, making his ears ring with the emptiness. Thankfully they'd relayered their scent into his furniture, covering the dusty smell of his absence with the scent of pack. His couch smelled the most like Stiles, his scent having soaked into its fabric like red wine on a white carpet, stark and unmissable. Every time Derek walked past the damn thing his skin tingled and his heart fluttered.

Fucking fluttered, for Christ's sake.

He was done for, really. Anyway he looked at the situation, he was lost to his feelings for Stiles, to the way Stiles made him feel. It was a battle lost but one Derek couldn't bring himself to be angry for losing.

Telling Stiles about the anchor situation didn't feel like a bad idea, but Derek found himself questioning that when he remembered the way Stiles had booked it after he'd kissed him, tail between his legs and all. Worse, while Derek was hurt and even a little bit angry with the way Stiles handled the situation, he still understood it.

It was beyond hypocritical of Stiles to take off the way he had, especially after all the shit he'd given Derek for doing the same, but Derek couldn't blame Stiles for it. What happened between them, no matter how long it had been building, had still thrown both of them for a loop. And Stiles was the king of staunchly ignoring the things he wasn't ready to deal with. The shift from almost entirely platonic into quite obviously not at all platonic was a lot to process, and taking the time to work through it coherently was a good idea, even if the execution was severely lacking.

As far as kissing Stiles, it certainly hadn't felt wrong or bad in any sense of the words. Not that Derek was the best person to judge those kind of things, honestly. Kissing Kate and Jennifer hadn't felt wrong, either, but...

Well, everyone knew how those stories turned out.

Still, kissing Stiles felt right in a way kissing Braeden never had, and kissing Braeden had been fantastic. Something about it being Stiles, though- The sarcastically inclined, sharp-tongued and quick-witted pain in the ass Derek had begun falling for while sitting in the Jeep in front of the police station the night Stiles gave up a run at first line to help Derek, and then had careened head over heels for while surrounded by the burning scent of chlorine and the knowledge that he was safe with Stiles, that Stiles wouldn't, or couldn't, let Derek drown. -made it different, made it mean something on a level Derek had never experienced before.

Or, it had until Stiles ripped himself away and stared at Derek in wide-eyed shock, arousal cloying in the air quickly souring with fear and utter confusion. Terrified, Derek thought, was a good way to describe the feeling he got from Stiles as he tore out of the loft like a bat out of Hell. After that, Derek kind of felt hollow, a hole opening in his chest and filling in with his own fear that he'd messed things up between them, and for good this time.

Standing in his too quiet loft, watching the clock tick down to dismissal in the hopes that at least some of the pack would show up and save him from the maddening lack of noise, Derek wondered if Stiles would try to avoid him for a while. The thought made his stomach pinch and clench, the idea of not only being without access to his anchor so close to the full moon, now less than a week away, but of being away from the boy he maybe, possibly, definitely loved a little bit making his chest ache anew and his wolf whimper sadly.

Being with Cora during the last three full moons made being so far away from his anchor easier to manage. She was family, a link to everything that had ever been human about him before the fire. Even still, he'd had a little trouble maintaining when the moon was full, the new power of the full wolf form surging through his body like high tide. Being home for the first time since his evolution, being close to Stiles, would make maintaining control easier, but Derek wasn't sure how the current state of their relationship would effect things.

Buzzing from his back pocket startled Derek out of his thoughts. He checked the message, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips when he saw Stiles' name on the screen.

From Stiles:

-I'm an asshole.

Derek's grin widened, a wary thread of optimism weaving through him. Maybe things weren't as ruined as he originally thought.

From Derek:

-I agree.
-Wholeheartedly.

Fifteen minutes later, while Derek was pretending to be busy rearranging the furniture in his living room, his phone vibrated again.

From Stiles:

-Wanna take me out for curly fries after school?
-Yes, this is my way of apologizing. You should probably take notes.

Derek laughed out loud into the silence, not even hesitating before tapping out:

From Derek:

-Me buying you curly fries is you apologizing?

He hit send before dropping his phone onto the bed and heading for the bathroom, enough time until school let out for him to grab a quick shower.

He heard his phone vibrate halfway through but absolutely did not rush to finish just so he could check it. He didn't, no matter what the wet footprints littering his bedroom floor might imply.

From Stiles:

-Obviously.
-I'll even let you by me a sundae if you play your cards right.

Shaking his head fondly and trying to remind himself that he should be angrier than his stupid, cheesy smile implied, Derek replied:

From Derek:

-You truly are a generous and benevolent werewolf, Stiles.

He'd just dragged on a pair of jeans and a threadbare plum colored t-shirt when Stiles' response came through.

From Stiles:

-Eh. Being all 'Grr, aargh!" all the time is too much effort.
-No idea how you managed it for so long.

Derek's shoulders shook with silent laughter while he texted back.

From Derek:

-Practice makes perfect, young Padawan.

Smirking as he sent it, Derek shook his head, trying to shake the smile right off his face. He knew he should be more upset with Stiles, should probably growl and glare and posture a little bit, just to get the point across, but he couldn't find it in him to actually do so. It wasn't as though Stiles had panicked specifically to hurt Derek, after all. Holding it against him was only going to make things more difficult to figure out in the long run, and Derek was all for figuring out where they stood sooner rather than later.

Almost immediately his phone buzzed again and Derek imagined he could feel Stiles' frustration-laced excitement through his words.

From Stiles:

-Of course you've seen it, you smug bastard.
-You're the fucking worst, dude. How am I supposed to concentrate on this Chem lab with that information?!

Derek's chest felt full to overflowing, an effervescent satiety making his ribcage feel just a little too small.

From Derek:

-Use your anchor.

He snarked, throwing all the years of werewolf jokes back at Stiles with a proud smirk.

It was a lot longer before Stiles texted back that time, so long that Derek thought he wasn't going to answer at all. When the response finally did come in, the levity was gone from Stiles' words, making Derek wonder where they'd fallen out of flirtatious sync.

From Stiles:

-See you after school.

Derek frowned at the four word reply, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He shrugged off the warning flare of nerves prickling between his shoulders, chalking it up to his own worries getting the better of him, and dropped his phone onto his bed to go finish getting ready.

To say he was nervous was probably the understatement of the century as far as Stiles was concerned. He spent most of his classes throughout the day trying to figure out the best way to go about apologizing to Derek. He felt like he had a lot to apologize for and never in his life had he had so much riding on his ability to form a reasonable explanation for his behavior. Derek's willingness to banter through texts seemed to suggest his receptiveness but that did little to stop Stiles from chewing nervously on his straw while he waited for him to show up. Stiles managed to gnarl the plastic into a twisted, unrecognizable mess by the time Derek stepped into the diner, a hesitant, nervous little smile curling his lips as he made his way to the table.

Stiles was doomed.

"Hey." he greeted, nearly tipping his soda over in his rush to tuck hands shaking with nerves beneath the table before Derek got a look at them.

Sliding in across from him, Derek's smile turned warm and genuine. "Hey."

Awkward silence stretched between them for a long beat until Stiles cleared his throat, leaping headfirst into the deep end. "Right. So, I, uh... I wanted to apologize." he said, his voice quivering slightly with the same nerves that jangled his limbs.

Derek's brows lifted at that. "Isn't that why I'm buying you curly fries?" he asked, his tone teasing even as his scent took on an air of uneasy anticipation.

Stiles chuckled thinly, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. "Yeah, well..." he took a deep breath, reminding himself that nothing was ever going to change unless he took the risk, and plunged into it, his words coming out in a jumbled heap. "Derek, I'm sorry, okay? Like, really really fucking sorry. Not just for taking off last night, but for everything. The way I've been acting... It isn't fair to you. I had no right to blame you or try to make you feel guilty for doing what you had to do to take care of yourself, I was just being selfish and immature and I'm sorry. I was hurt and angry, and stupidly thought that hurting you would make me feel better."

They were interrupted when their waitress came to take Derek's order, and Stiles sat rigid and anxious the entire time, gnawing the inside of his cheeks while he waited for her to leave them alone again.

"Did it?" Derek asked as soon as the waitress stepped away, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, his eyes watching every shift and tick of Stiles' facial muscles. "Did hurting me make you feel better?"

"Not really." Stiles admitted, shoving his fingers through his hair. "It mostly made me feel like an asshole, actually. I don't like hurting people. Or, not the people I care about, anyway. Kicking bad guy ass is still one of my favorite things to do, in all honesty."

"I feel like I should bust your balls for the 'people I care about' comment, but I don't want you to stop talking." Derek grinned, making Stiles' heart skip like a school girl.

"Good call." Stiles smiled back, some of the tension easing out of his spine at how easy it was to fall back into familiar teasing with Derek. "That's new, though." he pointed out, not unhappily.

"What is?" Derek asked, tilting his head as his eyebrows drew together curiously.

"You wanting to hear what I have to say, instead of telling me to shut up." Stiles shrugged, unable to stop the warm rush of affection blossoming beneath his skin. "It's nice. Strange, but nice."

Derek didn't say anything, didn't have to, really. The mega-watt smile he gave Stiles was enough to have him shaking his head to rearrange his thoughts.

"Stop flirting with me!" he ordered, unable to reign in the wide curve of his mouth as it split his face. "I'm trying to apologize here, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Stiles, I appreciate the effort, but you don't have to apologize." Derek leaned back when their waitress returned with his iced tea, draping his arm along the back of his bench seat in a way that had his deep purple t-shirt pulling tight across his chest. Stiles tried not to let jealousy show on his face at the way the waitress eyed Derek, openly appreciative."Consider us even. Let's just wipe the slate clean and start over." Derek said, making Stiles blink and refocus.

"But..." Stiles frowned, the first time he'd done so since Derek walked in. "At least let me explain what happened last night-"

"You freaked out." Derek lifted one shoulder, letting it drop back down. "Things got heavy and you needed to get out. I can't say it didn't sting, but I get it."

Stiles narrowed his eyes dubiously. "This is way too easy. Who are you and what have you done with my Derek?"

Derek let out a bright bark of laughter as Stiles blushed a ridiculous shade of red. "Your Derek?"

"Shut up." Stiles snapped, scowling down at the table. "You know what I meant."

"Look," Derek tapped his foot against Stiles' beneath the table until Stiles looked up to meet his eye. "We both fucked up, we both know we fucked up. What's the point in going tit for tat? We're just going to end up in some weird back and forth, doing whatever we can to hurt each other until one, or both of us lands a hit we can't take back. Is that really what you want?"

Stiles' studied Derek's face for a long time, let the honesty in his mesmerizing green eyes settle into his sternum to ease some of the anxiety that had taken root there, let the lazy slope of Derek's smile wrap around his bones and soothe the worried ache. "No." he finally said, a flicker of hope lighting deep inside his chest. "That's really, really not what I want."

"Me either." Derek smiled, his eyes flickering between Stiles' own as he caught Stiles' foot with both of his under the table. "So, eat your curly fries." He tipped his head toward their waitress, who was bringing their food over on a tray.

"We still need to talk." Stiles reiterated, ignoring the renewed slam of his heart. "There's something that I haven't told you yet, and you really need to know before-"

Derek's phone chose that moment to ring, the vibration making Stiles' ears itch. Pulling it from the pocket inside his jacket, Derek frowned down at the screen. "It's Allison."

Stiles' stomach sank as Derek answered.

"Hey, Allis-" His mouth turned down sharply, eyes darkening as he listened.

Stiles had just enough time to tune his hearing into the call to catch not Allison, but Jackson say, "- with Malia in the preserve. We're taking him to Deaton's. Where are you?"

"We'll be right there." Derek growled, already slapping a few bills down on the table and climbing out of the booth, Stiles hot on his heels, neither of them paying any attention to the perplexed look their waitress shot after them.

"What happened, Derek?" Stiles asked, panic lancing through him as worst case scenarios filtered through his mind one after another. "Who's hurt?"

Derek waited until they were outside in the parking lot before turning back, his eyes solid steel as they met Stiles' worried ones. "It's Isaac. The hunters-"

Stiles didn't need to hear another word, already running for the Jeep.