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Travel, Tea and Trust

Chapter Text

Stiles was idly browsing, looking through the second hand selection in the game store. A brooding, dark-haired, and stubbly dude entered, looking over at Stiles, frowning at him. Stiles averted his eyes. Intense much, he thought. The man walked closer, stopping next to Stiles.

“Hi… there? Eh, can I help you?” Stiles said.

The hulking dude stood companionably close, and started to browse. Pretend-browsing, in Stiles expert opinion. He looked up at the question, but didn't actually answer. He was way too close; it was weird. Creepy weird. Definitely time to go.

“Well,” Stiles said, “I’m off.” He backed away, obnoxiously making finger guns at the guy. “But nice talking to you.”

He left quickly, barely stumbling into a display. Safely inside his car he heaved a sigh. Creepy silent weirdos, ruining his night.


“Dad?” Stiles yelled, slamming the front door. He dropped his backpack and sank down on the sofa. The house felt empty. Dad was working. Scott was working. Stiles drummed his fingers on his leg, bored. Maybe the police actually were looking for the weirdo. Stiles thundered up the stairs to find his totally legal police scanner.

He entered his room with more speed than control, and saw - the dude, the creepy dude from the game store! - just standing there, waiting in his room. Stiles yelled, trying to stop. The guy moved forward, and they collided painfully, crashing down. The man was heavy on top of him, silencing Stiles with a firm hand over his mouth. Stiles trashed, trying to pry the hand off.

“Stiles!” the man said, forcing one of his hands down to the floor.

“Calm down,” he continued, face inches away. His eyes seemed dark and foreboding in the dim light.

Stiles pulse pounded in his head, and he felt like he was about to implode, or burst into pieces, or just straight up die on the spot. He knows my name, Stiles thought. He’s in my home, he knows my name, and I'm probably going to be murdered, like someone on Criminal Minds.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” the man said, sitting up and straddling Stiles. Stiles still had one hand gripping the man's wrist, trying to get the hand off his mouth. The guy was heavy and immovable, and his eyes bore into Stiles’. This is when the raping will commence, Stiles thought.

“I need your help," the man said, scowling. “I'm not going to hurt you.” He looked sort of - put upon, and displeased. Which pissed Stiles off. He wanted to snark back at him; was Stiles complete and utter terror a turn off? Did he really think Stiles was buying his crap? Fuck this dude. Fuck him.

“Stiles!” the man said again, bearing down on him, so Stiles trashing barely made the man move an inch. “Listen. We know each other. I'm Derek, alright? It’s a spell. Or - something. Something is wrong. But I’m not gonna hurt you. I don't want to hurt you! Okay?”

Stiles did not think it was okay. The man closed his eyes in defeat. “You know me. It’s magic, something, that's making you forget. Magic is real. And I'm… I'm a werewolf,” he said, looking meaningfully into Stiles’ eyes, with a hint of pleading in them. Like he wanted something from Stiles. Some form of - reassurance? Stiles had officially had enough. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be in his dad's cruiser, next to his dad. He wanted… Stiles averted his eyes, staring blankly at the looming shape of his bed.

“Shit,” the man said. “Stiles, don't -” he stopped, and seemed to crumble a bit. After a while, he continued. “I can prove it. That I'm a werewolf.”

He looked at Stiles in silence, and then he - changed. His eyes started to shine, his hair grew, and… he turned... into a... werewolf. Stiles was stunned. His brain was the blue screen of death. He did not compute.

Derek, meanwhile, backed off him. Stiles was like... like a glass that had been falling in slow-motion, and suddenly it’s real-time and it hits the floor and it shatters into a thousand pieces. His words, his thoughts, everything was still in pieces, and there wasn't enough air.

Derek waited him out, looking grim, but human, again. When Stiles breathing was more shuddering than gasping, he continued: “I need your help.”

Stiles was not feeling helpful. “Do you only know five sentences? Is that your whole vocabulary?” Bizarrely, the man almost smiled at that, relaxing.

I don't know what to do, Stiles thought. If he called for help, if someone tried to help him, would Derek turn violent? He seemed partial to Stiles, maybe it was safest to just follow along, even though… Yeah, Stiles couldn't really visualize a happy ending.

“We're going to Deaton's,” Derek said, and rose up. Stiles didn't move. Deaton's? Why Deaton's? Scott was there, so, potential reinforcement, but, on the other hand, Scott then risked being maimed to death. By an actual werewolf.

Derek strode forward and easily dragged Stiles up. He stared at Stiles, made a face, and fetched Stiles’ duct tape, without even searching. And then a hoodie. Stiles indignant protests tapered off as Derek crowded him against the wall, the tape ready.

“Derek," he tried, but Derek continued impassively, putting his hand on Stiles jaw and closing his mouth, before taping it shut. Stiles tried to be as uncooperative as possible, without outright fighting Derek, as he forced Stiles into the hoodie. He zipped it all the way up, so it mostly covered his mouth, and then pulled the hood up.

“We’re taking your Jeep.” Then he suddenly grinned at Stiles. “I'm driving.”


With Stiles phoneless, duct-taped, and hands literally tied together, Derek drove them to Deaton's. He dropped the keys back in Stiles pocket and then dragged him over to the door. With one hand, he held Stiles behind him, blocking him from sight with his body, while knocking with the other.

The door opened, halfway. Stiles couldn't really see past Derek, and wondered if it was late enough that Scott had already left.

“Evening. I'm afraid business hours are over," Deaton said.

“Alan Deaton," Derek said.

“You're welcome back tomorrow -”

“I'm Derek Hale.”

“Really," Deaton said. “Last I saw him -” Deaton stopped, thoughtfully, and the door swung open further, letting out more light. He frowned. “ Who's that?" he said, craning around Derek. Their eyes met in recognition. A lump formed in Stiles throat under Deaton's gaze, his eyes suddenly feeling glassy.

Deaton calmly looked back at Derek. “I know that boy. What do you want?”

“Let's talk inside," Derek said.

“By all means," Deaton gestured them in. He opened the countertop, crossing to the other side. “Are you gonna let the boy over to my side?”

Stiles held his breath, while Derek gripped Stiles' arm harder, before letting go and nudging him forward. Stiles stumbled over to Deaton, who closed the countertop passage again. He gave Stiles a quick once-over, dragging down the hood and prying off the tape.

“Are you okay?" he asked.

Stiles nodded frantically, before finding air enough to blurt: “He's a werewolf!”

“Mmm, imagine that," Deaton said, looking at Derek. “There is a resemblance, but I would guess… you're older. A distant cousin?”

Stiles stared at him. “Eh… werewolf! Did you hear me?”

Derek scowled. “It's a spell. Something. You know who I am, and so should he,” Derek said, pointing at Stiles. “Also, he’s too young. But he should remember me,” he continued, in frustration.

“I don't remember you! I don't know you! We are complete strangers! Read my lips: Complete. Strangers.”

“Stiles -”

“See how he -" Stiles flailed at Derek, “how he acts all… entitled. It's creepy.”

Derek simply crossed his arms, frowning at Stiles.

“Stop doing it. Okay? Stop.”

Deaton looked thoughtful. “Tell me something about Stiles," he asked Derek.

“What?" Derek said, breaking eye contact with Stiles. “He…” his gaze wandered back. “His chemistry teacher is a dick.”

Stiles huffed, crossing his arms.

Derek pointed back towards the parking lot. “Roscoe.”


“Your friend Heather and you used to bathe naked together. But you're still a virgin.”

Stiles gaped at him. “That’s - How do you -" Stiles took a step back in alarm, cheeks red. “Not even Scott knows that!”

“Scott doesn't know you're a virgin?”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Derek,” Deaton broke in, “ Derek Hale.”


“Why did you come to me and not your mother?”

Suddenly Derek looked dumbstruck. “I…" he said. “My mom?”

Deaton frowned at him. “Yes,” Deaton said, slowly. “Why wouldn't you go to your mother?“

A silence ensued, and Stiles had a mad urge to gnaw on his knuckles, the atmosphere was so charged.

“She's dead," Derek said finally. He clenched his jaw, staring down at the floor.

“I… see. When did this happen?”

“A while ago.”

“A while ago," Deaton repeated.

“Fine. When I was a teenager.”

“I see.”

“But-” He looked up. “She's alive?” He took a deep breath. “Mom's alive... Is everyone alive?”

“If by 'everyone’, you mean your family? I would say so, yes. But Derek, last I knew, you were studying on the East Coast, not going around Beacon Hills, kidnapping teenagers. The sheriff's son, no less!”

Derek just looked at him.

“Son, Derek. Let's all go back into the office.”


Stiles massaged his freed wrists, eying the suspicious cup of tea Deaton had made. Everything was slightly suspicious at the moment. Especially Deaton himself. And Derek.

“Okay,” Stiles interrupted, “everything is different, you're not from around, we get it. Why did you - I get you know the other me, but why did you - you saw I didn't recognize you! In the store. You saw! Why did you - And,” Stiles gestured, indicating the whole bound and gagged thing. “Overkill!”

“Stiles -”

“Don't say my name like that.”

Derek closed his eyes. “I know how resourceful you are. I wouldn't call it overkill.”

Stiles squinted at him. “What. Really?”

Their eyes met again, and Stiles wanted to squirm. Whenever it happened, it felt like Derek got too close, or - something. It made him uncomfortable. “Why did you -” he blurted out again. He broke their eye contact, waiting.

“I… I thought you would believe me.”

“That’s it?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - I'm sorry.”

“Um. Right. Okay. Let's get back to -” Stiles waved over at Deaton.

Deaton hummed, in thought. “Nothing unusual has happened in recent weeks?”

“Nothing. Been quiet for months.” Derek stopped, thinking. “We have had fairies…” Derek winced, continuing. “There's a solar eclipse tonight. In my world.”

Deaton massaged his forehead. “I see," he said. “A solar eclipse, and fairies. That sounds likely. But, luckily, we can use it to send you back. The pathway has already been paved; we just need to time it right.”

“With the solar eclipse?”

“Yes, afraid so. Don't look so grim; you’ll heal.”

Stiles looked between them. “Okay. Explain,” he said.

Deaton and Derek shared a look. Then a phone rang, breaking the silence.

“That's my phone! That's my dad.”

“That’s actually - Stiles, I think it would be best if you went home," Deaton said.

Stiles paused, looking at Deaton suspiciously. “You're going to be cryptic, and weird, and never tell me anything, aren't you?”

Deaton gave him a serene smile. The phone continued to ring.

“Damn it. Give me my phone.”

“Stiles -” Derek rose up, handing the phone over.

Stiles took half a step away, and gave him an insincere smile. “Later, dude.” Then he ran from the office, answering.



“Stiles, I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. If you aren't home. Leave. A. Message.”

“Stiles? Did you just fall over? Stiles? You there?”


“Stiles. What's happened?”

“I -”

“Stay where you are, I'm coming to get you. Are you at Scott's? Are you safe? Where are you?”

“No. Yes. I'm at - at Deaton's.”


“Yeah. He's here, it’s okay, he's busy.”

“Okay, okay. I'm on my way. Okay?”

“Dad, I - I missed you.”


And then they hugged.


The end.

Chapter Text

Someone caught Derek's shoulders as the dizzy haze receded. Derek stumbled, grabbing the arm for balance.

“Stiles?" he said.

“Welcome back, big guy.”

“Stiles," Derek said, and hugged him.

“Are you alright, Derek?" Scott asked.

Derek let go. “Yeah, fine.” His eyes still burned, but it was more like having a hair-dryer inches away, blowing heat into his eyes, and less like… before. And the blurriness was probably going away any minute now. Probably.

“Huh," said Stiles, taking Derek's arm, leading him out of Deaton's office. “Are we hugging friends now? Do you need hugs from everyone? Was it a horrible reality?”

Derek gave him a look.

Deliberately wide eyed, Stiles looked back.

“It was fine. It was different. None of you where - you didn't know me.” He looked over at Stiles again. “You didn't trust me.”

Stiles grinned. “Oh my god! You showed up in my bedroom, didn't you?”

Derek chose not to answer.

“You totally did. I didn't trust you? Aww. Did I hit you over the head with a baseball bat? Where you too much of a sourwolf?”

“Stiles -”

“Alright, alright. Any loose ends from your side? It was the fairy, here.”


Later, after giving Derek a ride home, Stiles lingered at his place. They sat companionably on the sofa, Stiles idly playing with an empty soda bottle. He looked over at Derek.

“What was it really like, over there?”

Derek look at him, fathomless. “They were all...” he trailed off. “But there wasn't time to see them," he continued, at last. “And I shouldn't have, anyway.”

Stiles looked at him.

“My... family.”

Stiles reached over, laying his hand over Derek's. “Your life is so fucked up.”

They sat, in silence.


Derek looked down at their hands, still resting next to each other.

“You were afraid of me, you know," he said.


“Yeah. I scared you.”

“Does that bother you?" Stiles asked, incredulous. “I was afraid of you in the beginning too!”

“Not like this.”

“Derek... It probably wasn't that bad.”

“You had a panic attack.”

“Oh.” The silence was awkward for a minute. "Um, so what did happen?"

Derek shrugged. He took a breath and finally looked over at Stiles. "I was... waiting. In your room."

"Ha!" Stiles interjected.

Derek gave him a look. "You ran through the door. And then..." he trailed off. It was frustrating to try to find the right words. Following an urge, he grabbed Stiles arm, getting him up, positioning him.

"Ah, what are you doing?” Stiles asked.

“Just go with it."

“Fine. It's not like it's weird at all, or anything."

Derek smiled at him, briefly. He took hold of Stiles’ shoulders. “You... ran in to me. We fell down.” He gently lowered Stiles to the floor.

“On your back," Derek clarified.

Stiles gaped up at him. Derek rose his eyebrows expectantly, feeling calm and thrilled at the same time.

“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered, falling backwards. He put one arm over his eyes. “This is not happening.”

Derek kneeled over him. “We landed like this," he said, sinking down on Stiles, covering him. He took Stiles wrist away from his face, pressing it to the floor. Stiles had his eyes squeezed shut. Derek paused, losing his pace by their sudden closeness.

Stiles opened his eyes, face still and serious. “What are we doing?” he asked, quietly.

Their faces were inches apart.

Derek opened his mouth, but didn't find words. He only knew that he wanted to do this. He wanted to press Stiles down, like he had before. But unlike then, he wanted Stiles to look back at him, and be… Stiles. That was what he wanted. Only, now when Stiles did look back... Derek could feel heat flushing through his body, his cock filling up, hot, trapped in his jeans.

A smile grazed Stiles’ face. “We are totally having sex,” he translated. “Okay. Continue.”

Derek bit his lip, gut tightening.

“Right," he said, clearing his throat. “I said: I'm not gonna hurt you. But..." He closed his eyes for a second. "You didn't believe me. You got angry.”

Derek braced his hand next to Stiles head, looming over him, breathing. He got caught by Stiles’ face, flushed, but trusting and curious. His eyes was mesmerizing, his lips...

“Derek?” Stiles asked, softly.

He leaned down, touching Stiles’ mouth with his own, chastely, carefully. When he let go, Stiles wound his fingers in Derek's hair and pulled him back. They kissed again, deeper this time, more properly a kiss. It was slow and soft, slick and open.

Derek broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Stiles’. Stiles carted his fingers through Derek's hair, breath uneven. Derek felt overwhelmed, fragile.

“You were afraid of me,” he whispered, like a secret. “I tried to explain, but… You wouldn't believe me.”

“Derek," Stiles said.

“I scared you," Derek said. He paused, thinking. “You said, later, that I acted… entitled. And then… you wouldn't even fight anymore. You looked so scared.” Stiles moved his hand down to Derek's neck, squeezing reassuringly.

“I wanted you to believe me, but I think that scared you even more. You… you couldn't even look at me.”

“Derek, it’s alright...”

“You were so scared,” Derek said. “I’ve never scared you like that. I never wanted to.” He paused, catching his breath. “I'm sorry,” he continued, “I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to do. I didn't occur to me that you would - That you wouldn't -”

He took a steadying breath.

“I just expected you to…”

“To what?" Stiles asked, when he wouldn't continue.

“To... to believe me. To see me, and… let me in.”



They stayed silent.

“I would," Stiles whispered, finally. “I would let you in.”

Derek's heart stuttered in his chest. Neither of them moved; something unsaid hovering in the air between them. Derek held his breath; the world was about to tilt off its axis, he needed to stay absolutely still.

Stiles closed his eyes, breaking the moment. Then he smiled at Derek, a hint of resignation in his eyes.

“Derek,” he said, tenderly. He squeezed Derek’s neck again. “I would,” he continued, looking at Derek meaningfully, with a glittering of mischief. “I would let you in, right now.”

Derek became acutely aware of his cock. Neither of them moved.

“I can't believe that line is actually working," he managed, finally.

Stiles smirked at him.

Derek huffed. "Wait here," he said, rasing. When he returned with supplies, he paused, heart pounding. Stiles had his shirt off, jeans opened, pressing a hand over his cock.

Stiles looked back at him, blushing. "We're doing this. Right?"

Derek swallowed. Instead of answering, he simply dragged his shirt over his head and stepped out of his jeans. Cock tenting his underwear, he let Stiles stare back. He pushed his underwear down, twitching under Stiles’ gaze.

“You’d let me," he said.

Stiles nodded, swallowing.

Derek kneeled, pulling Stiles boxers off with his jeans, letting his cock free. He shuffled closer, resting one of Stiles' legs on his shoulder. He squeezed some lube into his hand, feeling shaky, and circled his fingers in it, trying to calm himself down, feeling the lube become warmer, thinner.

Stiles watched him, long legs spread open.

Derek clasped one hand on Stiles knee, trying to ground them both, and then he reached down, carefully circling Stiles with a finger, before pushing it past the rim. Pushing it in.

Their eyes locked. “Go on,” Stiles said.

He did, pushing it in and out, over and over. He paused, and Stiles just waited, inching his legs out wider. Derek still felt shaky, his hand trembling slightly as he pushed in two fingers, finding a rhythm again, scissoring, searching.

“Oh," Stiles said. “Oh. Oh. There.”

“You're gonna open up for me,” Derek blurted. “Aren’t you? For me.”

“Yes, for you. Yes. Yes. Oh, this is good, this is good. Oh. Oh. Oh. A little more,” Stiles gasped, breathing shallow and uneven.

Derek gave him more, until Stiles was open and defenseless and ready to come. And then he pulled out.

“Derek,” Stiles groaned, in protest.

Catching his breath, he let Stiles’ leg go, letting them both come down from the edge, preparing his cock.

“Derek,” Stiles continued, coming up on his elbows, watching Derek kneel between Stiles’ spread legs, with his cock hard, glistening with lube and precome. “I'm so ready. For your cock. Okay? Put it in me.”

“Yeah?” Derek said, challengingly. He gripped Stiles tights. “Feel that?” he asked, nudging his cock against Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, squeezing his eyes shut, and wrapping his legs around Derek.

He waited till Stiles opened his eyes, and then he nudged forward again, catching on the rim, starting to rock, slow and easy, back and forth, almost penetrating.

“You gonna let me in?” he asked, pushing forward, going a little further. Stiles started to meet him, and the tease was agonizing, he was almost there, almost there…

“Derek, Derek, you're killing me. Come on, come on, come on,” Stiles chanted, trying to rock back on Derek's cock.

Derek slowed down, and held Stiles still, his tip touching Stiles hole.

“Please,” Stiles groaned, fluttering against Derek's cock.

Derek closed his eyes and eased the tip in further. Oh. There he went.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said.

He stuttered forward, trying to go slow, but unable to move smoothly. He wanted to go as far in as he could, have his whole cock buried in Stiles, just drive in. Stiles had his eyes squeezed shut, clenching and relaxing around Derek's cock as he inched in deeper.

“Oh,” Stiles breathed, when Derek bottomed out. “There you are.”

“You good?” Derek managed.

“Yeah, fine,” Stiles panted. “Just. Give me a second.”

Derek waited, caught in painful bliss, pressing forward but not moving, cock pushed as far in as possible. Finally, Stiles gave an imploring squeeze with his legs, and Derek let go with a groan, carefully rocking back and forward again.

“Do you feel me?” he asked, setting a pace, thrusting in, rocking back, lost in the motion, the rhythm.

“Yes. Yes. Oh. Harder.”

He hoisted Stiles up higher with one hand, the other planted on the floor, and pushed forward. Driving in again and again, hard and deep.

Stiles was bracing one hand against the sofa, letting out small noises every time Derek thrust forward, going: “Ah. Ah. Ah.”

Derek's cock felt big, hard and eager. “Stiles,” he managed. “Are you gonna? Are you gonna.”

“Yes, yes. Ah. Ah. I'm gonna, I'm gonna come. Derek.” Stiles pressed his head back into the floor, arching up, coming, shaking open around Derek.

Derek groaned, letting go. He fucked into Stiles, finding a pace that would just. Get him. To come. His cock throbbed, and there he went, there he went.

“Stiles,” he gasped.


“Derek,” Stiles protested, from under him. “Getting crushed here.”

Derek rolled them over, holding Stiles close, not wanting to let him go. He playfully leaned up and bit Stiles upturned nose. Stiles giggled, and they grinned at each other, helplessly. Suddenly Stiles ducked his head down, hiding his face against Derek’s chest.

“What is it?” Derek asked, in alarm.

Stiles just shook his head.

“Did I do something? Stiles?”

Stiles stilled, and then he sat up. He looked at Derek, tenderly.

“Na,” he said, and smoothed a lock of Derek's hair. He started to raise up, but Derek grabbed hold of his hips, dragging him down into Derek's lap.

“Stiles…” Derek said, throat closing up, holding on to Stiles.

Stiles looked at Derek, patiently. Derek's heart started to beat faster; he was ready. It didn't matter anymore that he would lose, like he always did. He was finally ready. A sense of wonder spread through his body, unmooring him. The only steady point was Stiles’ hips between his hands, his eyes.

A smile lit up Stiles’ face, his eyes suddenly trusting and delighted, and Derek smiled back with his whole face, basking in the light between them. It felt so pure, like a clear note vibrating in the whole room, expanding everywhere, reaching all of the universe. Beautiful and fragile, existing now and forever.

“I love you,” he said.


The end.