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Today is going to be a great day and here's why

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Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. He is screaming and running, but he can’t remember why. In fact, he can’t remember anything. Not even his name. So he stops, closes his mouth and looks around. He is in the middle of the woods, out of breath and covered in blood and mud. He stinks, but that is not his biggest concern at the moment, not when he doesn’t know where he is or who he is or what the hell he was running away from. Should he keep walking? Hide somewhere? Pretend to be dead? Scream? He would love to scream.

“Okay, calm down,” he mutters.

His voice does not sound familiar at all either. If it weren’t because he is alone, he would have thought that it belonged to someone else.


He turns to the boy who has appeared behind him. His eyes are flashing gold, his t-shirt torn. Taking a step back is all he can do.

“Who are you? What are you? What the hell is a stiles?” he asks, trembling.

The boy looks surprised.

“You don’t remember?”

He shakes his head.

The eyes stop flashing immediately, and the boy walks toward him, allowing the moonlight to light up his face. He looks young, maybe in his early twenties. Now that his eyes are not gold anymore, his iris have turned dark brown. He does not look dangerous, but he is not taking any chances.

“Stay where you are,” he orders him, trying really hard not to sound as terrified as he is.

“Stiles, I’m Scott. I’m your friend,” the boy, Scott, says. “I won’t hurt you. Those witches hit you with some weird spell that has messed with your memory, but don’t worry. The others have already taken care of them, and we will find a solution to your problem.”

“Witches?” he repeats. “Are you kidding me?”

“If you don’t believe me, check your phone. We talked about this in our last texts.”

He reaches for his phone while keeping an eye on Scott. He may look sincere and like a puppy, but he doesn’t feel like trusting the first guy that comes after him claiming to be his friend. There are messages from people he doesn’t remember: Lyds, Sourwolf (what the hell?), Dad, Scott… And just like Scott has said, they talked about witches two hours ago.

“Oh, okay. I see,” he mutters. “So… I can trust you.”

Scott answers with a big and bright smile.

“Yeah, absolutely. Maybe we should head back to the house and get you clean clothes. I’ll call Deaton to see if he can help us out with your little problem.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man,” he sighs. “You called me Stiles before, right?”

Scott walks past him, expecting to be followed.

“That’s what everybody calls you. No one except you and your dad can pronounce your real name, so…”

“I see,” at least he has a cool nickname, it could have been worse. “And… are we close?”

Scott looks amused by his question.

“We’re bros, the best friends in the world,” he proudly confirms.

“Awesome. What about your eyes? You looked like a freaking Christmas decoration back there.”

He finds it difficult to walk down the woods with no light. His feet keep finding branches to bump into, while Scott smoothly moves in between the trees.

“I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles snorts.

“I’m serious, dude,” when Scott doesn’t reply, Stiles stops walking. “Oh my God, you’re not kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Scott answers. “I’ll tell you all about it later, okay? But we need to find the others. They were worried about you.”

“Are the others…” Stiles checks his phone once again. “… Lyds and Sourwolf? Who the hell is Sourwolf?”

Scott takes him by the elbow to make him walk.

“Derek. You’re the only one who calls him that, though.”

“Let me guess: he is also a werewolf.”

“Yeah, and so are Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. Jackson is a kanima, and Lydia a banshee. Allison is the only other human in our pack.”

“What about Deacon? Or Deamon? The guy you talked about before.”

“Deaton. He’s not pack, though. He’s a druid that helps us from time to time.”

Stiles keeps asking questions until they enter a huge and magnificent house. There are three cars parked before it, and the lights are turned on and casting shadows in the trees that surround the building. He is a bit disappointed when Scott tells him that he doesn’t actually live there, that only Derek and Isaac do, but he is happy enough with the idea of having a mansion as their headquarters. What an awesome life he has.

There is an interesting group of people waiting for them in the living room. They all look exhausted and… hot. Like incredibly hot. Is this a joke? Are there hidden cams? Stiles can’t wait to find a mirror and check if he’s as attractive as they are.

“Thank God you’re fine,” a brunette says, hugging him.

It feels weird hugging her back when he doesn’t even know her name, so he just stands there, an awkward smile on his face.

“Stiles, this is Allison. I told you about her, remember?” Scott explains, patting him on the back.

Allison frowns at them.

“What is going on?”

“It looks like the spell they hit him with erased his memories. He didn’t even know his name,” unable to deal with the worrying looks that everyone is giving him, Stiles decides to stare at his sneakers. “Where is Derek?”

“Upstairs, taking a shower. He made a mess of himself while taking out the witch that hit Stiles,” a boy answers.

Scott nods.

“Well, I’ll show you where your room is. Join us whenever you’re ready, okay?”

Stiles follows him to the second floor, and takes a deep breath when he is left alone in a messy bedroom. There is a laptop on the desk, and more than ten open books lying on the floor. One of the walls is covered by pictures and newspapers cuttings, red strings connecting some of them in what seems to have been a long and complicated investigation. Stiles spends a couple of minutes analysing the place, trying to see if he can recognise what’s in it, but even his handwriting (that must be his handwriting, right?) is unfamiliar. He would be lying if he said that it doesn’t hurt.

The shower makes him feel a bit better, and when he walks into the living room and is received with sincere smiles Stiles starts to forget why he was feeling so down. Plus, he now has a plan that includes a notebook he has found in his bedroom and name tags.

“Hey, man. How are you doing?” Scott asks him.

“I’m starving, dude.”

“Let me get you something to eat.”

Scott disappears into the kitchen without giving him an opportunity to complain.

“Why don’t you sit with us?”

Stiles accepts Allison’s invitation and looks around. Everybody is watching him.

“Okay, so… I was thinking that maybe you could all wear name tags with for a while, because I honestly have no idea who I’m talking to,” he admits after clearing his throat. “Please,” he adds, leaving the blank tags in the coffee table before him.

Allison is the first to comply. She places a heart above the ‘i’, which tells him more about the girl than anything else.

To his left, a boy with blond curls writes ‘Isaac’ in one of the tags and hands the pen to the girl next to him. Erica, he learns once she is glued the paper to her shirt.

“So… you really don’t remember a thing,” the redhead, Lydia, says. “That’s interesting.”

“It sucks,” Stiles sighs, leaning against the back of the couch. “I don’t know who I am.”

“We could use this opportunity to re-educate him and keep him from becoming a little shit,” the boy next to Lydia says. Stiles would very much like to punch him and erase that stupid smirk from his face.

“Jackson,” Scott tells him off, reappearing with a sandwich and a Coke.

Stiles accepts the food with a smile and pleasantly sighs when Scott takes the seat to his right. He feels safer when he is around.

“Derek is going to be mad,” Erica has now placed her head against the shoulder of one of the boys, Boyd. They both look extremely cosy. “What are we going to do without our researcher?”

“He can still look for information,” Scott points out.

Lydia does not look convinced.

“Yeah, but he has forgotten everything he knew about supernatural stuff.”

“This is temporary, okay? We’ll get him back,” Scott snaps. “Don’t worry, Stiles.”

Stiles nods and takes a bite from the sandwich.

Is that why they want him in the pack? Because he is useful? It would explain everything. He has now looked himself in the mirror and… yeah. He is not terrible, but he does not belong in a group like this, and Jackson’s attitude is just proof enough of some of them not wanting him around. Maybe his life is not as perfect as it seemed. However, he doesn’t have time to sulk, though, because as soon as someone new walks into the room Stiles forgets everything about Jackson. The intruder makes everybody else in the room look like mediocre human beings. He is tall, and muscular, and Stiles is pretty sure that he can cut steaks with the line of his jaw. His jet-black hair is still humid from the shower he has taken, and his eyes (seriously, what colour is that? Grey? Blue? Green? The colour of perfection?) are staring at him, as if his presence were insulting him.

“Well, hello there, hottie,” Stiles hears himself saying. “You must be Derek, right? I don’t know why I called you sourwolf. Hotwolf is much more appropriate,” he ends the sentence with a wink.

Scott gasps.


“What? Am I the only one here with eyes?”

Erica and Lydia are now trying not to laugh and failing miserably. Maybe flirting with Derek was not something he used to do.

“What is wrong with him?” Derek finally asks.

“He doesn’t remember a thing. I was thinking of calling Deaton tomorrow morning, but I better do it now,” Scott mutters before standing up.

As soon as Scott leaves, Stiles opens the notebook and starts writing:















Aka Sourwolf



Hopefully, this will make it easier for him to remember who is who in the pack.

“What are we going to do meanwhile?” Lydia asks.

“He should stay here,” Erica answers almost immediately.

“What? Why? Don’t I have a home? Won’t my family miss me?”

If everybody was watching him before, now all of them are avoiding his eyes. Okay. This is weird.

“Your father works the late shift on Fridays,” Derek’s eyes are warm and sincere when they meet Stiles’. “You’re free to go if you want to, but you’re also welcome to stay.”

“Okay,” he agrees in the end.

He takes a sip of the Coke Scott has brought him while the others say their goodbyes. By the time the boy comes back to the living room, only Isaac and Allison are still around making small-talk with Stiles, Derek hovering around them but without pronouncing a single word. Stiles adds the adjective creepy to his list.

“Deaton will stop by tomorrow morning with some herbs that may be helpful,” Scott announces. “Do you want me to drive you home? You brought your Jeep, so I can go with you and show you the way.”

“He’s staying.”

Every time Derek speaks, the rest of the pack stops breathing, and it is not different when it comes to Scott. Whether it is out of respect or fear Stiles does not know. Not yet, though.

“Oh, alright then. I’ll come tomorrow to see how you’re doing, buddy. Ally, you coming?”


The girl kisses Stiles on the cheek and leaves with Scott. Stiles does not need to see their hands to know that there is something more than friendship between the two of them. They look good together.

“Is it okay if I just go to bed? I’m a bit tired,” he lies when the front door closes behind the couple.

Isaac gives him puppy eyes, but it is Derek the one who consents, his big arms crossed before his chest, making him look broody and aggressive at the same time.

“Sleep tight,” Isaac says as soon as he stands up.

“Thanks, man. You too.”

He doesn’t bother with changing his clothes. Stiles simply collapses into the bed and takes a deep breath before screaming. The sound is slightly muffled by the pillow he is holding against his face. It takes him a while to get his shit together and sit up, the notebook open and lying before him. The rest of the night is spent fighting back the tears and writing down all the questions he needs answers for.



Chapter Text

Isaac is his first victim. The boy seems a bit terrified at first, munching on his cereal as if expecting them to suddenly disappear before his big eyes, but he answers as best as he can the questions Stiles shoots him. While the werewolf eats his breakfast, Stiles learns that Derek is the Alpha of the pack, what makes them all his betas (and apparently it wasn’t easy for them to accept this hierarchy, but that is another story that Isaac is not keen on telling). Having werewolves means having hunters, and Allison comes from one of those families that enjoy killing furry people (Stiles notes that there is something there about the Argents that Isaac doesn’t tell him, but he doesn’t push it. There will be time to interrogate the rest of the group). What Stiles does not expect is to have pixies, trolls, and many other fantastic creatures being real (and many have already been in Beacon Hills). This life looks like a freaking Harry Potter book.

“Stiles?” Isaac calls him before retreating to his bedroom. “You should know that werewolves have enhanced senses. Like hearing and smelling.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow, his brain working on the implications of this new piece of information.

“Oh,” he finally sighs, understanding. “Okay, thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.”

Stiles takes a seat on the stool Isaac has left available. He checked his phone this morning, expecting to see a message from his family asking about his whereabouts, and he does it again with the same results: nothing. The screen free of notifications mocks him.

“Stop moping,” Derek orders him, entering the kitchen with an empty cup that he refills with hot coffee. “I didn’t lie when I told you that your father works on Fridays. He is the Sheriff, and he’s always exhausted after a week of working. He’s probably sleeping, knowing that if you’re not home and we haven’t reached him it’s because you’re safe with us. You spend a lot of time here.”

“And my mother?” he dares to ask.

Derek lets out a sigh. He is now leaning against the counter right in front of him.

“She passed away years ago, when you were a kid. It’s been you and your father ever since.”

Not everything could be a fairy-tale, right?

“I see,” he mutters. “Anything else I should know?”

“What have you learnt about yourself?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs, keeping his eyes glued to the notebook. He has been too busy wondering about mythical stuff to pay attention to his own story. The only thing that had worried him was the lack of contact with his relatives, and now that it is settled, he does not know what to ask.

“I think it’d be more interesting to learn about you guys. I’m just human, right? Nothing to see here.”

His words annoy Derek enough to make him break his impassiveness by pressing his lips together.

“Not even with amnesia do you manage to stop being self-deprecating,” he groans. “You should be more eager to learn who you are, Stiles.”

“Okay, big bad Alpha. Instruct me: who is Stiles…? Wait. What’s my surname?”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose before replying.

“Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski. You’re twenty-one years old and majoring in Criminal Justice and Mythology at Berkley. You’re back home for the summer.”

Aaaaaand… it does not ring a bell. Derek could have just told him that his last name is Longbottom and that he is studying Industrial Engineering at the community college and he would have believed him. Although that major sounds like something the kid of a sheriff and a member of a pack would be interested in.


“You don’t look excited about your life.”

“Are you smelling it on me? The disappointment?” he tries to sound unconcerned, but his voice betrays him.

“I’ve known you long enough for me to get your moods without relying on my senses.”

“Does that mean that we are friends?”

“What do you think?”

“Boy, you do love answering my questions with more questions, don’t you?” he complains. “I don’t know, man. You haven’t been talkative or friendly. I get that you are our Alpha, and maybe that means that you have to keep your distance, but… If it is because of what I said last night, I apologize. I was tense and…”

“It’s okay,” Derek interrupts him. “You talk a lot, I’m used to your nonsense.”

“It wasn’t nonsense. You look like a Greek god. I can’t believe I didn’t hit on you before.”

Even though the man rolls his eyes, a light red shade takes hold of his ears.

“Maybe you should also take note of your big crush on Lydia.”

“WHAT? Lydia? Our Lydia?”

He has not looked at her twice. She is beautiful, that much everybody can tell, but… A crush? On her? When Derek just happens to exist right next to her?

“Or so you’ve been telling us.”

“I should talk with Scott about that,” he whispers to himself. “Where is he, by the way? Wasn’t he coming in the morning?”

“He’s probably forgotten, it wouldn’t be the first time. He’s love-struck.”

“So, my best friend forgets about me even in the aftermath of my fragile human body being cursed by a witch and my father hasn’t noticed my absence. I’m not the most popular kid in the neighbourhood, uh? Has Deaton forgotten about me too?”

“No, he’s entering the preserve. Give him five minutes.”

Stiles nods and patiently waits, keeping himself busy with his phone while Derek leaves the kitchen. He has read Scott’s texts in an attempt to understand who he’s best friends with, but there is no much to see. They talk once or twice per week, usually about pack things, and it takes Scott hours to reply to the simplest things. Lydia seems to be closer to him, maybe a bit standoffish, though her attitude has not deterred him at all. And then, there are his conversations with Derek. Most of them make no sense at all, jumping from one topic to another without explanation, as if they weren’t reading each other’s replies and simply typing the first thing that came to their minds.

“Mr Stilinski?” a man of stern demeanours calls him from the door. “I’ve been told that you are having difficulties with your memories.”

“You could say that, yeah. Are you Deaton? The druid?” Stiles shakes his hand with a smile, taking in the serious look the man gives him.

“Yes, I am. Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened last night?”

“I have no idea. They said something about a witch hitting me with a spell.”

When Deaton leaves his doctor’s bag on the counter and opens it, Stiles can’t help to take a look at it. The thing is full of small plastic jars, syringes, bandages and… are those chains? What the hell?

“In case you’re wondering, he’s dead,” Derek intervenes from behind them.

“It would have been nice having a chat with him, to be honest,” the man murmurs, his hands taking out some of the jars. “I thought you were working on your self-control, Mr Hale.”

Derek grunts something inaudible.

“What was that?” Stiles asks.

“Nothing. Can you fix this?” the Alpha turns his attention to the druid, leaving Stiles talking to his broad back. Not that he is complaining. It is a nice view. A very nice one, indeed.

“It’ll take time, but if Mr Stilinski drinks twice a day the infusions I am going to prepare right know, his memories should return before the end of next week,” Deaton confirms.

“Is it okay if we add honey?” Derek’s question is out before he can shut his mouth, something he seems to be wishing to do, or at least that is what his panicked expression is screaming. He coughs and tilts his head, trying to hide an unwelcomed blushing. “He hates unsweetened beverages.”

“Do I?”

He can’t remember if he does. So far, he has only eaten half a sandwich and a Coke, and even though his stomach is demanding more food, he is not sure what would satisfy his cravings.

“You don’t know your culinary preferences?” Deaton asks him with certain concern.

Stiles shrugs.

“That’s not the biggest of my problems, is it?”

“It may not be, but it tells us that the spell was stronger than we originally thought. Such predispositions to certain tastes are developed at a young age. If you can’t remember them, it means that you will need more time to get everything back,” his voice shows no emotion, which Stiles finds terribly annoying. “The good news is that you can add whatever you want to the infusions.”

“Awesome. Derek, do you have any bleach around? I’d very much like to give it a try.”

Dereck smacks him on the back of the neck.

“Shut up,” he barks.

“Okay, dad…”

The joke earns him a warning from a pair of very threatening and flashing red eyes that force him against the counter in an attempt to put more distance between his human ass and the Alpha.


“Don’t call me that,” Derek hisses.

“Okay, okay, calm down. I’m sorry,” when the eyes turn back to their natural awesomeness, Stiles takes a step towards him. “Does every werewolf have different eyes? I mean, Scott’s were gold, and yours…”

“Alphas have red eyes, whereas betas’ are gold,” Deaton explains. “Now, if you are done with whatever you two are up to, I would like you to take these jars. Let me know if you are not feeling any better by the next weekend.”

“Thank you,” Stiles manages to say.

Derek does not even bother saying goodbye to the man. The werewolf starts preparing the first of the doses, making sure of adding honey to the cup. Stiles has to bite his own tongue to keep himself from asking more questions.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” he ends up saying.

Derek avoids his eyes as he places steaming cup before him.


Stiles does as he is told, enjoying the sweet touch of honey. Derek was right. The drink would have been disgusting without the addition.

“So…” he begins, testing the waters. When Derek simply watches him, his body stiff, Stiles decides that it is safe to continue. “I’ve decided that we were friends.”

“What an honour,” Derek deadpans.

Stiles can’t help but grin, and something like a suppressed smile appears on the Alpha’s face.

“I kind of get now why I called you sourwolf,” he admits. “Anyway, I was thinking of going home and talking to my dad. Maybe that’ll help me remember. And I’d like to see where I live.”

Derek nods.

“I’ll ask Isaac to show you the way,” he starts walking towards the stairs, but stops as he reaches the door. “Do… Do you remember how to drive, don’t you?”

“Uh…” Stiles tries to remember. He knows what a car is, as well as how it works, but… “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Derek lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Good thing you haven’t forgotten how to walk or use the bathroom,” he mutters. “Isaac will drive you. Get ready.”

Chapter Text

The Sheriff does not look worried or surprised. If anything, he looks resigned. He listens to Isaac’s explanation without questioning the existence of witches or even asking why the hell his human son was running in the woods fighting them. It makes Stiles wonder (once again) what kind of life he has been leading.

“Well, kiddo… This must be weird for you,” the man finally says, fixing his compassionated blue eyes on him. “But at least you haven’t turned into a five-year-old. Again.”

Stiles gasps, gobsmacked.

“Are you freaking serious?!”

“It was an interesting week,” Isaac confirms. “You drove everybody crazy. There are pics if you want to see them.”

“Is there anything we can do to speed up the process?” the Sheriff asks, keeping Stiles from digging deeper into the issue.

Isaac shrugs.

“Deaton has already taken care of it, but maybe it will be good for him to see his stuff and be with the people who loves him.”

When the man pats him on the shoulder, Stiles lights up a little.

“I’ve already thought about that,” he admits, rescuing the notebook he has been using since last night from the pocket of his hoodie. “I’ve… I’ve put together some questions I would like you to answer. They are about me, so in this way I will not only learn about myself, but it will also give me an idea of what you guys know about who I am and our relationship.”

The Sheriff snorts.

“I’m glad to see that you’re still yourself.”

“Why don’t you send us those questions by e-mail?” Isaac suggests. “I’ll give you my answers as soon as possible, and so will the others.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, man.”

Isaac turns out to be a great companion. He helps him with the e-mails and starts typing his answers on his phone immediately, which makes Stiles wonder why he did not have any texts from the boy. Weren’t they friends? And if so, why not? Scott stops this train of thought by entering the house with two big cups of coffee.

“I brought you breakfast!” he announces, happily. “I know it’s a bit late, but I got distracted and then I went to Derek’s, but you weren’t there, and…”

“It’s fine. Thanks,” Stiles interrupts him, jumping to his feet and taking one of the coffees. The bitter taste of the drink sends a shiver through his body. “This needs like two tons of sugar.”

“Sugar? I didn’t know, sorry.”

Derek: 1; Scott: 0.

“Don’t worry. Did you get my message?” he asks, heading to the kitchen with both werewolves behind him.

“Yep, it looks fun. I’m going out with Allison tonight, but I’ll answer them tomorrow. You have my word.”

“Make sure she does her homework too, please.”

Stiles spends ten minutes looking for sugar in the cupboards. By the time he finds it, the coffee is ice cold.

“I’ve already finished mine,” Isaac announces, slightly proud of himself. “I hope it helps.”

“I’m sure it will. You’re the best.”

Despite being busy checking his e-mails, Stiles does not miss the look Scott gives them.


From: Isaac Lahey (

To: Stiles Stilinski (

Subject: Re: A Stilinski Quiz!


When did we meet?

School. Don’t remember exactly when, we didn’t talk to each other until I became a werewolf and we started working together.

Who would you say matters most to me? Who are my support people?

Your dad, Scott, Derek.

What do I like to do for fun? Do we hang out?

Videogames? And talking.

We hang out with the pack, yeah.

What or who gives me comfort?

No idea. You never seem to need comfort, though.

Am I a night owl or an early bird?

I sometimes wonder if you ever sleep at all.

What am I passionate about?


When it’s my birthday? And yours? :D

April? I think. Mine is September 22.

What is my favourite movie? Book? Food? Colour? Animal?

Red? Any Marvel movie? Wolves? Cheetos? I don’t know.

When I’m feeling down I like to…

As I said, you’re never feeling down.

You know I’m stressed when I…



“You don’t know me at all, Isaac,” Stiles sighs once he is done reading it. “This is a disaster.”

“Sorry. You… you are always busy running around and hanging out with Scott and Derek, it’s not like you spend a lot of time with me.”

Stiles nods. Okay, so maybe it is his fault that they are not friends.

“Well, I like you. Maybe it’s good that I’ve forgotten everything, right? Now we can try get to know each other.”

“Really?” Isaac does not try to hide his eagerness. It is somehow endearing. “I’d like that.”

“Sure thing, cutewolf,” he smiles, making Isaac blush. “Scott, man, my supposedly best friend, you better answer those questions with a ten-page essay, because I really want to know who the hell I am,” the sound of a new mail lets him know that Erica has replied to his message. “Okay, let’s see what she has to say.”

Isaac and Scott approach him to read the answers.


From: Erica Reyes (

To: Stiles Stilinski (

Subject: Re: A Stilinski Quiz!


You’re annoying, Batman, but I like you enough to waste my precious time with this bullshit. Have fun.




When did we meet?

First grade. I had a crush on you for years, but you never looked at me. We became friends when Derek bit me. The rest is history.

Who would you say matters most to me? Who are my support people?

You would have said that Scott and your father. I would add Derek (;

What do I like to do for fun? Do we hang out?

Comics, videogames, TV series, movies… You’re a freak, but a good one. We watch DC movies from time to time.

What or who gives me comfort?

I think Scott will know the answer to this.

Am I a night owl or an early bird?

Night owl. We once had a sleepover and you were a freaking nightmare in the morning.

What am I passionate about?

Male circumcision.

When it’s my birthday? And yours? :D

Yours: April 8; mine: November 14.

What is my favourite movie? Book? Food? Colour? Animal?

I fucking hate this. I don’t know, Stiles. You eat practically everything, and you wear so many colours that sometimes you look like a rainbow. As for the animal, I’m pretty sure that you would say that wolves are awesome. And you love Batman, so I guess any Batman movie is your favourite?

When I’m feeling down I like to…

Ask Scott.

You know I’m stressed when I…

Ask Scott.


“Is she serious? ‘Male circumcision’?” Stiles says, frowning.

Isaac is now smirking.

“You did know a lot about that…” Scott informs him.

“But I’m not…” he briefly directs his eyes to his crotch, panic growing inside him. “Am I?”

Scott shakes his head.

“No, no. You just… liked browsing Wikipedia and learning about random stuff.”

“Sweet Jesus, why am I like this?” he is not liking at all what he is discovering about himself.

Instead of answering, Scott takes his phone and reads Erica’s answers once again. Something she has said seems to be bothering him.

“Why do you always include Derek in the second question?” he turns to Isaac, who raises his eyebrows.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” it is not, because Scott continues waiting for an explanation. “He’s been spending more time at Derek’s than at university this last semester. All they do is talk and text and exasperate each other. He even got hit by that witch because he was trying to shield Derek,” why has everybody failed to mention that? “And Derek was out of control when he saw that they had hurt him.”

“That’s because Derek’s the Alpha,” Scott says, although he does not sound convinced.

Isaac shrugs.

“Whatever you say, Scott. But maybe you should start paying more attention to your best friend.”

Scott actually growls at that. Like a freaking dog.

“Okay, boys, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’d very much appreciate if you didn’t start barking,” Stiles steps in, taking his phone back from Scott and opening his messages. “I’m gonna go to my bedroom now, see if I recognise my belongings. You can stay or go, but don’t fight, pretty please.”

Unsurprisingly, no one follows him when he leaves the kitchen, purposely forgetting his cold coffee.

Stiles: your puppies are upset

He sends the text to Derek as he climbs the stairs to the second floor, where his father has told him that his bedroom is. The place is just as messy as the one he has at Derek’s. There is a suitcase next to the bed, clothes escaping from it in every direction, and papers scattered on the floor.

Sourwolf: What’s happened now?

Stiles sits on the corner of the mattress and takes a deep breath.

Stiles: scott’s not a good bff, isaac has reprimanded him, and apparently you+me=really close friends????

Stiles: btw, answer the questionnaire ive sent u!

Sourwolf: Don’t give orders to your Alpha.

Stiles: … please? :3

Stiles can see him rolling his eyes at the text.

Sourwolf: Ok.

After locking the screen, Stiles lets his eyes wander round the room. A baseball bat is placed against the desk, but there is no sign of the rest of the equipment. Nonetheless, there are plenty of things related to lacrosse: an old t-shirt, two sticks (one of them looks broken), and a helmet. The books on the shelves match what Derek told him that he was studying: criminal law, Hindu mythology, psychology… They all seem to have been read at least a hundred times each. He kicks the suitcase open and takes a look at what is inside: a pair of jeans, lots of flannel shirts, a couple of bright t-shirts, some underwear whose cleanliness is yet to be determined, and a black henley that seems to be out of place.

“Everything okay?”

The voice of his father takes him by surprise. The man is now on the doorstep, his right shoulder lying against the framework and both arms crossed before his chest.

“Absolutely,” he lies, glad not to be surrounded by hyper-sensitive werewolves. “I was thinking of going back to the house with the pack. Can I?”

The Sheriff’s eyes crinkled in laughter.

“It’s the first time you’ve asked for permission ever since you went to university,” he says. “You’ve been sleeping there for the last two months, son. It’d be weird to have you here.”

“Oh,” Stiles mutters. “Nice. What about you? Don’t we…?”

“We have breakfast on Sundays, and you stop by the station for lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he explains, understanding what he is wondering. “I’ve also been… spending some time with Melissa.”

“Melissa,” Stiles repeats. “I should know who she is, shouldn’t I?”

“Scott’s mom.”

Stiles nods.

“Okay, great. I’ll… come tomorrow morning, then. You want me to bring something?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it. Have fun tonight.”

“Wait,” Stiles stops him before he is left alone once again. “Can you… I mean, I actually don’t remember anything, so… maybe you could…” the Sheriff waits expectantly for his son to find the correct words. “I need a ride,” Stiles finally says.

The corners of his mouth slide upwards. 

“Come on, kiddo.”

Fifteen minutes later he is locking himself in his room after dodging Isaac and Boyd. The only thing that can make him feel better right now is a good nap, so he throws the quilt covering the bed to the floor and stands there, staring at the white mattress.


There is no sheet covering it. In fact, it looks like no one has ever slept on it. It is, indeed, brand new.

If he has not been with his father, and if he has not been with the pack either, where the hell has he been?

Chapter Text

Boyd scares the hell out of him. He is probably the one that looks the most like a werewolf: muscular, tall, serious. His dark eyes are always analyzing his surroundings, as if waiting for something to happen at any moment. But it is not his permanent state of alert what drives Stiles nuts, no way. It is his silence. Derek has a tendency to use non-verbal communication with his Betas, mostly through the contortion of his incredibly expressive eyebrows, but he has no problem when it comes to the use of words. Boyd, however, has barely pronounced twenty words since Stiles lost his memories. Such quietness has not helped at all. Stiles has no idea how to deal with him, even though the pack seems unbothered by his behavior and he is starting to think that maybe he should do the same. But he can’t. What if the guy hates him? What if he was an asshole to Boyd and ignored him just like he did with Isaac and now he has an opportunity to make it right? Those what-ifs are too big to disregard them, so he does the only possible thing: he orders a pizza (with Derek’s money, because hey, he can’t remember what his financial situation is and he is doing this for the pack, so the Alpha should pay, right? Right?), and invites Isaac and Boyd to his room. They sit on the floor and share the food, some movie about aliens playing on Isaac’s laptop (they were going to use Stiles’, but he does not know his own password).

“Holy shit, this is orgasmic,” he moans after the first bite of pizza.

Isaac snorts. Boyd simply nods.

“You love pizza. When we were in high school, we had movie nights every weekend, and you wouldn’t come if there was no pizza,” the blond boy says.

“And now?” Stiles asks, curious. “I’ve been told that I’m not studying here anymore. How does the pack work, taking into account that we are no longer together?”

“Scott is attending the community college, and so am I. Boyd and Erica are taking some online courses,” he explains, fixing his big eyes on the screen. “Allison is with you at Berkley, and you two drive home almost every weekend. The only problem is Lydia… and Jackson, I guess. They only come home for Christmas and summer, so… They are having problems with Derek.”

It may be selfish, but not being the only source of conflict in the pack feels good.

“Okay. Anything else I should know?”

Surprisingly, it is not Isaac the one who answers.

“Things have been calm since we graduated. The witches were the exception.”

Stiles turns to him, happy to have an excuse to focus on that issue.

“Speaking of them… Why were they in Beacon Hills? And why were we fighting them in the woods?”

“They were a group of pranksters,” Isaac replies, hands busy taking another slice of pizza. “They had been causing trouble for a week, turning Erica into a rabbit and forcing Scott to sing instead of talk. Derek was getting tired of them, so he asked you to find a way of luring them into the woods, which would give us an opportunity to kill them.”

“And I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Boyd tilts his head, but does not comment on his question.

“Well, Derek was. He had pissed off one of the witches by being… you know, himself. The witch said that an Alpha with such a dysfunctional pack needed their help more than anyone else, and that he should be grateful for their presence before casting a spell. You just pushed him and let the witch hit you instead,” an amused smile appears on Isaac’s face. “And then you just ran away. It was hilarious.”

Stiles punches him on the arm, trying not to laugh.

“Not funny, dude. I was terrified.”

“But not enough to pee your pants,” Boyd points out.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s mad cause he lost a bet. Your bladder got me twenty bucks.”

“Did you make a bet? Are you freaking serious? No cool, dudes, I’m regretting buying you pizza.”

Who would have thought that Boyd is up for those kinds of things?

“You didn’t buy it, Derek did,” Isaac reminds him with a big smile. “It’s a good thing you’re his favorite. Otherwise we’d be screwed for using his credit card.”

Stiles should not jump to conclusions, especially not when they involve their hopes and feelings, but it is difficult not to do so when everything is leading him towards the most obvious one. Firstly, everybody keeps mentioning how close he was to the Alpha before the accident. And then there is his own father admitting that he has been practically living with him and Isaac. Those things analyzed in isolation would not mean anything, but when you add to the situation a never-used bedroom where he was supposed to have been sleeping… Well, there were not many other options than the most evident one, right?

“I need to know something,” he announced, closing the laptop to stop the movie.

Boyd and Isaac share a look before nodding.

“Go ahead,” Boyd says.

“Okay, the thing is… My dad has told me that I have been sleeping away from home.”

“Yeah, you’ve been here,” Isaac says. “Or at least you were when I went to sleep and when I woke up.”

“That’s what I thought, but see that mattress there?” both boys take a look at the bed, frowning. “It hasn’t been used.”

Isaac can’t hide a smirk.

“If you’re asking us if you’ve been sleeping with Derek, the answer is…”

“You should talk to him,” Boyd interrupts him, standing up. “That’s none of our business. I told Erica I would go shopping with here today, so I should get going. Thanks for the pizza, though.”

“Sure, man. You’re welcome. It was nice,” Stiles admits. “Have fun.”

When the door closes after Boyd, Isaac asks Stiles to remain silent for a while, his index finger pressed against his lips.

“He can’t hear us anymore,” he finally says. “Nobody knows what’s been going on between Derek and you, but the pack has had too many… issues to focus on that, you know? Between Jackson and Lydia drifting apart from us, the thing with you and Scott, and Derek being unable to merge the two packs…”

“Wait, two packs? What are you talking about?”

“Derek didn’t turn Scott, it was his uncle. It shouldn’t make such a big different now that Derek is the Alpha and Scott a beta, but Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson and you have always been a group, whereas Derek, Erica, Boyd and myself have been another. We don’t try to kill each other, but… I wouldn’t say that we’re the family we’re supposed to be.”

“The witch had a point then, uh? About us being a dysfunctional pack?”

Isaac nods, sadly.

“When problems come, we fight together, but… that’s it.”

“Maybe we should do something about that, don’t you think?”

A glimpse of hope crosses the boy’s eyes, but it is gone in a matter of seconds.

“Actually, that’s up to Derek,” he sighs. “And he doesn’t feel… comfortable being our Alpha. I don’t even think he likes us at all.”

That is the last piece of the puzzle, the detail Stiles needed to solve the riddle that has presented itself in the form of an unwelcomed amnesia.

“You’re a genius, Isaac.”

“I… what?”

Stiles jumps to his feet and ruffles Isaac’s hair.

“Do me a favor and think of something we both may like to do tomorrow night, okay? Like going to the movies or playing a videogame, anything. And invite Erica and Boyd.”

He does not wait for a reply. The engines of his brain are already busy working on a plan, something Stiles finds extremely difficult given his limited knowledge concerning… well, everything. Nonetheless, Isaac has provided him with more than enough information for him to understand what is going on. The witch said that their presence should be celebrated right before trying to hit Derek with a memory curse. Maybe his intentions were to make the Alpha forget and force him to work on solving the problems of his pack. In that case, Stiles is sorry for the death the man suffered, although it serves him well for messing with werewolves.

He takes a deep breath before knocking on Derek’s door (in fact, he takes three deep breaths before knocking on three different doors, as he does not know which one leads to the Alpha’s bedroom and ends up walking into a bathroom, a pantry and what seems to be a guest room before finding the right one) and waits a second before opening it. Derek is staring at him from his desk, the light from the screen of the computer making him look paler.

“How can I help you?”

Stiles lets his eyes scan the room while his brain struggles to find the correct way of explaining his idea. There is a king bed next to the window covered by black sheets and an eiderdown, and an armchair to the right of a big and minimalistic bookcase made of bricks. The place is not big, not if you compare it to Stiles’ own bedroom, but it looks cozy, comfortable. The perfect den.

“The witch wanted to help you,” he simply states, turning to the werewolf. Derek arches an eyebrow. “Think about it, dude. He was powerful, wasn’t he? He could have killed you or… I don’t know, maim you. But all he did was to erase some memories, and not even permanently.”

“Really,” despite the frustration with which he pronounces every word, his eyes are inviting Stiles to keep going.

“Not remembering anything has made me notice that I was making some big mistakes,” he continues, taking a step towards him. “Like ignoring Isaac or not hanging out with Boyd. Or even putting up with Scott’s bullshit,” his choice of words startles Derek. “Am I right?”

Derek tilts his head, pensive.

“You think I’m making mistakes, too.”

“Everybody is making them all the freaking time, don’t take it personally. But you must understand that your status as our Alpha means that your errors are of more relevance to the pack than ours.”

“I’m not your father, Stiles. If you are fighting each other, it’s not my problem. You’re adults now.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” when Derek does not answer, Stiles lets out a sigh. “Fine, don’t do anything. I’ll save your ass.”

“Try not to get killed in the process.”

As he returns to his now empty bedroom, he rolls his eyes at Derek’s response. The guy is lucky he is hot as hell, because if it were for his social skills and leadership he would be hopeless.

When he retrieves his phone from under the bed, he opens his text messages and looks for the conversation with Scott, the first part of his plan.

Stiles: need to meet you asap. I’m at Derek’s.

Surprisingly, the boy’s answer comes two minutes later.

Scott: you okay??????

Stiles: we have to talk. Now.

Scott: on my way

Chapter Text

“If you had your memories, you’d understand why this doesn’t make any sense,” Scott huffs, a couple of steps behind Stiles.

“Maybe, but the thing is that I’m a new person, and Stiles 2.0 wants you to stop whining and help me find Erica’s favorite cheese.”

A text from Isaac has sent them to the supermarket in a very important quest: grocery shopping for a pizza night. One would have thought that werewolves would not be picky eaters, but that was not the case with Derek’s pack. Erica only eats pizza with comté cheese on it, Isaac is all about veggies, Boyd does not care as long as there is enough meat, Lydia has asked for whole wheat crust, Allison loves pineapple, and so does Jackson. As for Scott and Derek, they have only complained about how stupid Stiles is for trying to do something nice for the pack.

“Top shelf, the one on the left,” Scott tells him. “We don’t like them, Stiles. We already have to suffer pack meetings and movie nights. Isn’t that enough?”

Stiles takes the package and drops it on the cart. They only need to get some mushrooms and they will be good to go.

“When was the last time you talked to any of them? Because,” he adds, keeping Scott from answering him. “I had lunch with Boyd and Isaac and they are great, especially Isaac. And I’m sorry to tell you, man, but they’re pack.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott places a hand on Stiles’ right shoulder, which forces the boy to stop walking. “Listen to me. We’re pack because we have no other option. Being pack means that when you’re away and supernatural shit happens, Derek makes sure your dad stays alive. We both wanted to get away from here and them as soon as possible.”

It is incredibly difficult to distrust Scott when he is looking at Stiles with puppy eyes, but the thing is that the longer Stiles meets his gaze the more the boy reminds him of Isaac.

“Are you sure about that? Did I really want to leave Beacon Hills for good? Or was it what you and Allison wanted to do?” he snaps. “Because why would I drive home almost every weekend if I didn’t want to be here? Why would I spend every night at Derek’s if I didn’t like the pack? But above all, Scott, why would I turn down some amazing people who like me and stay with me when a fucking witch curses me, especially when the guy who is supposed to be my best friend simply forgets about it and leaves me to be with his girlfriend?”

The cereal aisle may not be the best place in the world to have this conversation, but hey, Stiles was not the one who initiated this conversation, right? It is Scott’s fault that there are two old ladies looking at them from behind the Lucky Charms’ shelf.

“You’re getting everything wrong. They’ve manipulated you. You haven’t been sleeping at Derek’s!”

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns around, determined to get the mushrooms and leave the place in less than ten minutes.


By the time Scott drops him back at the Hale house with five bags of food, they have not exchanged a single word since their disagreement, so Stiles is not surprised when Scott leaves instead of staying. He angrily places the groceries in the fridge and sits on the couch once he is done, the black screen of the TV before him. The plan was to get to know Scott, to give him an opportunity to show that he really is a good friend, but what now? Is he supposed to go after him once again? He may be missing some details about their past, but the evidence is hard to ignore. Maybe their relationship is not worth saving. Maybe he should be focusing on the other members of the pack, those who are not too busy all the time.

“Have you forgotten how the TV works, too?” Derek asks, startling him.

Stiles throws up his hands.

“Could you stop being a creeper? I’m gonna get you a fricking bell.”

A soft laugh precedes Derek’s answer.

“You used to say that all the time,” the werewolf sits beside him and takes the remote, turning on the TV. “Has Scott talked you out of tomorrow’s plan?”

Stiles drops his head against the couch’s back.

“No, and I’d rather not talk about him. Thank you very much.”

Derek keeps pressing buttons until a stupid documentary on giraffes appears on screen. Satisfied with his choice, he drops the remote control on the coffee table.

“You were already having issues with him before the curse.”

“Uh? Really?” Stiles immediately stands straight. “Because Scott was surprised by my attitude.”

“As far as I know, you hadn’t talked to him about it. Yet. But you complained a lot about your friendship,” he explains.

Stiles nods. That makes sense, and not what Scott said.

“And…” Stiles turns to the TV, glad to have a baby giraffe learning to drink water as a distraction. “Do you think I’m right? Or am I being an asshole?”

“You’re always an asshole, it’s part of your personality,” he deadpans, as Stiles sighs. “I don’t have an opinion on this, though, Stiles. It’s better if I don’t get involved.”

“Why? I’d like to know what you think.”

“Not a smart decision. Scott doesn’t like me, he barely tolerates my existence. If somehow, he learns that we’ve been discussing this, he’d say that I’ve influenced you.”

Stiles snorts, partly because of what Derek has just said, and partly because the baby giraffe has fallen into a river, and man, that is hilarious.

“Well, he’s already said that, so…”

Despite that, it still takes Derek a few moments to start talking.

“Scott and you have been friends since forever. You’re more than that, you’re brothers. When I first met you, you’d finished each other’s sentences and laugh at private jokes all the time. It was sickening,” his voice is soft and warm, which makes Stiles smile. Whatever his pretensions, it is quite obvious that the werewolf is fond of them. “But you grew up. He found Allison, you… found us. It was all fine until you graduated and went separate ways. I don’t think it was someone’s fault. Life changes and so do people. You’ll probably always love Scott, and he will love you back, but that doesn’t mean that you’re forced to stay best friends. Relationships evolve and you two are struggling to make yours work, that’s it. Don’t give up on him. Scott may be a bit selfish and self-centered, but he’s a good person.”

Stiles finds himself staring at him, his lips slightly apart.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters.

Derek turns to him.


“Why do they say that you’re a bad Alpha, that you don’t like us?”

“Who says that?” he questions him, angry.

Stiles shrugs.

“It doesn’t matter. Thanks for your words, dude. You’re great,” he smiles instead of betraying Isaac. “I won’t ask Scott to be something he can’t be anymore. And now, if you excuse me, I have some e-mails to read. Lydia and Boyd sent me their answers to the questionnaire an hour ago. I’m still waiting yours, by the way.”

“I’m working on it.”

Stiles jumps to his feet and stands there, enjoying the great view that Derek is.

“Dude, you don’t need to write a thesis or anything. Just say whatever you remember about… us.”

“There’s a lot to say,” he admits, nonchalantly.

“Uh huh,” speechless, Stiles starts walking back to his bedroom before turning once again to the werewolf. “I’m having breakfast to-…”

“I know, it’s Sunday. I’ll drive you, don’t worry,” Derek interrupts him, his attention focused on the giraffes.

A stupid smile accompanies all the way back to the second floor, and it is still present when he opens Boyd’s e-mail and reads the generic answers the boy has given him. Stiles replies with a ‘not useful, dude, but thanks’, and proceeds to read Lydia’s. Instead of replying to the questions, Lydia has sent him a short essay with a picture of the two of them.


“Dear Stiles,

I don’t even know why I’m doing this, although I suspect that the only reason is that I pity you. You may not remember it, but you are always the one getting in trouble. Most of the times it’s because you’re reckless and stupidly loyal, but others you just happen to be where you shouldn’t (and this drives all us crazy, but we’re used to it by now, so don’t worry). Anyway, you are a quite complicated person. It took me years to understand how that hyperactive brain of yours works, and I highly doubt that you’ll be able to grasp your personality before getting your memories back. So instead of wasting your time (and mine) trying to figure out this, enjoy this opportunity! You’re having a break from all the shit you’ve been through, and that it’s simply incredible.

P.S.: I miss you (the real you, with your memories and all), so get better soon, okay?”


He lies on the bed while re-reading the e-mail, tears running down his cheeks. Somehow Lydia has managed to make him miss what he no longer remembers in a way no one else has been able to. It may be unreasonable to mourn a life he cannot recall, especially one that seems to have been a complete mess, but it hurts too much. It hurts because he is alone, and has been so for a while. What is he supposed to do when he barely spends any time with his dad? When his best friend is nothing more than an acquaintance?  When his other closest friend, Lydia, is drifting apart from the pack?

That miserable and depressing train of thought is interrupted by the unexpected presence of Derek in his bedroom. Stiles does not even question when the man lies next to him and wraps him in a warm embrace, spooning him and pressing his stubble against Stiles’ neck.

“It’s gonna be fine, Stiles,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Unconsciously, Stiles squeezes himself into Derek’s body, taking his hands in his.

“Is this life worthy?” he finds himself asking.

Derek tenses behind him before forcing him to turn around and face him. Once their noses are mere inches apart, the werewolf takes his time capturing the tears still welling up in Stiles’ eyes.

“It is. You love it,” he finally answers. “You don’t talk much now, but you never shut up, the real you, I mean. You’re excited about everything: Halloween, Christmas, Thanksgiving, puppies, magic, videogames, comics, even lists and graphs. You find reasons to keep living where others only find boredom, and you push everyone around you to do the same. You’re the spark of this pack. And you have so many plans… I know you keep a diary with all of them,” his smile is subtle and sweet, calming. “Don’t reduce yourself to your bad experiences, Stiles. You’re happy, trust me. You love your dad, and your university, and… the pack. Before the spell you were already spending more time with Isaac and Erica, and you wouldn’t shut up about how much you enjoyed their company. You even met Scott from time to time, and it was fine. Be patient, please. Do it… do it for me, okay?”

One last tear escapes his left eye, but as soon as it does, Derek’s hand is there to trap it, giving Stiles the perfect opportunity to lean forward and find his lips. The kiss is clumsy, a soft and chaste meeting between their mouths that sends a shiver through Stiles’ body. Derek keeps his right hand on Stiles’ neck, not pushing him away, simply lying there, his fingers lost in the hair of his nape.

“Stiles, wait…” Derek breaks the kiss too soon, making Stiles moan in disagreement. When he opens his eyes, Derek is looking at him with a bewildered expression. “I… T-this is not something we do.”

“Oh, fuck,” in an attempt to put some distance between them, Stiles ends up on the floor. “I totally misinterpreted everything, I’m sorry, dude,” he apologizes, crawling away from the bed. “I’ll call my dad and ask him to come get me and you won’t have to see my stupid face ever again. You have my word.”

He is already opening the door when Derek catches him and closes it.

“Stiles,” he places his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, looking him in the eye. “I said that we didn’t use to do that, not that I didn’t want to do it, but… I can’t. Not now, not with you.”

Stiles deflates, as he nods and stares to the floor.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, man. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“You don’t understand,” he insists. “It feels like cheating,” at that, Stiles frowns, but Derek keeps talking. “I need you to get your memories back before taking this step, okay? We… we’ve been working on our relationship for a long time, and if I’m being honest I must admit that this is something I’ve been looking for. But it doesn’t matter how much I want it, I can’t have it now. We can’t, Stiles.”

“Okay, okay, let me see if I’m getting this right…” someone should give him a prize for being so close to Derek without kissing him again, because honestly, this man is the perfect definition of a temptation. “Once I get my memories back, I’ll be getting a piece of this, too?” he runs his eyes over the body of the werewolf before meeting his gaze.

“Yes. So now, go downstairs, eat something, drink Deaton’s tea, and get some sleep. Understood?”

Stiles high-fives himself as soon as Derek is gone.

Chapter Text

Stiles must admit that maybe he has been overreacting a bit. Maybe. Not that he is going to say this out loud, of course not. He first realizes that his life is not as bad as it looked like while having breakfast with his dad and Derek, who was kindly invited by the Sheriff to join them. Both men spent two hours making fun of him while telling embarrassing stories that sounded implausible, but hey, one of them was a freaking werewolf, so why do not believe them?

It is not until he is on his way back to the Hale house, a promising pizza night as his only plan for the day, that Stiles realizes that the camaraderie shared by the Sheriff and Derek is what has managed to ease his pain. Somehow, it feels like home, like family. He belongs with them, and vice versa.

“Everything alright?” Derek’s voice, warm and quiet, forces him back to reality.

Stiles nods, fixing his gaze on the road ahead. “Yeah.”

And for once, he is not lying.

“I…” Derek says, holding the steering wheel with his left hand, leaving the right on the gear lever. “I know I wasn’t particularly thrilled about your pizza night, but I’m glad you’ve had organized it. It’ll be good to be together without bleeding to death.”

Stiles blushes, pleased.

“Hopefully, there won’t be any witches, uh?” he jokes.

Derek scowls.

“I won’t let them touch you ever again. I won’t make the same mistake twice,” the words come easy to his tongue.

Stiles is tempted to joke again, trying to light up the mood, but he contains himself and decides to place his hand over Derek’s right one, which is still lying on the gear lever. His skin is hot to the touch, and though the hand is big and the fingers long and thick, it feels delicate, fragile. Derek immediately relaxes. His shoulders un-hunch as the man lets out a silent sigh that makes Stiles proud of himself. He is capable of calming down an Alpha werewolf, he should be accepted as an Avenger. Or at least as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

But, wait… what?

He remembers that. He knows about Marvel. He loves Iron Man, he considered the possibility of getting an arm just like Bucky’s, he dressed up as Captain America when he was eleven for Halloween. Those are memories from his childhood and teenage years.

“Stiles?” Derek calls him, parking before the now empty house.

Stiles meets his eyes with a big smile.

“I’m coming back, babe.”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“Sometimes it’s really hard to keep up with you,” he whispers, resigned.

The boy laughs at that, lacing their fingers together.

“Deaton’s magic potion is working. I’ve just remembered how much I love superheroes.”

“Batman is your favorite,” Derek asserts, opening his door without breaking apart. “Anything else?”

“Nope, not yet. But it’s good to see that the potion has its priorities. I wouldn’t want to live without my extensive knowledge on comics.”

“You were doing just fine.”

Stile is well aware of the fact that they are sitting in the Camaro, the driver’s door open and their hands still together. It should be awkward, but it is not. Not after what happened the day before.

“If crying and freaking out means doing just fine, then yeah, I agree with you, dude. Come on, you still have a questionnaire to send me.”

Stiles tries to remove his hand in vain.

“I gave you a huge spoiler of my answers last night,” Derek admits, squeezing his hand.

“Well, if you don’t have anything to do, I suppose we could watch a movie and…” Stiles waggles his eyebrows, making Derek laugh.

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly awesome?” despite Derek’s snort, his affection does not go unnoticed.

“Before the witches we watched Iron Man 2,” the werewolf lets him go.

Stiles follows him to the main entrance, already missing his hand.

“Then we’re watching Thor and The Avengers. You’re gonna love them, man.”

Derek rolls his eyes as he opens the door and steps aside, allowing States to enter the house first.

“I can’t believe you’ve remembered Marvel’s timeline, but not how to drive.”

“Maybe I’m messing with you,” Stiles runs to the kitchen. “Do we have popcorn?”

“Cupboard next to the fridge,” Derek answers from the living room. “Do you know how to make the microwave work?”

Stiles retrieves the package and looks at the machine. He can’t remember using it, but it should not be too difficult, right?

“I think I do!”

Fifteen minutes later, two bowls of burnt popcorn and an amused Derek prove that he did not. Stiles ignores him and lies on the couch, eating the burnt food and waiting for the movie to start. He eats the popcorn pretending that nothing is wrong.

“You’re gonna get sick, Stiles,” Derek sighs, pressing the play button and sitting beside him.

Their bodies are firmly pressed, giving Stiles the perfect opportunity to lean against Derek. The man does not acknowledge the movement for a while, until he puts his left arm around his shoulders when the first scene is about to end, inviting him into his personal space. Stiles can’t help to smile.

“I hope you don’t regret this,” Derek whispers.

“Why would I?”

Afraid of being pushed away, the boy grabs Derek’s henley.

“Not even my betas like me, remember? And they should feel compelled to do so just because I’m their Alpha. So, imagine how much they must hate me if that bond doesn’t work between us. And you… You’re not a beta.”

“But I’m pack,” it is not a question, but the doubt is still there.

“I’ve always wanted you to be, but you’re a free and elusive spirit.”

“I don’t get it,” Stiles admits. “You said that this,” although he can’t see if the man is looking at him or not, he lets his eyes fix on the werewolf’s chest, where his hand remains, “is something that we’ve been building together for a while.”

“That’s what I think, but we never talked about it. What if I misinterpreted the whole thing, Stiles?”

And okay, he does not have an answer for this.

“In that case, once I get all my memories back, we should discuss this. Because I like you. I did from the very beginning.”

“Physical attraction isn’t everything.”

“Yeah, if it were, you wouldn’t be here wasting your time with me,” Stiles laughs.

Derek’s body vibrates when a growl resounds in the room.

“Stop that. I hate when you underestimate yourself.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. What I was trying to say is that for some reason, I felt drawn to you. Despite your bad guy looks, I knew I could trust you, and maybe that’s something I keep from my memories. I don’t know, and I really don’t care, Derek. And if I don’t, you shouldn’t either.”

They watch the movie in silence for a while, though they have not payed attention to it in the last fifteen minutes. Stiles gives Derek time to think, content with being trapped between his arms. Eventually, he drifts off and does not wake up until Derek goes rigid beneath him. The credits are already playing on the screen.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a yawn escaping his mouth.

“Nothing. Isaac is coming. Go back to sleep,” Derek answers.

It may be a day or a couple of seconds later when the front door opens and the boy enters the house.

“Is he asleep?” the beta whispers.

Stiles raises his head to meet those stupidly curious and cautious eyes of Isaac.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Hey,” Isaac replies, smiling. “I brought you something.”

An orange package flies across the room before landing on Derek’s chest, right beside Stiles’ hand.

“‘Reese’s’? he reads out loud.

“You’re obsessed with them,” Isaac takes a seat on the armchair next to the television. “And curly fries, but those are for dinner.”

“Do we have enough?” Derek asks while Stiles is busy opening the unexpected present.

“I don’t think there are enough curly fries in the state of California to satisfy him.”

Stiles does not hear him, though. His mouth is now full of peanut butter and chocolate, his body is experiencing a sensation from another world. He lets his friends know this with a moan.

“Why haven’t I been eating this piece of heaven these days?” he asks, happily chewing. “I love you, Isaac. You’re my favorite, no doubt.”

Isaac smiles and turns his attention to the credits, trying to hide the blushing on his cheeks.

“Erica is gonna be so mad…”


“Because I’m mom’s favorite, and Boyd is Derek’s, so she is the annoying kid no one likes,” he replies to Stiles’ question.

“I’M NOT THE MOM!” A laugh escapes from between Derek’s pursed lips. “I hate you both. I’m not sharing my fries with any of you.”

“You never do,” Derek informs him.

“And you need us to cook for you,” Isaac points out, his cheeks dimpling, and the corner of his eyes wrinkling.

Stiles moves away from Derek and crosses his arms before his chest, pretending to be angry at their teasing.

“You’re no longer my favorite,” he mutters before adding: “and you’re grounded.”

Isaac and Derek bark with laughter at the same time, which makes Stiles smiles. They are bounding, and that is exactly what he wanted. Stiles 1, the pack 0.

“By the way,” he continues, “what kind of dad are you? Kids aren’t supposed to know who you like the best!”

“I’ve never said I prefer Boyd.”

“Didn’t have to. He’s the least problematic one, it’s an obvious choice,” Isaac insists.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Derek stands up, rewarding Stiles with a very nice view. “You’re all good. I couldn’t choose one. Although…” Stiles braces himself for whatever the Alpha is going to say. “Jackson is a pain in the ass.”

Isaac gets back the smile he lost with the ‘although’ as Stiles relaxes.

Derek walks toward the television and turns it off. On his way back to the couch, he stops behind Isaac and places a hand around his neck. The beta tilts his head in response, exposing as much skin as possible. Stiles observes the encounter with curiosity and a certain amount of pride.

The pack is not beyond help.

Chapter Text

“Stiles, no.”

“Stiles, yes,” he retorts, dropping another Reese’s cup on top of his outlandish pizza. So far, he has added cheese, salami, and curly fries. The chocolate is just the final touch to what the boy considers to be a culinary master piece.

“I’m not taking care of you when you get sick for eating that,” Derek sentences.

“You’re jealous because I’ve created a magnum opus.”

Somewhere to his left, Erica laughs. Her pizza was the first one to go into the oven and it is now before her, waiting for the others to be ready. Pizza night has ended up being the messiest and funniest idea they have ever had. The kitchen is covered in flour, and the few ingredients they have not entirely consumed are scattered about the room. Six pizzas —one for Jackson and Allison with pineapple, another with extra cheese and meat for Erica and Boyd, a small whole wheat crust for Lydia, one with veggies for Isaac and Scott, and another with barbeque sauce for Derek— have been placed on the counters, their owners watching them with longing.

“Let him do whatever he wants, Derek. Just put it in there. I’m starving,” Erica intervenes, pushing Stiles toward the oven.

The Alpha lets out a sight and takes the heinous pizza from Stiles, a cautionary measure to keep an accident from happening. Another one. Stiles has lost count of how many burns he has suffered in the past three hours.

“Maybe you should have put the Reese’s cup later. They’re gonna melt before the crust is done,” Isaac points out.

“But I want the curly fries to soak up the chocolate, dude,” he explains as he seats on one of the stools.

“Why are you letting him do this?” Scott asks.

Derek raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised at being addressed by Scott.

“Even without his memories, Stiles is a grown-up, and I’m not his father.”

“That’d be awkward…” Stiles whispers to no one, which does not make much sense in a room full of werewolves with super abilities.

“But you’re his Alpha,” Scott insists, ignoring his words.

“Dude, it’s a fucking pizza. Chill,” Stiles says.

Derek expresses his gratitude by pressing a warm hand against Stiles’ small of the back, and leaving it there.

“And it already smells weird,” Lydia comments, breaking the silence. “I’m taking mine to the living room. You coming, Jackson?”

The boy obediently follows her.

“Don’t eat all the pineapple, Allison. I know how many pieces we’ve put!”

“Can we all go there?” Isaac asks, his eyes moving from Stiles to Derek, waiting for their permission to take his pizza.

“Sure. But don’t start eating!” Stiles answers. “Scott, can we talk?” he adds when the brunette is about to leave the kitchen with the others.

Scott stops right next to the door and nods.

“Call me when the pizza is ready,” Derek says before removing his hand, ready to join his pack.

“No, wait,” Stiles grabs his wrist. “Stay.”

Scott’s frown deepens into a scowl when Derek does not question the command and laces their fingers together instead. Whatever emotion he is giving out is enough to make the Alpha’s eyes flash red. The submission comes immediately in the form of a pitiful growl.

“I want to talk, not to stay put and watch how you two behave like dogs,” Stiles scolds them. The werewolves have the decency to look ashamed. Stiles 2, the pack 0. “Scott, man, I like you,” he decides to say. “I do. I know you think I’ve been brainwashed and blah, blah, blah, but I haven’t. I’m still your friend. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be wasting my time and jeopardizing the possibility of having a relationship with the person I’m pretty sure is the one. Okay? So, please, listen to me. Whether you like it or not, I’m part of this pack, and I don’t want that to change. I have fun with the betas, and I…” he turns to Derek, unable to find the right words to explain what is going on between them. “I’ll get to this later. Anyway. What I’m trying to say is that maybe there has been a serious lack of communication. I don’t question that years ago everything you said to me was true, but that’s not the case anymore, buddy. And even though you’ve been a shitty friend and so have I, and despite the fact that your attitude could be described as childish, I care about you and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you see how incredible this group of people is, and how lucky we are to be part of it. I know you love Allison, I know that she’s your everything, but you can’t isolate yourself from the rest of the world.”

When he falls silent, Derek squeezes his hand.

“I still want you in my pack,” the man admits.

Scott looks defeated. His eyes are glued to the floor, his hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans.

“Scott?” Stiles calls him, taking a step towards the boy.

“I… Can we discuss this once you get all your memories back?” he says, looking Stiles in the eye. “I think we should wait until then. You shouldn’t be making decisions now,” Stiles does not need werewolf superpowers to know that he is not only talking about their problems, but also about the fact that he is still holding hands with Derek.

“Don’t be too surprised when I stand by what I’ve said.”

A beep coming from the oven saves them both from continuing this conversation. Derek lets Stiles go and proceeds to retrieve the pizza, whose smell is… well, peculiar.

“You’ve created a monster,” the Alpha says as he puts the pizza on a plate. “Let’s go, the others are getting anxious.”

Scott leaves the kitchen without a word. Once in the living room, he sits next to Isaac, who is already taking a slice of their pizza, leaving Derek and Stiles the big armchair next to the television.

“I can’t believe you’re going to eat that,” Allison says.

Stiles must admit that it does not look as good as he had imagined. The chocolate is definitely burnt, and the curly fries have acquired a suspicious brown tone, but Stiles is too proud to admit his error without giving it a try. A nibble won’t kill him… Right?

He sits on the floor, his left shoulder touching Derek’s right leg, and proceeds to take the first bite. The closer the food is to his mouth, the more he regrets his choices.

“It’s fucking disgusting, just like you, Stilinski.”

“I love you too, Jackson,” Stiles replies, staring at the slice.

“Stiles,” Derek puts a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to eat that. I’ll share mine.”

“But I don’t understand,” he complains, pouting. “If pizza is awesome, Reese’s cups are great, and curly fries are incredible, a combination of the three of them must be breathtaking. It’s math, Derek.”

“That’s not how food works, sweetie,” Lydia remarks.

“But…” Derek interrupts him by taking his plate and offering him a slice of his pizza that Stiles accepts with a smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re permanently expelled from my kitchen.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees.

“Aren’t they cute?” Lydia asks Allison, grinning.

“Adorable,” the girl concurs. “It’s a pity you’ve been away so much, cause they’ve been like this for a while.”

“They have?” Scott asks, wide-eyed in amazement.

“I told you to send me pictures and videos!” Lydia exclaims.

“It’s not the same if you don’t see it live,” Erica says as Isaac nods, enthusiastically. “You’ve chosen to leave this pack when the most interesting things are happening.”

“I haven’t left the pack,” Lydia retorts. “Why would you say that?”

“I’ve seen you five times this year,” Erica shrugs. “Not that I care, of course.”

“But I do,” Stiles intervenes, seizing the opportunity. “And even if they say otherwise, so does everybody else in this room.”

Jackson and Lydia exchange a quick look.

“You can’t ask us to stay in Beacon Hills, Stiles.”

“That’s not what we want,” Derek says. “You’re young and promising undergrad students. As your Alpha, I want you to succeed in your professional careers. Being part of a pack doesn’t mean that you have to stay in its territory forever. It means that you have a home to go back to, people you call family. It means that wherever you decide to go to, your Alpha will make sure that you’re welcomed by the pack in control of that place. But it also means that you’ll be representing us there, and that from time to time, you’ll come back.”

Stiles takes Derek’s ankle in his hand, proud of what the man has just said. The other betas are staring at him, not accustomed to their Alpha giving speeches about what their bond implies.

“Okay…” Erica finally mutters. “That was intense. Can we go back to making fun of Stiles and Derek while eating pizza?”

“What about not teasing us anymore?” Stiles suggests.

“Don’t be such a party pooper, sweetheart.”

Stiles meets Lydia’s eyes across the room. The redhead offers him a discrete smile, a silent ‘thank you’ to which Stiles answers with a nod.

Three hours later the kitchen is clean, the pack is gone, there is a new meeting scheduled for next week, and Stiles is following Derek around the house.

“Do you need anything?” the Alpha ends up asking when he is about to enter his bedroom.

“Nope, I’m fine,” Stiles replies. “You?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, his hand still on the knob.


“Okay, okay. I was just wondering, because, you know, I’m a very curious creature and I can’t help it, if you knew by any chance why I haven’t been sleeping in my room.”

Derek lets the knob go and leans against the door, looking amused.

“You think you’ve been sleeping with me.”

Red leaks into Stiles’ cheeks.

“Well, I wasn’t implying… I mean, I don’t… Oh, come on, don’t do this to me,” he begs him as his hands move to his face to cover the blush.

Derek laughs out loud before putting him out of his misery.

“You’re like a cat, you can sleep everywhere. I once found you sleeping on the stairs because you were too tired to go to your bedroom,” Derek explains. “Every time you come back to Beacon Hills you’re so excited and have so many plans that sleep finds you in the weirdest places, that’s why you haven’t used your bed yet. Before the witches, you had been sleeping in the backyard. You said you liked falling asleep while watching the stars.”

“You’re kidding.”

“The pack takes pictures of you whenever they find you in an unusual place. You can ask them,” he insists.

“Holly shit, why the hell do you like me, dude? You can do so much better,” Stiles mutters.

“Because you’re extraordinary in every possible sense, Stiles. You’re loyal, brave, and intelligent, but also funny and awkward. Whether you see it or not. And now, stop fishing for compliments and go to bed.”

When Derek turns on his heels, Stiles jumps on his back, placing his arms around the werewolf’s neck and his legs around his hips.

“What are you doing now?” Derek sighs, moving towards the bed as if Stiles were as light as a koala.

“Let me sleep with you,” he says, pressing his nose against Derek’s neck. “Pretty please.”

 Derek drops him unceremoniously on the mattress.

“I wish I could say no to you.”

And despite his words, there is a smile on his face.

Chapter Text



It is still dawn when Stiles leaves an asleep Derek in his —their— bedroom and goes downstairs, his body aching for caffeine and sugar. The floor is cold under his bare feet, but he does not care. His stomach is in charge of his brain, there is no room for thoughts about socks when he is starving and struggling to stay awake.

Ever since the witches, it has been either the Alpha or Isaac the ones in charge of making coffee in the morning, but today Stiles wants to do something for them. He will probably end up making the coffee maker explode, yet that is a risk he is willing to take. He prepares the black liquid the way Derek likes it: strong enough to chew. Its smell invades the kitchen in a matter of seconds, although it is probably the noise what wakes the werewolf up.

By the time Derek enters the room, Stiles has already filled two cups with coffee, and added sugar and milk to his own.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, offering him one of the cups.

“You made this?” the Alpha asks with a frown.

He inspects the liquid for a moment, his senses trying to determine whether it is edible or not.

“Strong enough to chew, as always,” the boy fights back a yawn.

Derek tenses immediately.

“What did you say?”

“Uh? Strong enough to chew? You’ve been telling me that for years. What’s the big deal, sourwolf?”

Stiles takes a sip from his cup. The warm and sweetness of the beverage is the closer he has ever been to paradise.

“Stiles,” Derek calls him, his coffee still untouched. “You remember.”


“You remember how I like my coffee and that stupid nickname you gave me years ago,” Derek leaves his cup on the counter and walks towards the boy, stopping right in front of him. “I haven’t told you any of this. I was waiting for you to remember it by yourself.”

Stiles needs a couple of minutes to understand what is really going on. When he finally does, he drops his cup, forcing Derek to catch it midair.

“OH, MY GOD, I DO. I REMEMBER EVERYTHING,” he yells, overexcited. “I’M BACK, DER.”

The smile that appears on Derek’s face leaves Stiles breathless. Suddenly, there is no trace of the big bad wolf. Instead, there is a young man with sparkling green eyes looking vulnerable and hopeful, his black hair disheveled.

“You are,” he whispers.

“And you said that…”

“I know what I said,” Derek interrupts him. “What are you going to do about that?”

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

Stiles licks his own lips, his eyes taking a quick look at Derek’s mouth.

“And then?”

Somehow, they have moved closer and there is little space left between their bodies.

“And then,” Stiles’ voice is soft, “I’ll keep kissing you until you get tired of me.”

“That’s unlikely.”

“Good,” he says as he pulls Derek closer to him.

With their bodies pressed together, Stiles can feel Derek’s warm breath against his skin, their hearts pounding. Angling his face to the Alpha’s comes naturally to him, as does locking their lips. At first, the kiss is chaste, small, two mouths pressed together, both getting acquainted with the other’s touch. Derek slips his arms around Stiles’ waist as the kiss grows more intense. The boy clings to him as if the werewolf were the only solid thing in the world. When his lips part, shaking, and their tongues meet, a sweet tremor is sent through Stiles’ nerves, awakening unknown parts of his soul. If he were kissing anybody else, Stiles would feel embarrassed at the moan that escapes from his throat, but he does not. Because this is Derek. The man he has been in love with since he learned what love really is. The person who has taught him to fight for himself. The werewolf who understands him.

“Bed. Now,” he says between kisses, his voice barely a whisper.

Later that day, they find out that their bedroom activities made Isaac leave the house, willing to drink bleach just to forget what he has heard.

A month later, Stiles buys Isaac the best earplugs he can find. And sometimes, not even those are good enough.

A year later, when Stiles graduates and goes back to Beacon Hills for good, he moves in with Derek at the same time Isaac rents an apartment with his new girlfriend.

Ten years later, Stiles perfectly remembers his entire life, but has forgotten about the witches.

The witches, however, have not forgotten him, and never will.