Work Header

Voodoo Wolf

Work Text:

Original Prompt:

Anonymous asked: Sterek prompt: Stiles makes a wolf voodoo doll of Derek after collecting wolf hair from every time Derek is having a sneaky wolfy time on his bed, used his spark to make it magic then Scott finds it so Stiles plays it down saying that he just uses it as a threat when Derek is being a dick but really he sleeps with it and cuddles it, rub its tummy cos Derek deserves to feel all loved without Stiles getting his throat ripped out. Derek knows but enjoy the affection too much to say anything.

I didn't stick directly to script but I think you'll notice some blatant similarities, for good reason~ 

I of course don't own any characters or really even the idea ^^ but even I could have given you a better Teen Wolf, just sayin <3 

Adding this lovely piece of art by @Batwynn commissioned for me by the wonderful and talented and beautiful and perfect @Adara (9timesoutoften)




He stumbles over it kind of on accident. Well okay, entirely on accident because that’s just his life, but whatever. His eyes catch sight of black fur and his head snaps toward it. He moves closer and he knows right away that he’s not leaving without it, not with the way the price tag was stacked with layers and layers of reductions finally leading to a black sharpie over the number and a sad $1 sticker pushed against the soft plush side.


Stiles picks it up and walks straight to the cash register and walks straight out.


He completely forgets the toothpaste and dryer sheets he meant to grab.




He takes it to the jeep and sits it gently in the passenger seat before realizing how ridiculous he’s being and tosses it over his shoulder. He then, immediately, picks it back up and pets it softly before cursing himself and shoving it in the glove compartment.


It’s fine, it’s just a stuffed animal.


Just because it’s almost pitch black with a hint of iridescent red around the eyes doesn’t mean anything. He tells himself that another half dozen times on the short trip between the drugstore and home. He leaves it in the jeep despite the weird clammy feeling it pulls under his skin, but also reluctantly cracks a window even though he knows it's completely ridiculous. It’s just that he’s already kind of started thinking of it as a little Derek and while he’s not usually the sentimental type, if anyone deserves some goddamn good in their life it’s Derek freakin’ Hale.


He tries his best to forget about it, the adderall and energy drinks help with that, but mostly it’s getting lost in his research. There’s something weird happening to the plants at the northern edge of the preserve and Derek’s asked for him to look into it. He’s trying to see if he can find anything natural that would cause it and if not, he’ll switch parameters to the supernatural.


His phone starts buzzing on the desk and he glances at the clock to see that it’s well past midnight before he answers.




There’s a choked gurgling on the other end and his stomach drops. He knows that sound. And doesn’t that just go to show how fucked up his life is. That he can recognize the sound of Derek choking on his own damn blood.


“Fuck, where are you? Derek? I’m on my way!”


He honestly doesn’t even know where he’s going but Stiles grabs a hoodie and his keys and sprints out to the jeep. The phone still attached to his ear in hopes that Derek will be able to spit something out that he can understand.


“C’mon buddy, you gotta do better than that. I’m not you or toucan Sam, I can't just follow my nose. Tell me where you’re at, Derek!” he says impatiently. He just needs to know which way to point the jeep.


“The preserve?” he asks, but there’s no confirmation. So Stiles picks the second most deadly place in Beacon Hills. ”The school?”


Derek coughs a little and there’s a lightly growled, “Hurry.”


“Fuck, of course it’s the school. When is it not the goddamn school. I should just start automatically driving to school because apparently supernatural villains circle jerk to teen thriller movies."


He hangs up because Derek already has, then pushes his foot down a little harder. He’s mentally trying to calculate the minutes left in his trip, while also wondering what the fuck they’re dealing with. Last time he was given any details, nobody had been hurt it was just the plant thing.


Hell, maybe it’s something else all together. The tires squeal as he pulls into the spot closest to the door. He grabs his bat and is ready to kick ass until he sees Derek crawling out of the hedges.


“Holy shit, what happened to your arm, dude?” he asks, because Stiles is about as subtle as the siren of a squad car. He rushes over, tugging off his hoodie, then his overshirt, wrapping it around the disgusting wound.


Derek still can’t talk properly but he says enough with his eyebrows that Stiles feels like he should be about three inches tall. “Fine, carry your own ass to the jeep…”


There’s a pitiful noise and Stiles heart lurches into his throat but he rolls his eyes dramatically for Derek’s benefit as he scrambles down to the ground to get his shoulder under Derek’s good arm to help him to his feet. “Alright, big guy. Let’s get you to Deaton.”


Somehow without saying it, Derek still seems to communicate that there’s not enough time. Though, as soon as he gets into the jeep he starts jerking everything from the glove box and tossing it over his shoulder making Stiles squawk as he half leaps into his seat.


‘What the hell are you doing?”


Derek grits his teeth but growls out Ash , and continues digging.


Stiles hurriedly pulls the small jar of it from his hoodie pocket and holds it up, “You mean this?”


Derek looks so relieved that Stiles heart stutters over it, but it quickly picks back up because holy shit Derek’s taking his shirt off. Not his shirt- shirt but the one Stiles wrapped around his barely attached arm.


“Oh god, whyyyy? Why are you doing this? It’s like you want me to throw up,” he groaned, biting back the bile climbing into his throat.


The wolf’s head falls back against the seat and he grits his human teeth as he gestures for Stiles to pour the mountain ash over his wound. “You want me to what now? Are you crazy? This could literally kill you, Derek. Let me take you to Deaton,” he says, even though he knows Derek’s right they probably don't have time to make it to the clinic even if the cryptic assole is waiting there for them, it could still be too late.


“Okay, okay, it’s just’s not going to hurt you, Derek. I won’t let it hurt you,” he whispers, mostly to himself because he’s pretty sure Derek’s just passed out from blood loss.


You can do this, Stiles.


Just believe.


Be the spark.


You’re gonna heal Derek. You’re gonna fix his arm. You’re not gonna hurt him, I control you and I believe that you’re going to save him.


“I have to save him,” Stiles voice cracks a little over those words as the last of his ash supply is dumped into the gaping wound. He closes his eyes and imagines the ash turning to thick droplets of blood, wrapping themselves over the damaged areas and clotting. He pictures Derek’s muscles, tendons, skin, everything knitting itself back together. He focuses so hard on it that he struggles to remember to breathe until a gush of air is drawn beside him and Derek’s eyes shoot open again.


He sags instinctively and then takes a shaky breath of his own.


“What the hell is wrong with you? You could have died, Derek. Where is the rest of the pack? Why were you alone?” he asks, though purposefully not mentioning Scott’s absence because Scott is where Scott always is, with his head shoved up a skirt probably. Stiles is happy for the guy and everything but he seriously needs to rearrange his priorities.


He’s a freaking Alpha for fucks sake.


“Just, ugh… just checking perimeters. Didn’t know... but smelled familiar,” Derek grits out, his body clearly weak from the fact that his arm was barely hanging on a few seconds earlier.


“Yeah, well don’t be stupid anymore. You find something, call somebody…”


“I did,” Derek growls, glaring over at Stiles like he’s the one who chopped his damn arm off.


“Maybe try picking up the phone before you start bleeding out, dumbass.” Stiles glares back but eventually reaches to turn the key over and backs out of the parking lot. Derek leans against the door, his body limp and pale. It makes something dark and ugly grow in the pit of his stomach and Stiles is more than a little tempted to sneak into the vet’s office and grab some more mountain ash and think of some creative ways to repay the creature who hurt him.


“Where are you going?” Derek asks, when he passes the road leading to the loft. His speech is still slower than normal but he’s starting to look mostly human again, which is something at least.


“You just lost like a person full of blood, man. I’m taking you to get food and then to Melissa.”


“I don’t ne-”


“Hey, you called me to save your wolfy ass. Now sit back, shut up, and let me save it.” There must be something on his face or maybe just the tone of his words but Derek sits back and he doesn’t disagree again which is what Stiles wanted. He wasn’t trying to be a dick but if the guy seriously insists on investigating shit on his own and ends up a little dead, he’s going to have to deal with the consequences.


Stiles goes to the Taco Bell next to the sketchy hotel just outside of town solely because they don’t ask questions. He gets as much food as he thinks Derek can hold inside his body and a couple things for himself to stress eat before pulling back out. “You’re paying me back for this, by the way. I’m not your ATM.”


There’s a grunt of something that sounds like sugar daddy but Stiles ignores it because Derek’s a jerk most of the time and he’s not sure he wants to know anyway. “Eat… If you look less like a vampire zombie I might reconsider visiting Melissa… might .”


“There’s no such thing as Vampires,” Derek starts, but Stiles quickly interrupts.


“Just because you haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean it’s not out there Derek.” He shoves half a soft taco in his mouth and then his brain quickly starts firing at what wasn’t said. “Wait, you mean there’s Zombies?”


Derek snorts but he’s eating with just as much fervor as Stiles so there’s not a whole lot of talking for a few minutes. When they finally reach down to the middle of the bag, Derek starts to slow down.


He chews, swallows, and then turns to Stiles with a blank look and says, “You mean you don’t have me on your Zombie Apocalypse Team? I’m hurt.” He clutches at his chest and Stiles throws a cinnamon twist at his head.


Derek just grabs it mid air with his mouth.


“Stupid werewolf reflexes,” Stiles grumbles, but Derek just smirks back at him.


“Don’t be jealous, Stiles. It doesn’t look good on you.”


“Trust me, I’m perfectly okay being 100% human.”


“Your heart is telling another story,” Derek smiles. It makes him seem younger, softer in that moment and Stiles thinks maybe he should take Derek out for tacos more often if this is the reaction it gets him.


“Stop listening to my heart, you freak. Is nothing sacred around you furry dicks?”


“Well I could mention the-”


“Don't!” Stiles says, a little too harshly. It doesn’t take long for the air to shift back to a quiet comfort though.


Stiles looks Derek over, his color is back, there’s no visible issues with his arm. It seems to be fully healed now, at least. “Maybe we can skip over pulling Mrs. McCall out of bed but you call me and run your furry ass over there the minute anything seems out of whack. I didn’t put myself through this hell for you to just bleed out internally.”


Derek nods his head but stays quiet until Stiles pulls into the parking lot in front of the loft. “You comin’ up?”


“Whaaa?” Stiles asks, which he thinks is a fair question considering it’s pretty much the first time Derek’s ever actually invited him inside the loft. He’s been inside before, obviously. Well, mostly because he shows up unannounced and Derek has probably realized by now that he’s not going to go away until he says or does what he came to do. This time though, it's completely unprompted and Stiles brain seems to malfunction.


Derek stares back at him with his head tilted a little like he’s not sure what’s wrong with him, but eventually looks up to the sky and sighs. “To get your money for the tacos, idiot.”


“Oh, yeah. Nah, I’ll just pick it up tomorrow. It’s late.”


“Alright, see ya.”


“Yeah, see ya,” he answers, his hands shaking a little as Derek heads through the door. A woosh of air leaves his lungs like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. Like every single second since he’d first caught sight of Derek half dead crawling across the ground was too tense, too much to actually breathe.


Of course he knows he did. He couldn’t have survived without the oxygen but it doesn’t make it feel any less true. Taking another deep breath, he backs the jeep out of the lot before he has a panic attack thinking about it and focuses on getting himself home safely.


When he’s finally there he takes a few minutes to just sit and breathe normally, or as close to that as he can manage. He does his best to try to forget the images spinning through his mind like a trauma inducing ferris wheel.


How many times does it make that he’s had to watch Derek almost die right in front of him?


How many times has he had to bring the guy back by sheer force of will?


“Too many,” he decides quickly slamming his head back against the seat. “Fucking, idiot.”


He pops his door open and then uses the light to reach for his shirt. It’s covered in blood and skin, and other things that he doesn’t want to think about but it’s there. He picks it up and notices the stuffed wolf buried underneath.


“Shit,” he hisses, pulling it up to his chest. It’s got Derek’s blood caked on it and Stiles whines a little knowing he probably won’t get it all out. The little guy is too fragile to throw in the washing machine or dishwasher...which he would totally do if he thought the thing would survive it. He sure as hell doesn’t want to hand wash the damn thing, no matter how much it reminds him of a certain broody werewolf.


He takes it inside, sees how bad his shirt is and deems it a lost cause. Maybe he’ll hit Derek up for that money too, it’s not like the guy isn’t loaded. He pushes that back in his mind once he reaches the bathroom and slowly starts to rub the red patches under tepid water.


Reaching into the medicine cabinet, he grabs the peroxide before gently applying it to a small area around the wolf’s paw, just in case it bleaches the fur. Thankfully, everything works out okay and Stiles starts to clean the blood off in short small strokes. Eventually the water runs white again, whether he has it all or not, it’s the best he can expect so he turns off the tap and dries it in a big fluffy towel.


“Stupid, wolf.”


“Y’know, you could just ask for help… before doing idiotically dangerous things.”


“I mean, I get that I’m probably not your first choice, given the whole human aspect. But still, I think I’ve saved your ass enough to earn something a little higher than first responder.”


Stiles strips out of his clothes, barely sitting the wolf down long enough to get his shirts off before climbing into bed with it. His body officially starting to crash as the rush of adrenaline burns off.


He pats the wolf softly, scratches at its ears, and breathes out a slow exhale, “Haven’t I done enough, Derek? Don’t you trust me yet?”


He falls asleep with the stuffed wolf pulled tightly against his chest and tries everything he can not to relive the horrific nightmare he’d just experienced in the waking world.



Stiles wakes up more well rested than he’s felt in a long time. His first thought is to the nightmares he didn’t have. He’s curious, considering he usually can’t stop the onslaught of grotesque images that haunt his sleep; both surreal and from his memory. But he doesn’t question it too much, not wanting to be shaken from his relaxed mindset.


Scratching at his stomach, Stiles realizes he’s still got the stuffed wolf in bed with him and groans at himself. “I’m an idiot,” he says, before leaving it behind and moving downstairs in search of breakfast.


It stays there, mostly undisturbed for the next couple weeks. Stiles won't admit to it under threat of death, but he likes to cuddle with it at night and he’s starting to think that might have something to do with why he’s sleeping so well.


It’s a little weird because it’s almost like a security blanket at this point, but it’s been sooo long since he’s been able to get a decent amount of sleep for more than a day or two at a time. Honestly, Stiles feels like a new man when he’s had a full eight hours. It sure as hell comes in handy when they’ve gotta hunt down the razor fisted bastard that almost cut Derek’s arm off.


Where normally he’d be fueled on a mixture of adderall, caffeine, and fear; this time it’s just pure, raw adrenaline and it’s a heady feeling. His mind is clear and focused but not hyper, his limbs are in more control.


It’s incredible!


The bat feels light in his hand, he’s ready to kick some ass when a screech pierces the air from right inside the treeline behind the school. The wolves run faster, because of course they do, but it doesn’t matter. He feels a sort of energy, a prickle at his skin from the inside and he knows that it will be him, that he’s going to make sure this evil douchebag never hurts his pack again.


The fight is over as soon as it starts, mostly anyway. The thing reaches out for Derek but instead of making contact his talons or whatever the fuck they’re called, are ripped out of him in what looks to be an incredibly painful way.


Stiles’ lip twitches happily at that.


“You picked a fight with the wrong pack, Eddie.”


“Eddie?” Boyd asks, before Erica plops a kiss to his cheek.


“Edward Scissorhands.”


“You complete me,” Stiles turns to her to grin wildly.


“Is no one else focused on the giant fucking monster in front of us, because I think maybe that should be our first priority, just saying,” Isaac just says, pointing toward what Stiles thinks is a Ijiraq, though he isn’t entirely sure.


The Ijiraq or whatever it is, is still clutching at its hands, like it can’t believe the scissor claws are really gone.


“You know I could have taken the whole hand, probably would have if there’d been any lasting damage to my Alpha, consider yourself lucky, Eddie.”


The monster in front of him is still staring at his hands incredulously, as if what he’d seen was just purely impossible. It feeds Stiles’ ego a little, but also worries him. The lengths at which he would go to protect the- his pack is… well, it’s scary. It’s true and he knows he can’t change, wouldn’t if he could, but it’s still a little terrifying, even to him.


Eddie lets out a low, pained whine, still staring down at his hands.


Before Stiles can say anything else there’s soft black fur rubbing against the fingertips of his hand not clutching a bat. His instinct is to draw back quickly but even before he looks down he just, he knows it’s Derek.


“That’s so cool,” Erica says, flicking her claws open at the Ijiraq in a teasing manner. “Don’t worry buddy, happens to all the guys at some point, right Isaac?”


“You’re such a bitch,” he says, his claws extending as he does it.


The words come out more fondly than Stiles thinks he meant. Isaac is still pretty much a pain in the ass most of the time. He spends way too much time pining after Scott and not enough with Derek or Boyd and Erica.


Still, they’re his pack and he… well, he cares about them enough to not want them to die, most days at least.


Derek’s eyes flash red and the pack goes silent and still, a growl radiating from his animal body that sounds more like a threat than any of the words he’s spoken. Before Stiles can fully understand what’s happening, the massive creature in front of him is shifting and shrinking into his own wolf skin, though it’s much more grotesque and painful sounding than when Derek does it.


“Oh gross, Eddie.”


The pale white wolf stares back at him, a noise escaping his mouth. It's somehow similar and different to the one from Derek and for a moment there Stiles thinks holy shit, wolf fight!  But then Eddie is turning around and trotting back into the woods, like the rest of them weren’t even there.


“Is it just me or did that feel anticlimactic,” Boyd says, as they watch the Ijiraq disappear behind the treeline.


“Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you all the climaxes you want when we get back home,” Erica said with a smirk, making Boyd chuckle.


“I hate you both so much,” Isaac says, putting his claws away, and rolling his eyes at the two of them.


Derek is still on four legs and standing at his side like some kind of protector. It both warms Stiles in a way he can’t explain and worries him. “Are you okay, buddy?”


Even in his wolf form Derek seems to have the capability to just chuff at him and insinuate that there’s eye rolling action, though Stiles doesn’t actually know that he can roll his eyes.


He kinda wants to know now.


He pulls his phone out of his pocket and says, “Siri, remind me to google if wolves can roll their eyes lat-.’


Before he can finish the word Derek is pushing at his legs with his snout, forcing him back toward the parking lot. “Alright, alright. I’m going, Jesus.”




Stiles tosses a bag of chips at Isaac’s head, mostly as a bribe to keep his mouth busy. It has an eighty percent success rate, which is much higher than his previous method of saying, “Shut up, Isaac.”


Erica and Boyd are snuggled on his bed in a position that does not spell “sibling” or “packmate” in any sense of the word, but he doesn’t complain… much.


At least someone is getting laid.


Derek’s in the bathroom changing but he’s as hyper vigilant as Stiles is, so he knows the guy will be able to hear him from the other room when he says, “So what we’re dealing with is an Ijiraq, a shifter known to take the shape of… well whatever the hell that was earlier, and other things like a wolf, bear, and maybe a goat or something. I don’t remember and I’m not pulling the books back out again.”


“I liked Eddie better,” Erica says, her head popping up and away from Boyd’s large, muscular chest. He’d think on that a little more if not for the awkward fact that they are probably already getting too much eau de Stiles from being in his room and he doesn’t want to give off anything else.


“Yeah, me too, but I figured you should at least know what you’re up against.”


“What we were up against,” Derek says, flinging a damp towel against Stiles face making him splutter a bit.


“What the hel-,” he starts, only to have his words choked off when a half naked Derek Hale is standing in the middle of his bedroom, wearing only a pair of sweat pant- shit Stiles’ sweatpants. They’re, well, snug is an understatement.


“Unfair,” he whispers, as four pairs of eyes snap to him. Stiles can feel himself flushing as he swallows hard and rubs at the back of his neck. Forcing his mind to go focus on something other than how fucking amazing Derek looks, Stiles finally spits out the best thing he can think to say. “I do all this research and you just- you just stroll in here and take over!”


“The Ijiraqs won’t be an issue anymore. I don’t think they knew the territory was still claimed, that it was still Hale land.”


“What, you stop taking your piss breaks outside or…?”


Derek glares at him until he shuts up, which for Stiles, is surprisingly quick.


“Apparently I surprised one of their scouts before and there was a misunderstanding,” Derek says, shrugging it off.


“Dude, your fucking arm almost fell off and I’m pretty sure you were dead there for a minute and you’re just gonna what? Say no hard feelings?”


“What do you mean he died?” Erica says, sitting straight up in a fluid motion that’s a little too much like a blur for Stiles to know how it really happened.


“I mean, I had to like… fucking breathe the life into him again.”


“So… you used his inability to run away from you as an opportunity to give him CPR?” Isaac says, a mouthful of potato chips.


“No asshole, the moron poured mountain ash all over his arm, that by the way was only hanging on by a tendon, and I had to “believe” him back to life.”


All three of the puppies flinch back like they’ve been smacked on the nose with a newspaper.


Stiles almost feels guilty, but he isn’t, because their suicidal Alpha is the one with a martyr complex.


“You said it wasn’t a big deal,” Erica says, “You said it was just a scratch.”


Derek shrugs, “Stiles is being dramatic, it wasn’t a big deal. I’m fine.”


“C’mon, guys. It looks like our Alpha is just gonna lie to our faces. Let us know when you’re done being a dick,” Erica says, pulling Boyd off the bed behind her, Isaac trailing along with a small shrug and Stiles’ chips.




Derek turns to growl at him and Stiles can’t even with him anymore.


“Not my fault, Derek. You should have told them.”


“I’m trying to protect them.”


“Well you suck at it. You train them like some sort of drill sergeant on crack. But then when it comes time for them to actually use that training, you wanna put them on the bench even if it means you’re out there with nobody to watch your back,” Stiles says, his breath growing more labored as Derek steps across the floor to close the space between them. Still, he’s Stiles and he doesn’t back down. “What do you think will happen to them if you don’t make it out the next time, if I can’t save you? Then what, Derek?”


“They’ll be alive.”


“Why does it have to be either/or for you? You know, probability says that if you had them to back you up, you could all survive, it doesn’t have to end in death. Not everything ends in death.”


“It does for me.”


“Not anymore,” he says, and it sounds a lot more like a promise than he’d intended but it remains true nonetheless.


“Look, I know that the betas, that none of us can replace your family. They’ve all been through enough shit and lost enough to know that. They don’t want to be some sort of Hale Pack 2.0.” Stiles sighs, blowing out his breath and plopping down into his computer chair. “But they still need you, we still need you, Derek.”


Derek stays quiet for longer than Stiles is comfortable with, which is really any amount of time at all, though he is used to it. He lets the silence simmer between them until he can’t take it anymore, about four minutes, and finally speaks again. “Look, I know you don’t trust us. You’ve got issues, I get that. Hell, I understand that more than anyone, but you’ve got to stop throwing yourself at the problem until you’re dead or it goes away.”


Then softer, because he’s half terrified that this will be the tipping point, the one time Derek growls and rolls out the window never to speak to him again, he says, “Let me help, let us help you Derek and I promise you together we can keep the pack safe.”


“I trust them, they’re pack,” Derek says finally, and while it hurts Stiles can understand.


“Good they’ve earned it. They’ve bet all their chips on you and as hard as it might be to believe, that was their best goddamn bet. So act like it.”


“And where are your chips, Stiles?” he asks, almost hesitant with his words.


Stiles shrugs and tries not to bleed his emotions all over Derek before he smirks and says, “Isaac stole them.”




Scott shows up about three days after the Iljiraq incident, completely unaware of what’s happened, as usual. Stiles is all about the lying to yourself method but Scott really needs to understand that no matter how many times he closes his eyes, taps his sneakers together, and says I wish I was human, it’s just not going to happen.


That, and Stiles is really sick of him burying his head in the sand and pretending that this shit has nothing to do with him. He can’t keep assuming everyone else will just keep picking up the pieces and holding it together.


“We could have really used your help out there, man…”


“I don’t like that you’re out there with them. Let Derek take care of it, they’re his problems-”


Stiles has to take a deep breath before replying, as calmly as he can manage when responding to such willful ignorance, “No, they’re our problems. Do you think the crazy shit out there gives a rat’s ass about who’s in charge? No. They’ll still eat unsuspecting citizens, Scott... it’s their M.O.”


Stiles just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head. “It could have been a much bigger problem. We were lucky that there was only one of them and it didn’t really want to fight, from what Derek said at least-”


Scott is looking at him with a frown he hasn’t seen in a while and it throws him.  


“What?” he says, before realizing he’s abstractly picked up the stuffed wolf while talking about Derek and is softly scrubbing the black fur on its neck. He almost drops it, almost, but then he realizes he honestly doesn’t give a flying fuck what Scott thinks about his new friend. As much as Stiles loves him, has always loved him, he’s not going to let himself be shamed over this. It’s just a soft little wolf, nbd.  


“Um...” Scott says, clearly frowning down at the wolf in a way that makes Stiles skin itch on the inside but he ignores it.


Well he tries, until Scott opens his mouth and becomes unbelievably stupid again.


He tilts his head to the side and his brows knit together, “It smells like Derek. Why? What do you like... use it as a voodoo doll or something? Smack it’s little nose when Derek makes you mad?” he says, flicking the small button snout with a laugh.


Stiles goes stock still, the wolf tumbling out of his hands onto the bed.


It’s a teasing tone, a joking tone, something Stiles would have likely shrugged off a few years before but instead he’s livid. He doesn’t even register the first part of what Scott said, latching on to the fact that Scott’s first response to something that looks like Derek is to hurt it, to use it to hurt Derek even.  Rage burns inside him brighter than he’s felt in a long time and he can’t even find any words to stutter out.


He is apoplectic and before he even knows what is happening, he feels like a dam has burst somewhere within him and there’s a crackle of energy through the room that seems foreboding even to him. Stiles is using every fond memory of his childhood friend to keep himself from doing whatever comes next as Scott is just looking back at him with wide eyes.


“Dude, what the he-”


“Scott, for the love of God just shut up. Just- just shut the fuck up.”


Stiles tries to calm himself down but the mere insinuation that he’d hurt Derek of all people, especially over something trivial, it burns through him like liquid fire, a volcano of fury hidden in his core. He and Derek definitely have their differences and it’s not always pleasant, but he would never hurt him, especially not for shits and giggles or because of a disagreement.


When Stiles realizes that the years of friendship between them isn’t working to diffuse whatever the hell is happening to him, he takes a shaky breath and tries to focus or believe or whatever the hell he thinks Deaton would cryptically mumble at him. Stiles makes a hail mary decision to just pick up the plush wolf and pull it to his chest. The next breath he takes in is deep and sturdy. The electric energy spilling into the room dissipates and he starts to feel centered again, if only just.  


Scott tries to talk but Stiles shuts him up quickly, shaking his head.


“Scott... I love you, I’d take a bullet or claws for you in a heartbeat, but I’m so damn sick of this. You think just because you didn’t choose to be a werewolf you get an out, and fine, you know what? You wanna stay out of it, I’m not going to drag you back in, dude... whatever.” Stiles swallows harshly around the lump in his throat and he lets his eyes go cold before he opens them and glances up at Scott.“But you need to stop saying shit like that. Like it’s us or them, like any supernatural shitstorm that rolls through Beacon Hills doesn’t affect us, doesn’t affect me or my dad.”


He levels Scott with a quelling look when it seems he’s going to interject, “Derek has saved my life... a lot. While you were off screwing Allison, making out with Lydia behind my back, using Kira to- when you were busy, Derek was there. He’s had my back, he always comes back for me…”


“Since when do you have magic, what the fuck Stiles I thought-”


“No, you don’t get to do this Scott. You can’t make this about you, not this time. This time it’s about me and I’m telling you if there is anyone on this godforsaken planet that deserves good things in their life, it’s Derek. Fucking. Hale.”  Stiles was shaking he was so angry, the only thing protecting Scott was the feeling of control he’d had since he picked up the small black wolf. “So no, I don’t jab pins into it or hook it up to wires and jolt it with electric currents, because Derek’s had all that before, Scott, and he didn’t deserve it then and he doesn’t deserve it now. If anyone deserves a smack on the nose for being stupid it’s you. Seriously, Jesus.”


Scott actually starts to look guilty but Stiles doesn’t really want to hear it, doesn’t want the puppy eyes or his sad apologies. He wants him to know better, to do fucking better. Though he’s gotten used to being let down and being disappointed in Scott lately, so nothing new on that front.


“Just go home, Scott. I’m tired and I’m done.” Stiles turns his back on Scott as a clear dismissal and he knows Scott finally gets a damn clue when he hears his bedroom door shut gently and heavy footsteps thump down the stairs.


Stiles squeezes softly around the wolf, cuddling it to his chest. If it is some sort of voodoo doll, he hopes that Derek can feel the warmth of his hug and the appreciation he so rightly deserves. They aren’t best friends, Stiles doesn’t actually know that they’re friends at all, but he cares about the guy and after what Scott said to him Stiles just really wants Derek to feel that, feel like someone cares for him, loves him, even if it’s just some stray human he can’t get rid of.



Stiles scrubs his head with the damp towel as he shuffles through his drawers looking for something soft and warm to sleep in. He pulls on some boxers and a pair of flannel batman pajamas and slides into bed with a long sigh. It’s been fairly quiet the last few weeks and while he knows there’s probably something lurking just around the corner, it is Beacon Hills after all, he’s surprisingly not stressed out about it.


He’s just about to settle in for the night, plush black wolf already in his arms as he smacks his lips together.


Then his phone rings.


Rings … not dings with a text or wooshes with a message, just rings.




Stiles is already slipping out of the soft black flannel when he answers.




“Yeah, I- there’s something weird happening in the preserve.”


“When is there not something weird happening in the preserve, pretty sure that’s the default man. What is it?”


“I don’t know. I can’t, I don't recognize the smell and I can’t see them, but I hear them… they’re everywhere,” Derek says, his voice low and quiet but not panicked.


“Okay, make your way back to the highway and I’ll meet you there in ten.”


“Stiles don’t- just be safe, you don’t have to rush… they’re not hurting me yet.”


And doesn’t that just say something, the yet. Derek fully expects something terrible to happen, not that Stiles can blame him, the guy has enough experience with shitty shit in his life to warrant that response. He just, he kind wishes that things would get better for him, for all of them.


“Same goes to you big guy. Just get out of there quietly and don’t get murdered.”


He makes it there in just under ten minutes because while he was being careful, the streets were empty and Stiles knows exactly where the cops are located so he doesn’t have to worry about trivial things like speeding tickets or moving violations for reckless driving.


Derek is surprisingly unharmed and waiting for him at the edge of the preserve right by the road, just like he’d asked. Stiles beams with pride and pats him on the head. “Good boy.”


“I will murder you.”


“Your threats hold no power over me now, Derek. You’re a domesticated pup.”


In response, Derek snaps his teeth less than an inch from Stiles’ ear, making him jump.


Then the asshole has the audacity to laugh about it.


“Jerk,” he says, though it comes out a little more fond than threat.


They’re about half a mile into the woods when Derek’s broad arm comes out to wrap around his waist and stop him. Surprisingly, Stiles hears the little bastards before he sees them, a wave of high pitched screeching that’s kinda familiar.


“Holy shit,” Stiles says, probably a little too loudly but c’mon there’s actual pixies in the preserve. Like directly out of Harry Potter. Well sure they’re not quite the same color blue, or as large as they were in the movies but he’s certain they’re Cornish Pixies. He’s just about to relay how awesome that is to Derek when a group of them stop and head directly for the Alpha in a swarm.


Derek’s roar is almost deafening but still the little fuckers don’t stop.


So Stiles does the only thing he can think of and pulls at the core of magic in his chest and shouts “Immobulus!”


When the pixies freeze, Stiles grins and smirks over his shoulder at Derek, dipping his head in a bit. “I learned that from Hermione.”


He can hear Derek’s sigh from three feet away but Stiles is running high on adrenaline and magical bravado, so he could care less.


He starts to ask what to do with them, now that he’s frozen them mid-air, but he sees the large gashes all over Derek’s body and the next thing he knows it’s like a pack of firecrackers going off; only instead of cordelite and flash powder, it’s miniature evil that explodes.


He should probably feel bad, but he doesn’t.


They tried to kill his Alpha and he’s not even a little sorry.


“C’mon big bad, I’ll let you buy us some tacos,” Stiles says, pulling Derek’s arm over to wrap around his shoulder.


Derek huffs, but he doesn’t argue so Stiles takes that as an enthusiastic agreement. He’s had to learn how to read between the lines, and the eyebrows on occasion. Stiles considers himself a whiz in the language of Hale eyebrows. It mostly consists of whatever Stiles wants to hear and then altered into something Derek won’t punch him for, if he deigns to speak it aloud.


It’s a very fluid language.


They’re in the jeep just a couple miles from the shady Taco Bell, when Derek speaks. It’s become their place in Stiles’ head but he doesn’t acknowledge that part verbally.


“Thanks,” he says, a low growl in his voice but it’s not unkind.


“See, that wasn’t so bad. You called for backup, nobody died! A+ communication skills, Alpha, good job.”


Stiles orders enough for the two of them and probably two others, but the new nacho fries with the cheese sauce are like heaven in his mouth and he has no shame about eating a double serving. The only thing that would make them better is if they were curly fries, but hey, the world probably isn’t ready for that.


He doesn’t realize he’s speaking aloud until he hears a snort from the passenger seat of the jeep and watches Derek shake his head.


“What? It’s good to have passion Derek.”


It’s quiet for a bit after that, not uncomfortable, but not relaxed in the way it has been in the past. There’s a slight buzzing under his skin and Stiles isn't sure if it’s his magic or something entirely different. It’s like he can feel Derek seriously trying to both say something and not say it.


It’s… awkward to say the least.


Stiles pulls into his own driveway and Derek just raises his eyebrows at him.


“What? I got rid of the little winged assholes for you, drove you for tacos, and am giving you a comfortable place to rest… What more do you want from me? You’ll heal in a few and then you can shift and run your furry ass home.”


Derek waits until he has to stop and unlock the front door before Stiles feels the smack to the back of his head. It’s nothing really, barely a touch at all until Derek’s hand swipes down his neck and settles at the base of his skull with a warm, gentle squeeze.


“Dick,” Stiles says, but when he turns to grin teasingly at him, Derek’s face is full of confusion.


“What, what is it?”


Derek shakes his head, which isn’t really an answer, but Stiles is tired and while pulling sourwolf fangs is one of his favorite pastimes, he’s putting it in the ignore it and it will go away category...for the rest of the night at least.


“Whatever you say, or don’t say, I guess. Just try to give me a heads up at least a day or two before whatever it is, tries to kill us, k? I know it just seems like I’m magically pulling this shit out of my ass most days, but just because I make it look easy, doesn’t mean you get to take advantage,” Stiles says, swaying a bit as a steady wave of exhaustion washes over him.


“Yeah, sure…” Derek says, while moving his shoulder under Stiles’ arm with little to no effort, swooping in with the grace of...something graceful. Okay that’s bad, he knows that, but he can’t really think under this kind of pressure. Not when his stomach is queasy and he’s feeling so...damn...tired.


Stiles has only a moment to actually be surprised by the response, but he is. Because he’s not exactly used to Derek verbally responding to him at all, and the words are short but soft with hints confusion bleeding into the tone.


They make it upstairs but before Stiles can sink into the comfort of his bed, the image of the hallway, his bedroom door, all of it slowly ebbs away into darkness.



Stiles wakes up warm and relaxed, his mind settled in safety, peace. It’s unlike anything he’s felt since he was eight years old and found out just how fucking unfair life could be. A few beats pass before he realizes there’s a body lined against his back and an arm dipping over his stomach. He winces as he tries to bring back the events of the night before, already half pissed at himself for being so out of it that he doesn’t even remember bringing anyone home with him.


Then he sees who it is, yelps. If not for the very strong grip on his waist, Stiles is sure he’d have fallen off the bed.


“Holy shit!”


There’s a grunt, and then the arm around him freezes.


“Uh…” he says, awkwardly. Swallowing down the urge to just run away and never ever talk or think about anything ever again.


Derek smoothly extracts himself, ugh stupid werewolf agility, and clears his throat. “We should see Deaton.”


Stiles blinks up at him, forcing his mind not to focus on the absence of warmth, “Okay, what? How did we get from uh…this” he pauses, his hands flapping around wildly to encompass whatever it was that had happened between them, “to we should see Deaton?


Derek just stares at him like he’s an idiot.




“Whatever you did to those pixies last night, drained you, at least after the adrenaline wore off.” Derek grunts, pushing the words out like they’re barbed wire, “I had to carry you the last three feet, and then…” Derek frowns harder to make it even more obvious that he doesn’t want to continue but Stiles stares at him, mouth slack, until he does. “We both passed out.


“Oh, okay… so Deaton… I’m gonna need coffee for this, maybe a shower…”


“Do the shower, I’ll take care of food and coffee.”


“Aww, look at you, upping your game, taking care of your helpless human packmate… Oh wise, benevolent Alpha.”


Stiles doesn’t even have to turn around after stripping his shirt off to know that Derek’s already gone. It doesn’t even sting anymore, he’s gotten used to talking to himself.


Still, he’s pretty sure the asshole heard him anyway.


Stiles has just finished scrubbing his hair dry when he realizes it's after noon, which is a little daunting considering it wasn’t even that late when they got back and Stiles hasn’t slept more than eight hours consecutively in… months and those were double what he was getting before the stuffed wolf was welcomed into his life, and his bed.


But now, he’s lost at least twelve hours, Derek too if they’d spent the whole time curled up that way.


A shudder of something that definitely wasn’t disgust, snakes up his spine before Stiles can lock that shit down. Forcing his brain to follow another path, he mentally laments the fact that curly fries could have been on the menu but he didn’t specify so Derek will probably get stupid regular fries.


He dicks around on the computer for another ten minutes before his phone dings.  


> Let’s go, you can eat on the way.




> The coffee is leaving without you in 30 seconds if your ass isn’t in the car.


“God Derek, you’re such a dick,” he says before jumping out of his seat and flailing a bit in his earnest attempt to get downstairs. He likes to think that he and Derek are at that place in their relationship where he wouldn’t leave him there; coffeeless, hungry, and possibly under some sort of magical sleeping curse that involves hot broody werewolves, but he’s not entirely sure his Alpha would wait on him.


“Oh my god, are those… ungh curly fries?” Stiles says, moaning as he digs into the bag… the bag of only curly fries.


“Not that I’m complaining but… this seems like an odd combination for you to pick out, unless there’s some sort of Alpha intuition about favorite foods?” Stiles says, before cramming a handful of the tasty little bastards into his mouth.


Derek, because he’s still Derek even after the best platonic cuddling session ever, grunts and jerks his head toward the back seat.




There’s pizza there, pizza and chips and knowing Derek some sort of tooth rotting soft drink.


“Okay and…? You’re gonna have to give me something more here, big guy. Was that a yes to the intuition thing? Because I was totally daydreaming about curly fries just a few minutes before you showed up at my place all scowly and growly…”


“I- I heard you.”


“You- you heard me… daydreaming? Because I feel like that’s not something you should be able to hear… umm, that’s… that’s total invasion of privacy, okay- I-”




Fuckity fuck fuck…


Since when was that a thing? He could not have Derek hearing his innermost thoughts, okay, that was the absolute worst thing that could happen. Shit, if that’s the case he’s never even gonna survive this trip to Deaton’s…


“I can’t read your mind, idiot,” Derek says, his eyes rolling up so high Stiles is pretty sure he loses the ability to focus on the road, but he doesn’t mention it.


“Well excuse me for drawing the most basic logical conclusion given the evidence, Derek.”


“Eat,” Derek says, which is clearly meant as just shove something in your mouth if it means you’ll shut up, Stiles.


When the flood of (not quite PG rated) images skid through his mind, Stiles blames Derek’s poor conversational skills. It’s always worse when he has to fill in the blanks, Derek knows this, and yet…


Stiles groans and shoves another fistful of fries in his mouth.



He finishes off the curly fries and a couple slices of pizza by the time they get to the clinic. Derek just stares at him in awed disgust but Stiles doesn’t fill a bit of shame, he’s a stress eater, plus, it’s not like he has to worry about the calories. Running for his life seems to burn quite a bit of energy.


They step inside the door and Derek’s nose twitches, like it always does, this time Stiles’ nose copies the motion uncomfortably and they continue on through. Stiles reaches out to lift the mountain ash gate, but before he makes contact the thing swings open dramatically, nearly splintering into pieces in the process.


“Holy shit, what was-”


“Well, it seems there’s been some sudden, and somewhat drastic, changes since the last time we spoke, Mr. Stilinski.”


“I don’t- what’s happening to me?” Stiles says, his voice soft, quiet, barely audible to his own ears but both Derek and Deaton seem to understand him well enough.


“Come with me and we’ll discuss it.”


Derek hesitates but Stiles doesn’t feel comfortable leaving his side.


Thankfully, Deaton saves him from having to actually say that by adding a quick, “That goes for you as well, Alpha Hale.”


Stiles lets out a shaky breath and relaxes a bit as Derek’s hand cups the back of his neck and leads him through the maze of hallways to where Deaton is waiting for them. It’s reassuring in a way it probably shouldn’t be, but for one of the rare few times in his life, Stiles has enough sense to not comment on it.


Well that and surprisingly his mouth obeys his brain for once.


“Before I speculate too much and end up on the wrong path, why don’t you tell me what’s brought you here today.”


Stiles waits for Derek to speak up, cause while the guy isn’t overly verbal, he still usually runs point with Deaton.


Not this time apparently…


So Stiles launches into the feats of heroism he pulled in the preserve and then awkwardly skims over the part where he passed out like an embarrassing Disney Prince and Derek had to carry him off to bed before joining him, ‘in the passing out thing,’ he adds with an uncomfortable cough.


Deaton hmms, a little smile pulling at the corner of his lips.


Stiles glares back at him because fuck that guy, it’s not like he expected a straight answer or anything, but he’s is so done with his cryptic bullshit. He’s done enough research to know that while druids are responsible for keeping peace or whatever, Deaton is the only one who seems to get off on hoarding information and whipping it out only when it’s convenient for him .


“There’s no delicate way to say this, so I’m just going to ask,” Deaton says, lifting what Stiles is pretty sure is a manicured brow, in his direction. “Have you recently acquired a token of um- affection, from Derek? Or perhaps an article of clothing, or… anything really, that would have trace amounts of the Alpha’s DNA on it?”


There’s a low swooping feeling in his stomach and Stiles shivers a bit from the icy chill down his spine that follows. He doesn’t want to think it’s his fault but…


He swallows hard. “I uh, I bought um something that was in the jeep and Derek might have… bled on it,” he adds with a wince. He tries to fight off the rising panic by making a joke but it falls flat. Apparently pointing out that his Alpha has a tendency to bleed out on everything, wasn’t amusing to anyone, least of all him.


Derek is just staring at him in confusion, his nostrils flaring a bit before he speaks softly, “This isn't your fault.”


Deaton ignores the moment between them, moving over it briskly by spewing belatedly pertinent information. “It seems through whatever means, accidental or not, you’ve created a totem. Something to harness your, somewhat alarming surge in power. The item in question has been tied to Derek which only made the,” Deaton pauses, seeming to consider his words before sighing dramatically and adding, “supernatural energy loop that much bigger.”


“Your power is feeding off the connection between the two of you. Think of it as a catalyst, of sorts, and as the- uh, relationship progresses, there’s bond growth, energy surges, and obviously, a steady increase of your previously limited magic.”


“Oh God… oh god, Derek- I’m- I’m so sorry, I’ll- I’ll find a way to fix it, I swear. I didn’t mean-” Stiles starts, but his vision starts vibrating around him as the thick heavy panic clutches at his throat and steals his breath. After everything Derek has been through, that Stiles did this to him, is just… unthinkable.


He forced Derek into some- some sort of power hungry, symbiotic slavery.




If he could figure out how to breathe again, he was seriously going to be sick.


Derek’s hand is on his chest and before long Stiles is breathing somewhat normally again and sure enough, his stomach curls violently and he makes good on that mental promise his brain made. Thankfully, Derek’s werewolf reflexes means he grabs the trash can just in time to catch the majority of Stiles’ lunch.


Once he’s thoroughly emptied himself, Stiles leans back. The cold, thin leg of the exam table digging into his spine is both painful enough to be annoying and somehow a bit of a comfort. It isn’t until his wandering eyes glance down to see Derek’s hand on his that he realizes the table isn’t actually comforting at all.


He tries to pull away but Derek’s grip is tight enough to make all his attempts pretty useless. That’s when the sounds of the room start filtering back through his ears and his vision clears, if only a little.


“Not your fault, Stiles…”


He huffs out a laugh, sure it’s not. Derek is going to hate him so much when he figures out how to break this slavery love spell or whatever the hell is going on.


Deaton sighs, loudly.


“Mr. Stilinski!” he says, his voice raised to the point of echoing through the room and his ears. “This type of bond is always consensual. This is not something you’ve done, not something you could have done without Derek’s agreement, even if it wasn’t spoken aloud. It’s like a feedback loop.”


Stiles blinks up at them, because what?


“Pretty sure, that’s what consenting is, it’s verbally agreeing to what’s happening, not- not whatever this was. didn’t even consent to whatever this is.”


“Magic doesn’t use the same parameters as the laws of man, Mr. Stilinski.” Deaton frowns down at him, before attempting what he can only assume is sympathy because the guy is still pretty much a dick in his book.


“Stiles, you didn’t force anything on Derek any more than he did on you.” Deaton said, handing a glass of water down to him. “Any kind of magic that would have made that possible would certainly have not been accidental and it would have completely and utterly destroyed you and everything you are in the process. In short, you aren’t capable of either fathoming or accomplishing such magic.”


Deaton offers Stiles an almost pitiful look before turning his eyes toward Derek. “I think now would be an appropriate time to discuss things, important things left unsaid, I’ll be in my office when you’re finished.”


Stiles still isn't sure he believes Deaton, he’ll have to do more research on his own. While he knows he hadn’t done it intentionally, taking away Derek’s freedom is by far the lowest of lows. He knows exactly how it feels to lose your autonomy and with everything he knows about Derek, it's probably the worst possible way to hurt him, and yet Stiles has done it.


“Stiles, I’m not… I’m not your slave, you don’t have me under any kind of spell. Will you please stop freaking out before you throw yourself into another panic attack,” Derek said, his voice almost soft.


“Sure you say that now, but when I break this- whatever it is, you’ll be singing a different tune and threatening to rip my throat out again,” Stiles says, his hands shaking a bit as he pulls them up to his face. A dark chuckle escapes his mouth and he shakes his head, “Hell you might even follow through this time, not that I’d blame you.”


He can feel that Derek’s about to talk but Stiles cuts him off. “If I could tear myself apart for what I’ve done, Derek… I would.”


“Well that would defeat the purpose, Stiles.”


He’s taken aback a little by the almost fond tone of Derek’s voice and how it feels so wrong. Sure, they were moving toward friends, but even on their best days before he picked up that goddamn stuffed wolf, Derek just barely tolerated him.


“I’ll fix this.” he says, his voice low and dark.


“Stiles, look at me,” Derek asks, which is the one thing he’s not been able to do since he found out what happened. He can’t bring himself to look Derek in the eye after what he’s done, but the Alpha apparently isn’t taking no for an answer because there’s a hand on his chin and his face is being pulled up, gently.


“Nothing is broken. There’s nothing to fix,” he says, his beautiful green eyes steady and warm.


“If you want to break the bond between us, that’s your choice, but it’s not what I want. You-,” Derek pauses, hesitating a bit and Stiles watches his adam’s apple move to swallow down the visible nervousness. “I trust you, you take care of my pack, take care of me. You- I’m not good at this stuff, the words and the affection. Sometimes I think that part of me got burned out. Even if I wasn’t inside the house, it sometimes feels like I was, but Stiles you’re important to me, to the pack. That’s why this bond happened in the first place.”


Stiles is pretty sure that’s the most Derek has ever said to him in one breath. He kinda wants to laugh but there’s something so sincere about the way he spoke that Stiles is finding it hard not to believe him.


“The bond Deaton’s talking about, what kind of bond is it?” Stiles asks. He’s done enough research to have a clue or two but he doesn’t want to presume anything and if Derek’s willing to answer him, well… that would go a long way with helping the next mountain of data gathering he’s mentally scheduling.


“Honestly? I’m not sure, it changes… a lot. Some days it’s just there and real and pack, other days it’s something more,” Derek answers, moving to his feet to walk a line back and forth in front of the door.


That information isn’t entirely helpful, but it’s enough, because Stiles knows that there’s several different types of bonds, but outlier/pack adjacent, which is what he’d previously considered himself, doesn’t shift or change in the way Derek’s talking about at least. There’s pack adjacent which is mostly no bond at all, and pack, which is steady and unchanging.


“Well let’s see here Derek, there’s emissary bonds, which would make sense because… magic,” he says, pointing to himself. “Then there’s the second, or the left hand, depending on translation, but the problem with that theory is, that I know it’s Erica, it’s not me, it never was…”


“No- No I, Stiles I’ve never, I’m not sure, okay… Sometimes you just get this crazy idea that I’m some kind of fountain of knowledge about this stuff, but I’m not, you know I’m not. Hell you probably know more about it than I do. I can only tell you what I feel and even that isn’t always clear!”


Stiles watches a little in awe as Derek’s chest heaves a bit with the strain of those last few words.


“But it is… isn’t it, you know what it is but you’re fighting it…” Stiles says, his own chest tight with disappointment, worry, disgust with himself.


“I don’t get you man. First you say I didn’t force this on you, that you wanted it… but I know, I know you’re fighting it anyway. How can you expect me to buy that theory if I can see you visibly flinch at the mere suggestion.”


“You- you didn’t name them all, Stiles.”


“Derek if you don’t want me to be your emissary, just say so. I’ll find a way to break the connection and we can go our separate ways, but don’t play me like that. It’s low, and cruel, something I never thought you were.”


Stiles shut off as many of his emotions as he could, not wanting to feed into the loop between them that would put everything on display for the Alpha.


“Goddamnit Stiles, why can’t you just… just fucking listen for once. Just once!’


“Alright, I’m listening, Derek."  The sarcasm evident in his voice.


“God you’re so… infuriating,” Derek huffs, but he stops pacing and reclaims his seat on the floor beside Stiles and pulls him in against his side.


“I hear you sometimes… at first I thought it was just my imagination. You know, sometimes when you’re just so achingly lonely you can start to imagine conversations, to make up scenarios where the person you want to hear from most will tell you exactly what you need, will pull you out of the fog…”


Derek swallows, visibly breathing deep.


“It’s always, exactly what I need to hear, even if it has some biting sarcasm that is just allll you …”


“Stupid wolf. Y’know, you could just ask for help before doing idiotically dangerous things.


“My chips… my chips are on you Derek. You never let me down.”


“You’re not alone, Derek… even if it’s just the token human. You never have to be alone.”


“When you were busy, Derek was there. He’s had my back, he always comes back for me…”

“I’m telling you if there is anyone on this godforsaken planet that deserves good things in their life, it’s Derek. Fucking. Hale.”


“You are the absolute worst sometimes, but I’m no saint, so I guess it works out huh? You can be the pretty, stoic one and I’ll be the comic relief. It’s all I’ve ever really been good at anyway.”


“I miss you, Derek… I know- I know that things are calm now but, I can’t help but think- I just miss you. You know you can just come over and hang out sometimes… just sayin’ Sourwolf. Don’t wanna exacerbate your manpain or anything but the windows open.”


“Aww man, I shouldda asked for curly fries!!”


“That one was particularly loud,” he says with a chuckle.


Stiles feels a burning around the edge of his eyes, but he’s not crying. He turns to see Derek smiling, tears glistening on his cheeks.


“Those words, the warmth that seemed to magically wrap around me at night, it… it felt like pack, like home, like something better than anything I’ve felt in over a decade, Stiles,” he says, his voice is soft. So soft, it sounds like it’s off in the distance somewhere and not right beside him. Nevertheless, Derek continues. “I thought I was dreaming, that I was having some sort of breakdown maybe, and I kept thinking that until, until last night.”


“I felt the burn of rage when you looked at the damage done by the pixies and then again, when I cuffed you on the neck I felt the tingle of a touch on my own. It was then I knew we were connected.”


“You- you heard all that, I- I don’t know what to say, Sorry?” Stiles winces, Derek probably doesn’t need to hear the shit that just randomly pops into or out of his mind.


“You’re still not listening,” Derek says, his voice rough and a little broken.


He takes Stiles’ face in his hands and pulls until they’re only a breath away. “You gave me exactly what I needed, when I needed it. My betas respect you more than they do me, for good reason. You once promised to help me keep my pack safe, Stiles… Do you still want that?”


Stiles swallows hard, forced to look into the ethereal beauty of Derek Hale’s eyes is surprisingly not cutting off his higher brain functions entirely. He nods, gently. “Yeah.”


“Then do that, not as my Emissary, or my second, but… but as my mate. As my magical badass batman,”  Derek says, not giving him long to sputter before drawing their lips closer together and drowning the sounds out with a full, heated kiss.


When they break apart, both of them are gasping. Half in shock and half just raw passion. Stiles felt so much, sooo much, of Derek’s feelings for him that he thinks he might explode from the excitement. It wasn't just fondness or desire, but the goddamn sincerity in every thought or gesture, it just… it's too much and somehow, still just right for him, for them.


“Does it sound like I’m playing with you now?”


“Why Derek! Right here in Deaton’s office?” Stiles faked a scandalous gasp, before shrugging, “Well if you insist…”


“I take it all back, I hate you.”


“Oh no you don’t wolfy, you lovveee me, you want to have my magical badass babies… or adopt them, I’m okay with whichever.”


“Stiles we’re both guys, I can’t- what do you think werewolves are capable of exactly?”


“Oh Derek, now that is just going to take pages and pages of fanfic to explain,” he says with a wide smirk.


“Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Anything that makes you smell like that has to be inherently evil, or at least unreasonably uncomfortable for human consumption.”


Stiles just laughs and laughs and laughs.



Derek finds a surprising amount of new content downloaded on his phone a few days later.


“Goddamnit Stiles I told you, I don’t have a knot!!”





If you wanna hit me up you can find me on tumblr
Also check out my dude  9timesoutoften who got me through my mid-story slump.