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My Up-For-Adoption Sterek Plot Bunnies

Chapter Text

Thump. Roll.

"Shit," they all heard Erica hiss. "I friggin' - hate - trolls."

They'd all caught the scent of the troll in the woods earlier, and then heard the cracking of tree branches that evening. Deciding sooner would be better than later, they all traipsed out armed with teeth, fangs, bows and molotov cocktails.

"Can't someone just call Derek already?!" Scott wailed, throwing another clawed swipe at the troll. It was just about two feet bigger than him, but fast and armed up to its greyish, piggy little eyeballs. Allison had already used up two thirds of her arrows, and Lydia was staying well back, only one molotov cocktail ready to lob at any time.

"I already did!" Isaac called from where he was slumped against a tree, nursing a healing rib. "He should be here - "

" - Round about now," came his voice, and they all sagged in relief.

"Dude," Scott moaned, "you brought Stiles? What the hell, man?"

"Offended, Scotty boy," Stiles said, hands casually in his pockets as he seemed to melt out of the shadows. "Yo, Der?"


"You wanna go all Widow on this bitch?"

Derek took off his jacket, shaking himself out. "Haven't done that in a while. You sure?"

"Derek, I need to stretch my legs," Stiles said, taking off his own coat as Derek moved back.

The pack all wore mirrored faces of confusion. "Widow?" Allison questioned. "Stiles? Fighting this thing?" Jackson snorted, gesturing at the troll (which gave another gut-busting roar and flailed).

"Stiles, I don't think - " Scott began, but was cut off as Stiles ran full-pelt towards Derek.

It all seemed to happen in slow-motion. Stiles hopped a single foot into Derek's linked hands, pushed himself off at the same time Derek threw, and somersaulted over the werewolf's shoulder, landing with his legs around the troll's neck.

Twist. Snap.

Stiles landed nonchalantly on his feet, as if he hadn't just broken an enormous troll's neck with his thighs. 

Chapter Text

It was Lydia that found them.

Nobody had managed to guess the password for Derek's laptop (the caveman had finally gotten Internet, drinks all round), but Lydia had made Danny teach her computer coding and had managed to hack it after three days of work. Really, all they'd wanted to do was find some sort of gross and inappropriate internet bookmark for blackmail material. Or details of his latest murder victim. Or something funny.

Not this.

"Who the hell is that?"

"No idea," Scott said in reply to Jackson's question. They were all huddled over Lydia's shoulders, peering at the laptop screen.

"I don't know either," Lydia said, adding in an undertone, "and there's not much I don't know."

It was a guy. He must've been about nineteen, tall and pale with broad shoulders and a slim waist, messy brown hair and big amber eyes. Moles dotted up and down his neck and the sides of his face. There were photos, so many photos, of him - from every angle, in different clothes, in different settings. In a leather jacket three sizes too big for him at a gas station, looking over his shoulder, the sun setting his eyes on fire. A purple shirt and boxers, standing over a kitchen table, holding a wad of mail. Lying on a sofa wearing the ugliest pair of stripy socks they'd ever seen, laughing at something someone off-camera had said.

Videos, too. Lydia clicked play on one.

" - NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN," roared the guy, dancing around a kitchen in a t-shirt, underwear and socks. "C'mon, dance!"

"Jesus, Stiles, your future kids might see this," said a girl from behind the camera, someone sounding suspiciously familiar.

"That would be their fault," the guy said, snorting. He picked up a pair of teaspoons and began to slide around in the socks. " - AND HURT YOU!"

"We need to tell Cora," Erica said.

"Mmm," Allison nodded, "he might be stalking this poor kid for all we know."


"Cora, we think Derek might be stalking somebody."

Cora turned around and almost fell over when she was greeted by the entire pack, all wearing their concerned faces. "What? Who's he stalking?"

"Some kid," Lydia said, turning the laptop around to show the youngest Hale the screen. "We found loads of pictures and videos on his laptop. We're kind of worried."

Cora stepped a little closer, peering at the screen. Her reaction is not something they expected.

She froze. Her face literally seized up, as if she'd turned to stone. She carried on staring at the laptop, as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Uh....Cora?" Isaac questioned anxiously.

Cora snapped out of it. "That," she growled out, biting the words, "is none of your business." She slammed the laptop lid shut. "You should never have looked at that."

That was unexpected.

"What, why?" Allison asked, at the same time Scott called out, "who is he?"

Cora, who had began to walk towards to door in a huff, seemed to sag. She gave them a sad look over her shoulder. "His fiance."

There was a moment of stunned silence, before Boyd got out, "why haven't we seen him?"

Cora's face hardened. "Because he's dead."

Chapter Text

The knocks came quickly and desperately, and everyone could smell the overwhelming agony and fear and desperation. Even through the pouring rain, they could smell it.

They were in the middle of Pack Movie Night, watching The Notebook for the six hundredth time at Lydia's insistence, when the pounding on the door started. Everyone was instantly on high alert.

"Who the hell is it this late at night?" Jackson grumbled from his position at the bottom of the puppy pile in the middle of the floor.

Derek didn't say a word. His jaw tightened and he got up to answer it.

Against their better judgement, they listened in.

It was like getting hit like a tsunami when the door opened. Agony and heartbreak washed over them, and a voice, broken and choked and sobbing.

"They killed them, oh fuck, they killed them all Derek, the killed them, they killed all of them, they even killed Christina, oh Angel - "

This piqued their interest, and they scrambled up from the floor to peek round the doorframe. A kid around their age, all dressed in black with some pretty lethal-looking weapons, weird black tattoos peeking up from his collar, hair plastered to his forehead from the rain. Derek had him in a tight hug, the kid's head against his shoulder.

"They got them, Dad saved me, they came like an hour ago and killed them all, they killed them all - "

"Okay, okay, Stiles, it's okay, I got you," Derek whispered, and scooped him into a bridal hold. "I got you."


Chapter Text

They can smell the blood. Even with the rain, they can smell the blood.

Derek seems to recognize it, because he's up and at the door before the second knock can be administered. The pack follow at top speed, reeking of curiosity.

Derek opens the door to one of the strangest sights they've ever seen.

Three teenagers, clad entirely in black and armed to the teeth, carrying a fourth - bleeding heavily - one between them.

"Jesus," Derek said, and there was a sudden tang of fear from him. "Get him inside. What the hell happened?"

"A demon, I didn't see which," said the girl with the long, sodden black hair and blue eyes, pushing past the astounded pack and clearing everything off the kitchen table with a resounding clatter and several smashing noises. "Quick, quick, get him on!"

The two (conscious) boys heaved the (unconscious) boy onto the clean table. The girl grabbed something from her laden belt, a silvery sticklike thing, and traced a black symbol on the bleeding boy's arm. "We've tried an iratze, several of them, but they're not working - "

"Derek, where's your phone," said the boy with the golden hair and the cheekbones that could cut glass. "Phone. Now."

"Why do you need - "began the girl.

"Clary," Golden said. "And his boyfriend." He gestured at the black-haired boy beside him, the one with the bow slung across his back.

"Oh, Jace, that could actually work," said the girl, her eyes lighting up. "Derek! Phone!"

"What the hell is going on here?" Isaac voiced the thoughts of the pack.

"Just get a phone, somebody," the girl bellowed. "And put pressure on the wound there."

The boy with the bow hurried forwards and pressed his hands to the gaping wound, seemingly undeterred by the blood that ran over his hands. Someone had finally found a phone, and Golden Boy was talking in controlled calm into it. " - Clary, get Magnus, you've got to come now, Stiles is hurt, the Hale loft in California, Clary you've got to now, make a portal - "

The girl was getting more and more frantic, drawing fruitlessly on the boy's arms. "Jesus, just the time for them to not work - "

Golden Boy snapped the phone off. "She's on her way."

The girl seemed to sob in relief. "Thank the bloody angel."

Derek took the bleeding boy's hand in his own and rubbed it gently with his thumb, whispering, "come on, hang in there, Stiles......"

The pack took this as an opportunity to get a closer look at the injured kid - 'Stiles'. He was tall, slender, with pale lips that were parted and rattling with laboured breaths. Closed eyes, long eyelashes, brown hair. Pale with a slightly turned up nose and moles dotted up the side of his neck and jaw.

There was a sucking vorp sound in the corner and everybody turned. Lydia and Scott almost fainted.

A brilliantly turquoise hole leading into seeming oblivion had opened up in the corner of the room, and outstepped a relatively normal-looking girl with flaming red hair and an extremely abnormal-looking man with cat eyes and gold streaks in his hair. The redhead hurried to 'Stiles' side, fishing another one of those sticks out of her pocket, and gave a little horrified gasp at the side of the injury.

"I hope this works," she whispered, seemingly praying, and drew.

Chapter Text

"No, Dad, I do not want cocoa. Honestly, I'm seventeen years old!"

The Sherriff raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I just remember somebody saying last week that his fantasy was to live in a chocolate house."

"Well, that would be impractical."

Stiles shut the door.

He opened it again.

"And fattening."

He shut the door.

Derek's  head was perched on the chair arm from where he crouched behind it. He smirked slightly, opened his mouth, and said, "chocolate house?"

Stiles rolled his eyes.




"Brave," Derek breathed through his mask, "but stupid."

"Shut up, you're the one who jumps off buildings," Stiles snapped, as if he hadn't just broken a trophy over the monster's head.

"I'm gonna throw you out the window now."





Stiles watched Derek's form disappear over his balcony.

"Oooohhh," he muttered, halfway between a smile (an I-bagged-Spiderman-suck-on-that-Lydia smile) and a grimace (a Jesus-Christ-my-boyfriend-is-going-to-get-himself-killed grimace). "I'm in trouble."




"Oh for god's sake Derek," Stiles moaned, helping him in through the window, "what happened?"

"You should see the other guy," Derek wheezed. "The other guy being a giant - freaking - mutant - goddammit, I'm gonna puke - "




Knock, knock.

Derek watched with a smile as Stiles twisted and his face lit up as he saw him on the balcony. He got up from his desk chair, snapped open the window locks and heaved it up.

Then he stopped.

"How did," Stiles began, then broke off, blinking. "How did - how the hell did you get up here?"

"Fire escape," Derek lied.

"It's twenty stories," Stiles said, raising an eyebrow.

"Your doorman's intimidating."





Chapter Text

It was Erica's idea, and now look where they were. Held at gun and knife point by a guy with a hot beard and a seriously intimidating death stare.

They'd been running low on food, so they decided to raid the old high school. "The cafeteria food was unnatural," Erica said. "If anything could survive an apocalypse, it's that shit."

So they broke in through the biology classroom's window, and didn't get even as far as the door into the hallway before some guy burst through, weilding a very dangerous-looking gun and a long, sharp blade. Which he then proceeded to point at them.

Of course.

"Are you healers?" the guy growled.

Everyone blinked.

"Are any of you healers?" he said, louder. "You know, doctors? Nurses? Know first aid?"

Isaac looked like the personification of scared bewilderment, and Allison's hand was twitching over her bow at her side. Scott cleared his throat and stepped forward, which made the guy shift to point the gun at him. "I, uh - I trained as a veterinarian for a while. You know, before - this." He gestured lamely at the ruins around him.

The guy didn't move, which made their hearts all skip a beat, before he suddenly lowered his gun and knife. "Come with me," he said, "now. Or you don't get anything and I kill you all."


Chapter Text

They're in Derek's loft when they smell it. Cinnamon and hazelnuts and that unmistakeable, underlying fizzing of magic. Isaac manages to grab him from behind when walks in the door, a slender, young guy with pale skin and brown hair and those unnaturally bright and luminous eyes. He keeps a hand over the kid's mouth as Lydia rushes in, iron (magic-damping) cuffs at the ready. She snaps them on, and the kid looks strangely frightened. Not malicious or crazy or calm-before-the-storm, but genuinely shocked and scared. Kind of un-witchy.

They strap him into a chair with iron chains and slap a bit of black duct tape over his mouth without giving him a chance to speak.

"Why do you think he came here?" Allison said, arms folded, when they all took a step back to observe the witch. "And so blatantly?"

"To kill Derek," Scott said, "obviously."

"But Derek would've been able to smell him the moment he stepped in the door," Lydia pointed out, "he didn't cover up his scent at all."

"So he's a dumb witch," Erica said, tossing her hair. "Whatever. Let's keep him here and let Derek kill him. You know, turn the tables."

The witch seems to tremble, and his eyes seem wet.

Boyd cocks his head, and announces, "Derek's here."

"Good," Erica said, and smirked wickedly. "I'm kind of in the mood for some bloodshed."

The elevator grounds to a halt and Derek steps into the loft. "Hey, guys, what - "

He freezes, eyes landing on the helpless witch.

"Oh my god - "

"I know, I know," Erica said, gesturing grandly, "no need to thank us."

"We caught him sneaking up," Isaac said, "probably to kill you."

"Now you get to kill him," Allison said.

Derek seemed to be in shock, then he suddenly dropped the stack of files he was holding and rushed forward, skidding to a stop next to the witch and crouching to eye level.

"Oh my god, who did this?" he breathed, and the pack's hearts juddered with surprise.

"I - what?" Lydia managed.

"Who did this?" Derek growled, whipping his head round. "Who tied him up?"

"I - Isaac caught him," Scott said, his face mirroring the confusion of the pack. "Lydia got the cuffs. We all did the chains."

Derek didn't bother replying, but instead turned to witch, who has a single tear trailing down his cheek and over the tape. "Jesus, Stiles, are you okay, did they hurt you?"

"What - " Erica began, but Derek shushed her with a wave of his hand. The witch shook his head, making a muffled noise behind the tape, and Derek seemed to shake himself.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry, I'll get this off - " he peeled off the tape as gently as he could, and then snapped the bonds with a growl and a clawed swipe. The witch stood up with some help with the alpha, rubbing his wrists.

"Hell, Stiles, it's okay, I've got you, go upstairs, I'll come see you in a minute," Derek babbled, the most un-put-together they've ever seen him. The witch nodded silently, trailing off towards the stairs and disappearing.

Derek watched him go, his eyes soft, before turning back to his pack.

"You," Erica said, "have got some explaining to do."

Chapter Text

It took them a shockingly long time to notice, but when they did, it just kept bugging them.

There wasn't really a moment that they realized Derek seemed to be going away all the time. He just had............since the beginning. So when Lydia suddenly pointed it out, everyone perked up. Oh boy! A new mystery! Sure hope it's not a gang of nasty fairies or another fucking cannibalistic whatsit.

So they tailed him. He seemed to go out every day, around six in the evening, and on Saturdays and Sundays he would disappear altogether from ten in the morning till ten at night. They decided to go after him on Friday, when dusk was just settling. They watched him climb into the Camaro and drive off, waiting twenty seconds before Lydia and Allison's cars - crammed with Boyd, Erica, Jackson and Isaac and Scott respectively - took off after him. They trailed down roads, around corners, almost right to the edge of town, always at an almost undetectable distance.


"Why," Lydia said, "is Derek visiting a mental institution?"

Eichen House. That was what was etched on the flapping, faded sign outside the enormous residence.

"That's what we're here to find out," Boyd said, opening the car door.

Derek was already inside, so they piled out of the cars and hurried in after him. They spotted his broad shoulders - in their ever-recognizable leather jacket - by the front desk. Trying to ignore the slightly hunched residents - including one girl with her head pressed up against the wall counting down in a mumbling voice and one man in a wheelchair with a blank stare - they scooted up to the reception desk and flashed their best smiles at him.

"What," he said through teeth gritted so hard it looked painful, "are you lot doing here."

"You keep vanishing," Erica shrugged, and Scott finished, "and we wanted to know what you were doing."

"So, what are you doing?" Allison said brightly.

Derek opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by the receptionist. "Excuse me, Mr Hale? He's in the recreation room, you can go see him now."

Derek nodded. "Thank you, Sarah." He turned a glare back on the pack. "You might as well stick around, now that you're here."

They nodded eagerly, and followed him as he spun on his heel and stomped off down the corridor.

The recreation room was a little dismal, but painted a light colour and full of quiet talking and the occasional laugh. There was a table tennis set in the corner, and bookcases around the room. Derek headed straight for the corner, where two teenagers sat over a chessboard.

One boy, who had a slight hook in his nose and golden brown wavy hair, spotted them. He jerked a head at them and said, "yo, Stilinski. Your boyfriend's here."

The other boy's head snapped up. Cute nose, amber eyes, brown hair and moles. He moved a chess piece without looking at the board and said, "checkmate, Noah."

The other boy hit the table with his hand. "Screw you, Stiles. You always make me your bitch in chess."

"That I do," moles said, and jumped up and put his arms around Derek.

The pack froze. Derek was not known for his like of physical affection.......or physical contact at all. But he wrapped his arms around the boy as if it was as familiar as the full moon. "Stiles. You okay? Not killed anyone since yesterday?"

Stiles chuckled, a little breathlessly. "Nope. Came pretty close this morning, though. Marie stole all the eggs."

"Damn it Marie," they said together, like it was an inside joke, and laughed.

Stiles seemed to notice the abnormally still pack over Derek's shoulder, and said, "uh, who are your friends?"

Derek let the hug go but kept an arm around Stiles' waist. "My pack. I swear, I didn't bring them here on purpose. They followed me."

"Derek, it's fine," Stiles said, slapping him lightly on the chest. "Wanna introduce me?"

"Boyd, my second" - Boyd nodded - "Erica, his girlfriend" - Erica put a hand on her hip and winked - "Jackson, the annoying douche we keep around for reasons unknown" - Jackson sneered - "Lydia, his girlfriend and banshee" - Lydia gave a toss of her head - "Isaac, resident puppy" - Isaac smiled - "Scott, recently bit by my uncle" - Scott nodded - "and Allison, hunter and Scott's girlfriend." Allison gave a little wave.

"Um, Derek, should you be saying this in front know," Scott said hesitantly, gesturing at Noah.

"Oh, no worries, man," Noah said, giving a one-dimpled smile. "I got bit a while back, killed the alpha who did, changed back into a human, and the police managed to convict me. I had schizophrenia before that, though, so they ruled it as just me being a loon and put me in here. So I'm cool."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, he's cool. Just really bad at chess."

Noah hissed. "I'll get you one day, Stilinski, I swear I will."

The pack spent four hours with Stiles, talking, joking, laughing. They'd gravitated to his rather bare shared bedroom - at which Lydia sniffed and Isaac looked confused at the restraints on the beds - and lounged around, getting to know one another. Favourite colours were said, favourite movies were shared and snorted at.

Everything was going brilliantly until it came to almost ten o'clock.

Three men in scrubs came to the doorway. "Let's go, Stiles. Bedtime."

Stiles' mouth abruptly snapped shut from his rant about cherry stones, and he shook his head, looking genuinely scared. The werewolves wrinkled their noses at the sudden stench of fear. "No, no no, not time, is it time?"

Derek turned sad eyes on the pack. "You might want to step outside for this."

They shook their heads, confused, while Stiles continued protesting, now standing up. "No, I can't -  "

Derek made the pack move back against the wall, sensing that they weren't going to leave, as the men moved forward. Two grabbed him by the arms and forced him still. The third man drew what looked like a syringe out of his pocket.

Stiles' eyes bugged and his struggling grew frenzied. "No, no you don't understand, I can't go to sleep, I can't - "

Isaac whimpered.

The man and the syringe approached and the needle was jabbed into Stiles' arm. Derek moved forward and took him in his arms. The men let him, moving out, the last muttering a thanks to the alpha.

Derek lowered Stiles onto the bed, stroking his forehead. The pack stayed pressed away, unsure what exactly they'd just witnessed. Stiles's heart rate was slowing down, his eyes fluttering closed, and eventually his breathing took on the distinct slowness of sedated sleep.

Derek kissed his forehead, stood up, and gestured for the pack to follow him. The made their way silently back through the corridors. Lydia was giving little muffled noises, and a slight salty taste was in the air. The alpha thanked Sarah the receptionist and they walked out into the cool night air.

"What was - "

" - That?" Derek finished for Scott. "That is what I have been dealing with for the past year. Stiles and I - " He broke off, looking frustrated. "Stiles and I have been dating for almost two years, and exactly nine months ago, he was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia." Allison's hand covered her mouth. "He has night terrors. He utterly refuses to sleep naturally, and when he does, he gets such horrific nightmares that he wakes himself up screaming. He gets sedated. Every. Single. Night. And he sleepwalks, and he tries to hurt himself when he does. He was put in Eichen House for his own safety, and he flat out doesn't want the bite, so don't you dare say anything about it."

No-one did.

Chapter Text

Three Beserkers..........and they seemed to be everywhere at once.

"ALLISON!" Scott bellowed, as she went flying. Erica was sitting nursing a broken arm against a wall. Boyd was being almost ritualistically kicked into submission. Isaac was dancing in circles around one with Jackson, and Derek was furiously trying to get a hit in. Lydia was staying back, armed with Molotov cocktails in case any of them got too close.

And then a machete came out of nowhere, slicing through the air and taking the Beserker's entire head off. It lands with thump and rolls gently towards Scott, who stares at it for a second before kicking it away in disgust and raising his eyes to see who had done it.

The entire pack looked.

A moment of silence fell.

"Stiles?" Lydia voiced their thoughts.

It was Stiles, the fragile, buzzcut-hair human who had vanished almost two years ago. But his hair was longer, hanging over his forehead, and he was dressed differently, in thin, plain, functional clothes and a weird leather chestguard. His shoulders had gotten broader, and his arms, hands and face were tanned deeply and stained faintly with dirt. He was also holding two huge, wicked looking machetes and had about twenty or thirty kids behind him wielding everything from small knives to giant spears.

And he didn't seem to have heard them.

"Teresa, Minho, Jeff, take half and go at that one," Stiles addressed the kids behind him. "Rest of you are with me and Newt."

They split into two, sized up the remaining Beserkers, and took them down within thirty seconds.

Standing over the fallen bodies of the manic warriors, chest heaving, bloodstained blades in hand, Stiles looked positively deadly.

"Yo, Tommy?" a skinny blond boy with one of those spears said. Stiles looked up. The boy gestured at the pack. "They're all staring."

Chapter Text

Everyone thought it was sleep deprivation when Stiles had started to mutter about voices coming from the electric fence. They got suspicious when Lydia chimed in, saying she could hear it faintly, but Stiles kept insisting he could hear almost nothing else.

And then they got concerned when the fence whined with electricity and Stiles collapsed, ears bleeding.

"Well, good news," Deaton said, checking his eyes with a torch, "is that you're not dead."

"No, really?" Stiles gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Oh, I would never have guessed."

The vet gave him a twitched-up smile. "Amusing, Mr Stilinski. The other news, although I wouldn't say it was bad, is that you appear to be a banshee."

Silence. A beat passed.

"I, sorry, what?" Stiles said, blinking.

"The first and only male banshee to ever exist," Deaton said with a small smile. "It's certainly a surprise. Tell me, Stiles, have you felt like screaming in the past days? Heard strange things?"

Stiles blinked again. "I........yeah, actually, I have. I heard drumming in Chemistry a couple of days ago. And I almost screamed then."

"Maybe you should do your first scream now," Deaton suggested.

"What, just like that?" Stiles said.

"With all of us here?" Scott interrupted, his arm tightening around Allison.

"Yes," Deaton said, "it can be helpful for grounding banshees if they are surrounded by pack when they scream."

"'Kay," Stiles murmured, and shuffled a little from his perch on the side of the exam table. "Uh, here we go, I guess..........."

And he screamed.

This wasn't like Lydia's scream. It was definitely Stiles' scream, they could hear his voice through it and the undertones were undoubtedly his, but instead of being shrill, it was instead like a normal scream - just very, very loud. All the werewolves clutched their ears, and Stiles was fairly certain he saw Isaac sink to the floor. Lydia and Allison even had their ears covered, and Deaton had his face scrunched up in mild pain. Must be an emissary thing.


"That's it?" Stiles blurted. "Just interesting?"

Deaton raised an eyebrow. "You appear to be developing differently to Lydia."

Lydia looked miffed. "And what does that mean?"

"It means that he could find himself with some more extensive powers. The things he hears will be clearer, louder and more frequent. And his scream will resonate just as much as yours does," Deaton said, "although while he will definitely be able to sense death, he will not be able to pinpoint it like you will."

"You mean it'll just be like a black cloud of Doom hovering over everything?" Stiles said sarcastically, then went slightly green when Deaton nodded.

Chapter Text

Stiles stared. "Scott?"

They broke the kiss and Scott dropped Allison in surprise. "Stiles!"

"Allison?" Lydia frowned.

"Lydia?" Allison huffed, propping herself up on her elbows.

Mjolnir zoomed past, accompanied with a pointed finger by Scott and his cry of "myuh-myuh!"


"Oh, is this the one - ?"

Stiles slapped him, hard. "That was for New York."

Peter took a moment to recover, then flashed Derek a smile. "I like him."


As Stiles ran off to try and figure out a compromise with the policemen, Scott prodded Derek in the ribs. "Look at you. Still all muscle-y and everything. How's space?"

"Space is fine," Derek replied, and gave a little smile when Scott nodded, seemingly satisfied.


"I am not getting stabbed in the name of science!" Scott hissed, then raised his voice. "IT'S OK! WE'RE AMERICANS!"

"Is that supposed to make them like us?" Stiles asked.


"I'm not hungry," Stiles muttered.

Cora appeared in all her armoured glory and knocked over the guy with the tray. "Well, that's good. Come with me."


Stiles reached up curiously to touch the floating matter in the air. "It's a quantum field generator, isn't it?"

Laura gave him a little pitying look, as if his tiny little mortal mind could not possibly cope with the vast knowledge of mythical Asgardian technology. "It's a Soul Forge."

"Does a Soul Forge transfer molecular energy from one place to another?" Stiles said.

Laura's eyebrows raised and she looked vaguely displeased. "Yes."

Stiles turned his head and gave a little victorious nod and grin to Derek. "Quantum field generator."

The corners of Derek's lips twitched up proudly.


There was a brief pause, then Derek said quietly, "who's Brett?"



Something was in the corner of Stiles' eye. He turned, hardly daring to believe it.

Derek. Standing right there, his hammer in his hand at his side, watching them silently.

Stiles pressed the.........he couldn't even remember what it was, he was so preoccupied........thing into Scott's hands and stumbled towards Derek. He didn't even register Scott's grumbled "typical" when the rain started to fall on the 'Intern-With-An-Intern'.

"Stiles," Derek began, moving to greet him.

Stiles slapped him.

He blinked, then said breathlessly, "sorry, I just - needed to make sure you were real. I've been having a very strange day."

"I am," Derek reassured him, "Stiles but - "

Stiles slapped him again on the other cheek. "Where were you?" he demanded.

Derek sighed. "Where were you? Boyd could not see you."

"I was right here, where you left me!" Stiles raged. "I was waiting, and then I was crying, and then I went out looking for you - you said you were coming back!"

"I know, I know, but the Bifrost was destroyed," Derek said. "The Nine Realms erupted into chaos, wars were raging, marauders were pillaging.........I had to put an end to the slaughter."

Stiles' eye twitched. "As excuses go, that's not terrible, but........but I saw you on TV, you were in New York!"

"Stiles, I fought to protect you from the dangers of my world, but I was wrong, I was a fool." He reached forward and cupped Stiles' cheek. "But I believe that fate brought us together."


They leaned together.

'I walk into the club like whattup I got a big - '

Stiles closed his eyes as Derek said confusedly, "that's not me."



Chapter Text

"What," Boyd asked, "exactly is a Name Day?"

Stiles did a little awkward foot-shuffle. "It's, uh, a tradition. You know." More shuffling. "In Poland."

Erica raised an eyebrow. "Poland?"

Stiles looked exasperated. "Seriously? My surname is Stilinski and my first name is unpronouncable. How did you not link that up?"

"So you're Polish?" Erica kept pressing.

"Yeah. My dad is half Polish and my mom was all Polish," he said. "My extended family are all coming over. Jesus, I take it back. You guys don't wanna meet them." He made to leave.

"Uh-uh," Lydia said, waving a hand to stop him. He froze. "We are your pack. We are absolutely, definitely meeting your family."

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. "Oh boy." He pointed at Derek. "Best behaviour. My babcia Anastazja is going to be grilling you."

"Babcia?" Allison questioned.

"Grandmother," Stiles supplied. "Maternal. Twelfth of March, this Sunday. Begins at six o'clock. Don't be late."


They all pulled up in various cars outside the Stilinski residence that Sunday, already smelling the food cooking inside and the loud voices. Scott was the one who opened the door, to a shout of "głowy do góry!" and a plate flying through the hall from the sitting room to the kitchen. There was the sound of the plate smashing and a screamed "Radosław! Zachowuj się! chcesz, żebym tam?"

Stiles emerged from the kitchen, wrangling a tea towel, yelling loudly in Polish through to the sitting room where there was noisy giggling. "Hej! Lepiej przeprosić lub babcia będzie zabrać swoje przywileje paczki!"

He turned to them as if just noticing that they were there. "Oh, hi guys," he said conversationally. "Everyone's here, so come through to the kitchen. The kids have taken over the couch and most of the floor, so you're going to have to watch where you step."

"I didn't know you spoke Polish," Erica commented.

"You've got to be kidding," Stiles rolled his eyes. He pecked Derek on the cheek. "Come on, meet the family. Brace for impact."

They dodged a very tall, willowy woman with black hair and Stiles' eyes (x) rushing past through the kitchen holding a wooden spoon and entered the Stilinski cooking space..............which had been totally transformed.

There were six different people at the counters, and one sitting on the table with swinging legs. The Sherriff was leaning up against the wall with a beer bottle, laughing at something someone had said. They were all talking over one another very animatedly in Polish, which Stiles joined in, chuckling at what was evidently a joke.

"Ah!" said an elderly woman (x) with a large chopping knife, waving a carrot at the assembled, awkward pack in the corner. She had a thick accent and a white lace shawl. "Grzegorz, won't you introduce us?"

"Babcia," Stiles whined. "I told you to call me Stiles."

She snapped something at him in Polish while a teenage girl in a blue cardigan (x) gloated in the same language. "Pamiętać, że czas to powiedziała i rzucił ścierkę na nią, a ona prawie wziął swoją głowę," she said, grinning.

Stiles flicked the girl with the tea towel. "Zamknij się, nienawidzę cię," he moaned, and she laughed.

He turned to the pack. "Guys, this is my maternal babcia Anastazja, my cousin Ksenia, and that - " he gestured at the woman with the spoon, who reappeared looking rather harrassed " - is my aunt Maja. Dad's baby sister. Family, this is Scott, Allison, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, and......." he drew it out "......Derek."

Anastazja perked up visibly. "Derek?" She cast a beady eye on her grandson. "Ten chłopak jest twój ojciec wspomniał?"

"Chłopak?" Ksenia grinned, looking ecstatic.

"Grzegorz ma chłopaka?" Maja blinked. She looked Derek over. "Wow. Gdyby nie było ciebie będę całkowicie nazwać."

"Oh my god," Stiles said in his trademark away, turning bright red and flapping the cloth at them.

"Grzegorz Przemyslaw Stilinski," Anastazja said sternly, "behave."

Stiles hung his head and muttered sullenly, "yes, babcia."

A guy who must have been around Derek's age (x) walked in and leaned against the door, doing a double take at the sight of the pack. He was gorgeous, Lydia seemed to note in particular, with an accent almost as thick as Anastazja's. "Stiles," he said, with a slow, mischievous smile, "these are the friends?"

"Yes," Stiles said, "guys, this is my cousin Nikolaj. Ladies, watch out please. On second thoughts, dudes too."

Nikolaj did a slow, appreciative sweep of the pack. "Are they all supermodels?" he aimed at Stiles.

"Pretty much," Stiles admitted. He dumped the towel on the table next to the girl with the kicking legs (x) and picked up a tray of what looked like little cubes of fudge. "Krówki," Stiles said, offering them. "Try them, they're super good. Babcia brings them over every time she visits."

They all took one, and soon noises of delight were coming from the pack, which were interrupted when a flood of small children suddenly weaved haphazardly through their legs. Stiles chucked the tray down and grabbed one as they ran past, a kid who looked to be around seven. "This is Dymitr, another cousin," he said, then gestured at the girl on the table, "one of Dominika's little brothers. Say hi, Dymitr."

The boy looked at them, eyes comically large, and said, "hej."

"Okay, that's round about his word limit for today," Stiles said, setting Dymitr gently down. He suddenly took off after a small girl, yelling, "hej! Lucja! Co ci mówiłem o uderzenie twojego brata?"

This left the pack standing a little awkwardly in the kitchen, surrounded by the Sherriff and a veritable army of strange Stilinski relatives, all speaking a language none of them understood.

Dominika said something to Anastazja, then said in surprisingly good - although slightly halting - English to the pack, "which one of you is Grzegorz's boyfriend?"

There was a pause, then Isaac snickered, "Grzegorz?"

"Stiles," she said by way of explanation, smoothing down the skirts of her blue rockabilly dress and straightening her coral shrug. "Which one?"

Derek raised a hand hesitantly.

She gave him a very intense look, then said very calmly, "if you hurt him, I will rip off your kutas and feed it to my pies Martina."

"Dominika!" Anastazja said, scandalized. "Language!"

The pack looked nervously at the Hale, and were amazed to see him smiling gently. "I won't," he promised quietly.

Dominika maintained eye contact for a few more seconds, then hopped off the table with a little kick. "Good," she said simply, and walked past them.

Chapter Text

Derek as Oliver, Stiles as Felicity.

Just that.

Imagine every scene of Arrow, any possible Olicity moment or interaction, and you have it.

Chapter Text

"Hey.......are you okay?"

The boy's head twisted up. "Uh, yeah. Sort of." He squinted a little. "Hey, you're that guy from the fight."

Derek smiled sheepishly. "Yeah."


"Scott!" Stiles said in his best whisper-yell.

"SCOTT!" Derek copied, prompting a giggle from Stiles. He scooped up a stone and threw it at the window. "SCOTT!"

There was a shift behind the curtains, and the window opened, showing Scott with a bedhead worthy of an award. "What?" the boy moaned.

"Come out, come on!" Derek said.

Scott blinked, disappeared for a second, then appeared again. He started to feed what looked like a lot of sheets and blankets knotted together out of the window.

"Uh, Scott?" Stiles said, as he and Derek followed the makeshift rope's progress down the side of house. "Just use the front door, please."



"Oh!" Derek scrambled to his feet. "Uh, hi."

Stiles did a little mock-salute. "Hey there."

"You look well," Derek said, and did a little lame gesture at the general vicinity of Stiles' legs. "I like your......knees."


"I think we're officially a band now," Scott said, arm thrown across his eyes.

Stiles propped himself up on his elbows, blowing a stray piece of grass off his chest. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, this is the stuff that bands do," Scott said. "Day trips and kayaking. That shit."


"Look, I just don't want to have a name conversation," Derek ranted. "It's a Saturday, and all over this town hundreds of bands just like us are having name conversations - punks, goths, indie kids, rockers, and just general knobheads are arguing about what to call themselves."

"I think you might just hate people," Stiles said, which made Scott laugh.

"I don't mind people," Derek said, "I just can't stand collective idiocy."

That made Scott laugh even harder.


"I don't know, Derek," Scott said absent-mindedly, letting his fingers drift a tune from the piano. "If you two don't get together then that means that every song and every film and every book I've ever heard, seen and read are wrong."

"It's different," Derek mumbled, "for us. He makes songs. He writes them. He puts character in them. It's his world and his private place and it's the only thing that means anything to him."


"Was he on it?" Scott said through his pants, grip tightening on his bicycle.

Derek watched train leave. "Yes."

Chapter Text

"I think I know what's happening," Deaton said.

They all stared, and Lydia and Isaac said simultaneously, "you do?"

Deaton let his gaze drift over Scott and Allison before fixing on Derek. "I do."

Derek looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's time repeating itself," Deaton said. "All that is happening now - " he pointed at Scott and Allison, who were holding tightly to each other " - has happened before." He pointed at Derek. "To him."

"What do you mean to him?" Scott said.

"Let's just say," Deaton said, and he smiled softly and sadly, "that Derek has loved a hunter. And it wasn't Kate."

Derek let out a little growl and stormed out.


The pack, tactless idiots that they were, spent the next two weeks trying to pester it out of him. Lydia pressured him over breakfast. Scott jumped him in the grocery store while he was buying eggs. Allison made a point of leaving her weapons around in more and more obvious places. Isaac made puppy eyes, and Erica and Boyd would occasionally try and 'surprise' him. Jackson tried bullying it out of him and failed miserably.

It got too much when Lydia made a waspish comment about 'not keeping secrets for the pack's sake' and Derek snapped.

"Fine," he said, jumping to his feet. They all watched him with eager, bright eyes. "You want to know what happened? Here's what happened. Join hands."

They stayed still.

"Do it!" he roared, and they did.

Then he stuck claws in the backs of Scott and Allison's necks.


They were in Derek's mind, that much was obvious. Everything was slightly misty around the edges, except one thing.

"Thank you," said a boy with amber eyes and a bright smile, as he took Derek's offered pen.

The rest was whiz of memories. They witnessed Derek and the boy making out in a strange bedroom (which made Jackson snort, Lydia and Allison coo and Isaac look like he had walked in on his parents doing the nasty), before Derek had to leap out of the window to escape who was obviously the kid's mother; the boy reeling off what seemed to be a hunting motto in what sounded like Polish to a man with lined eyes and a Sherriff's uniform; the boy teaching Derek how to ice skate; the boy and Derek in a photobooth at the skating rink; the boy appearing with knives just in time to stop Derek from being killed.

There was a brief, white pause after they had happened, during which the pack absorbed everything they had seen.

"So all this," Allison said slowly, almost to herself, "all of the things with me and Scott......they've happened before?"

They looked at Derek. He seemed to be fighting for control.

"They didn't just happen," he said, his voice taking on a shockingly wobbly edge, "they finished."

"What is that supposed to - "Lydia began, but was cut off as they were shot back into a memory.

The boy was shooting arrows at weird masked things dressed in black. Derek was nowhere in sight and Cora was on the ground bleeding, being defended by the boy.

The boy shot an arrow.

It buried itself in a thing's chest.

The boy smiled as the thing's wound poured yellow light and it crumbled.

"Hey Sourwolf!" he yelled, turning slightly, as a sword was plunged into his stomach.

Allison gasped. Isaac looked sick. Lydia's hands were covering her mouth and she was trembling as she leant into Jackson's arms. Erica looked horrified and Boyd equally so. Scott was gaping.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as Past Derek suddenly appeared from behind a fence, running forward to catch the boy as the sword was pulled out and he fell. He managed to hook him into his arms on the ground, until Derek was sitting with the boy lying in his lap.

"Did they - did they find him?" the boy gasped. Past Derek nodded frantically.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine," Past Derek said, tone hushed. He fumbled for the boy's hand and gripped it hard, but no black veins appeared. He frowned. "I can't - I can't take your pain."

"That's because it doesn't hurt," the boy whispered.

The pack seemed to really catch on to what was happening then.

"No, no, Stiles don't," Past Derek begged.

"It's fine," the boy said, voice slightly choked. "It's fine, it's okay, it's perfect, I'm with you, right? I love you, okay, I love you and I always will. Love you, Sourwolf."

Past Derek had tears staining his face.

"You have to tell my dad," the boy said, taking on an urgent tone as spots of red appeared on his lips. "You have to - you have to tell my dad!"

"I will, I promise," Past Derek replied, and the werewolves could all hear the boy's heartbeat stop as his shaking ceased.

Past Derek kissed the boy's forehead hard as the boy's hand fell to the ground.


They all took breaths like they had been drowning when they were shocked back into reality. Derek removed his claws from Scott and Allison's necks but the pack remained with hands joined.

There was a very long, very frozen pause.

"His name was Stiles," Derek murmured, and left the room.


Chapter Text

"What does SHIELD stand for, Agent Hale?"

"Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Devision."

"And what does that mean to you?"

Derek smirked a little. "It means someone really, really wanted our initials to spell SHIELD."


"I'm clearance Level 6," Derek frowned, "I know that Agent McCall was killed in action before the Battle of New York."

"Welcome to Level 7," said a voice, and the form of Agent Scott McCall walked out of the shadows. There was a brief, stunned pause, before Scott smiled and said, "I'm sorry, that corner was really dark and I couldn't help myself."


"Is that - is that who I think it is?"

Scott cleared his throat. "She's just the pilot."

"Allison Argent is just the pilot?!" Derek asked incredulously.


"Mahey?" Derek said, talking over the shrieking pair.

They both looked round.

"Martin," said the blond curly-headed boy, pointing at the girl.

"Lahey," said the strawberry blonde, pointing at her partner.

"I'm engineering, she's biochem," Lahey - Isaac Lahey, Derek recalled - said.


" - and nothing can stop us in the - "

The van door slid open with a screech, revealing a Hispanic young guy and the most gorgeous man Stiles has ever laid eyes on.

"Hey," he tried, and a bag was put over his head.


"There are two ways we can do this."

"Is one of them the easy way?" Stiles said, unable to help himself.

"No," said the Beautiful Man flatly.

"Oh," Stiles swallowed.


"No. We have a weapon better than a bomb, and it's going to absolutely destroy you."

"Oh? And what is that?" Derek said, not lowering the gun.

"You slept with her," Stiles said softly. "And now she's really pissed off."

And Allison came flying in like angry justice personified.


"You're a robot," Stiles breathed, "can you do that?"

Derek sighed.


Derek watched the security feed intently. "What are we seeing?"

"Well......" Isaac stammered, "the man is angry at the........other man......"

Derek gave him a look.


"He's a total groupie," Derek said. "All this hacking into SHIELD, tracking powers, he might as well be one of those sweaty cosplayers hanging around Stark Tower."

"I, what - " Stiles protested. "That was one time!"


"Whoa, whoa, watch it!" Isaac squeaked. "That's the Night-Night Gun."

"Well, it's on my stuff and it doesn't work and there is no way we are calling it the Night-Night Gun," Lydia hissed.

"The bullets work. Non-lethal, heavy stopping power, break up under the sub-cutaneous tissue..." Isaac muttered, puffing out his chest a little.

"Oh, with a dose of only .1 microliters of dendrotoxin. I'm not Hermione. I can't create instant paralysis with that!" Lydia said indignantly, looking like she was about to throw something at him.


"He's an asset," Scott said.

"He is such a......" Derek ranted, then broke off. "Wait, asset?"


"I have a small question, because I've been feeling like the tag-along hayseed rookie, but now I'm getting the sense that Sourwolf here doesn't know which one's Lydia and which one's Isaac, and they've seen even less gunfire than me and, I'm no rocket scientist but... is this your first mission together?" Stiles said all in one breath.

"No, of course not!" Lydia said. "It's our second."

"I was your first?" Stiles said sarcastically. "That's sweet."


"I don't want to ruin the moment. But I'm gonna have to respond with... G4. Say it, Sourwolf. Say it."

"You sank my battleship," Derek grumbled, and Stiles whooped.


"You do know that if I do this then as well as seeing Derek's cards I'll see you naked?" Stiles said smugly.

There was a long pause, then Isaac said, "I fold, you win."


"Did you just give me a compliment?" Stiles said, stunned.

"I - no, I made a comment," Derek said stiffly.

"A kind one," Stiles said, and he smiled softly. "Did it physically hurt to do that? Do you need an ice pack or something?"

Derek smiled before he could stop himself.

"Wow!" Stiles crowed. "A compliment AND a smile."


Scott watched the text flitting across the screen as Stiles hacked like a madman. "How close are we?"

"He's identified the remote-access Trojan and the infected endpoint....." Isaac started.

"...And is searching for a tcp to correlate the hypertext with signature information and then, voila," Lydia finished.

"And Bob's your uncle," Isaac murmured.

"You get any of that?" Scott said quietly to Derek.

"Only the uncle part," Derek replied.


"Stiles, Boyd, get ready for a large file transfer," Scott said through the comms.

"How large?" Stiles questioned.

He got his answer when a massive filing cabinet smashed through the window and onto the pavement.


"You know, I never gave you enough credit for this whole zen-warrior thing. But I got to admit, it'd be nice to feel nothing right now," Stiles said.

"You think I don't feel anything?" Allison said quietly.

"Look at you," Stiles said, gesturing. "You're a statue. And you and Derek had a........thing. So if anyone should be furious........."

Allison smirked slightly. "I'm furious. But I'm sure as hell not gonna waste it on a tantrum. I'm gonna mine it, save it... and when we find Hale, I'm gonna use every bit of it to take him down."

"Wow," Stiles said, "wish I knew how to use that hate-fu."


"I hope Matt orders you to walk into traffic," Stiles hissed, and Derek reeled like he'd been punched.


"You know, it's kind of dangerous," Jennifer smirked, like Scott didn't have a gun barrel pushed under her chin. "Sending him in like that. All alone. Anything could happen."

There was a brief, tense pause, then Scott said tightly, "search the place. Find him."

Allison knocked Jennifer out as the rest of them hurried away.


Scott pounded down the stairs to the basement, seeing the door standing ajar and what looked like a bloody hand lying aside it. He felt his heart lurch and he stumbled to push it open.

"Oh my god," he said in a broken-sounding whisper. "Oh my god, Stiles, oh my god." He grabbed the hacker - who was lying propped against the door, greyish skin and blood oozing from between his fingers on his abdomen - and held him. "Lydia!" he bellowed. "Get down here!.......Oh my god," he repeated.

There was the sound of multiple sets of feet down the stairs and they all came bursting in, letting out audible gasps when they saw Stiles. Lydia let out a little sob. "Keep him upright," she managed, crouching beside him, "he's losing blood, it's looks like........." She trailed off, and pointed at the machine in the corner. "Put him in there."

"Do you even know what that thing is?" Derek near-shouted.

"It's a pressurized container capable of saving his life, and I say PUT HIM IN THERE!" Lydia screeched.

They obeyed, hoisting Stiles up gently and pushing him into the container.

"Temperature, Isaac, temperature!" Lydia said, and Isaac hurried to the control panel. The rest of the team watched with bated breath.

"Is it working?" Allison said quietly.

No-one replied.

"Is it working?" Scott yelled.

There was another pause, then Stiles' lips parted and the glass above his mouth fogged up.


"Oh, hello," Jennifer said, watching Allison stalk like a cold-blooded predator into the interrogation chamber. "I was beginning to think you'd forgot about me."

Allison didn't say anything, and instead punched her straight across the face. Jennifer was knocked clean off her chair, nose spurting blood. Allison seized her by the collar.

"You can't do this - "

"Why not?" Allison hissed, dangerously quiet, "because you feel helpless? Like he was?"

She hit her again. And again. And again.


"We have to get him to a medical facility and fast, until then I will do everything I can to keep him alive," Lydia said, clutching her clipboard so tight her knuckles were white. She moved away without another word, leaving Scott standing with his arm braced on the container holding Stiles' unconscious and bleeding body, Allison standing looking as upset as she could while still maintaining her poker face and Derek leaning against the wall, looking distinctly stressed and miserable.

Isaac followed Lydia silently, finding her rifling abnormally clumsily and roughly through a filing cabinet. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned, not uttering a sound, and instead silently cried into his shoulder as he held her.




Chapter Text

Derek as Bellamy

Stiles as Clarke


Derek as Lincoln

Stiles as Octavia

Either one is excellent.


Cora as Octavia

Isaac as Jasper

Erica as Monty

Scott as Clarke (if second one)

Allison as Finn (if second one)

Allison as Raven (if first one)

Jackson as Murphy

Lydia as Maya

Chapter Text

"Derek, you need to get married."

Derek jerked, dropping his book with a thump. "Gods above, Laura," he cursed, fumbling for the page. "What is it now?"

"Marriage," said his sister, dropping into the seat beside him. "You need to get marriage."

Derek's heart did a little flip-flop in his chest, accompanied by a slow, cold crawling over his skin. "Why?"

"You're twenty-six, little brother," she said, "you're beginning to look desperate. Plus, alliances are always welcomed. What about that nice Greyjoy girl, Jennifer?"

"She was creepy," Derek shot down.

"Heather Lannister?"

"I know for a fact she likes that Baratheon prince."

"That...........who was it...........Paige?"

Derek winced, and said, "Laura. No."

Laura slammed her hands on the table in exasperation. "Why not?"

"Because," he said vaguely, and reopened the book.


Gently kissing Stiles on the forehead, he murmured sleepily, "your eyes are beautiful."

Stiles chuckled and said a quiet "thank you." It was true; they were large and honey brown, flecked with purple that seemed kind of familiar, although he hadn't been able to pin it down yet.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that their relationship wasn't strictly legitimate, they were stuck with meeting in the Hale barns, abandoned toolsheds and whenever Derek can sneak out into Stiles' forest territory. They were both lying comfortable in each other's warmth, utterly content.


"We found a Wildling your majesties," said Boyd, a guard whose name Derek had managed to remember.

Derek felt a familiar lurch in his chest as a long, lean body, limp with unconsciousness, with familiar dark brown hair streaked with platinum was dragged in by more guards and dumped on the floor.

His sisters and Queen Talia both looked round in shock at the strangled cry of "Stiles!" from their brother.

Chapter Text

"That guy's brain is a bag full of cats," Dr. Martin said, "you can smell the crazy on him."

"Have care how you speak!" Isaac protested.

"He killed eighty people in two days," Agent Stilinski said flatly.

"He....." Isaac faultered.


"Call it, Cap!" Allison called through her helmet.

"Alright, listen up. Until we can close that portal, our priority's containment. Hale, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. Argent, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash," Scott reeled off.

Agent Hale nodded, turning to Allison. "Give me a lift?"

"Clench up, Legolas," Allison muttered, seizing the back of his uniform and blasting off.

"Isaac, you gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow 'em down. You got the lightning. Light the bastards up." Isaac confirmed with an inclined head and swooped off, hammer in the air. Scott turned to Stilinski. "You and me, we stay here on the ground. Try and keep the fighting here." Suddenly, as if he'd remembered, he turned to the enormous green Lydia. "Oh, and Banshee?"

Banshee turned with a grunt.


Banshee looked positively delighted.


"I want to know what you've done to Agent Hale," Stiles said, maintaining a casual demeanor.

"I would say I've.........expanded his mind," Peter said, smiling.

"And once you've won....." Stiles stepped closer, "once you're king of the mountain - what happens to his mind, exactly?"

Peter cocked his head. "Is this love, Agent Stilinski?"

"Love is for children," Stiles said tightly, "I owe him a debt."

"Pray tell," Peter said.

Stiles seemed to settle, as if readying himself for a long and tiresome story. "Before I worked for PACK, I, uh... Well, I made a name for myself. I have a very specific skill set. I didn't care who I used it for, or on. I got on PACK's radar in a bad way. Agent Hale was sent to kill me. He made a different call."

"And what will you do if I vow to spare him?"

"Not let you out."

"Your world in balance," Peter mused, "and you bargain for one man."

"Regimes fall every day," Stiles said, "I tend not to weep over that. I'm Polish, and my mother was Russian..........or, I was Polish. I'm not so sure any more."

"And what are you now, then?" Peter said.

"It's simple," Stiles said quietly. "I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."

"But can you wipe out that much red?" Peter said, his voice starting to hiss through his teeth. "Deaucalion's daughter, Sao Paulo? The hospital fire?"

Stiles' face flickered, his shoulders tensing.

"Oh yes," Peter whispered, looking smug, "Hale told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer... pathetic! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!... I won't touch Hale. Not until I make him kill you."

His fist slammed up against the glass and Stiles jumped, backing away a step. Peter's smile was feral. "Slowly, intimately," he said, seeming to savour the words in his mouth before snarling them, "in every way he knows you fear. And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull. This is my bargain, you mewling quim!"

Stiles didn't bother to question the strange insult, instead turning and moving away a meter or so. From Peter's point of view, he looked as if he was crying. "You're a monster," he said, voice muffled.

"Oh no," Peter laughed softly, "you're the ones who brought the monster."

Stiles' hunched shoulders dropped and he turned to face the prisoner. The change was startling. Gone was the sobbing mess - which now seemed obviously to have been fake - and a cool, calculated expression had settled over his face. "So. Martin."

Peter's grin dropped slightly.

"That's your play."

"......What?" Peter murmured, looking almost stricken.

Stiles ignored him, instead speaking quickly and calmly into his comm. "Peter plans to unleash the Banshee, keep Martin in the lab, I'm on my way. Send Isaac as well." He stopped and faced Peter again, and said almost courteously, "thank you for your co-operation."


"This is just like Budapest all over again!" Stiles yelled.

"You and I remember Budapest very differently," Derek yelled back.


Allison frowned, one hand over her eye. "How does Deaton even see these?"

"He turns," Erica called from the corner, arms folded.

"Sounds exhausting," Allison said.


"This all seems horrible," Lydia remarked.

"I've seen worse," Stiles said.

Lydia gave him a sympathetic look. "Sorry."

"No," Stiles said, an odd expression on his face, "no, right now we could use a little worse."


"Are you all really that dense?" Stiles demanded. "PACK monitors potential threats."

"Captain America is on threat watch?" Lydia inquired.

"We all are," Stiles said.


"Derek," Stiles said quietly. "You're gonna be alright."

"You know that? Is that what you know? I got... I gotta go in though. I gotta flush him out," Derek mumbled. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and his eyes looked unfocused.

"You gotta level out," Stiles said, "that's going to take time."

"You don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out and stuff something else in?" Derek swallowed. "You know what it's like to be unmade?"

Stiles had stopped in his task of pouring a glass of water. He looked over at his partner, and said in a low voice, "you know that I do."

"Why am I back, anyway?" Derek frowned, peeling the back of his head off the seat and straightening up. "How did you get him out?"

"Cognitive recalibration," Stiles said, then, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "I hit you really hard in the head." He made to undo the cuffs keeping Derek locked to the bed.

"Thanks," Derek said as it snapped open.

The edge of Stiles' mouth quirked up.


"Are you kidding?" Stiles said through gritted teeth. "I'm working."

"This requires precedence," Boyd said, intending to be soothing.

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation," Stiles said, frustrated, "and this moron is giving me everything."

"I don't....." the man said, looking puzzled and almost affronted, "I don't give everything."

Stiles made a face that clearly communicated yeah-you-keep-thinking-that-buddy, then said to Boyd matter-of-factly, "look, you can't pull me out of this right now."

"Stiles," Boyd said, and his voice went quiet. "Hale's been compromised."

Stiles' face changed and his mindset seemed to shift in under a second. "Let me put you on hold." He flicked a brow at the interrogator, who moved to take the phone away.

Boyd spent thirty seconds listening to male grunts and the sound of breaking bones as the Agent 'worked', before Stiles finally picked up the phone, scooping up his dinner jacket and fancy shoes as he left. "So where is Hale now?" he said, as if he hadn't just single-handedly taken down four armed men.

"We don't know."

"But he's alive?" Stiles said sharply.

"We think so. I'll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the big lady."

"Boyd," said Stiles, the smile evident in his tone, "you know Argent trusts me about as far as she can throw me."

"Oh, I've got Argent," Boyd said, "you get the big lady."

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. The warehouse seemed suddenly airless. "Mój Boże," he whispered.


"Folks, you might want to step inside in a minute," Stiles said, "it's going to get a little hard to breathe."

"Is this," Scott began, broke off, peered over the side, and then began again. "Is this a submarine?"

"Really?" Lydia said, and she didn't sound incredulous. If anything, she sounded amused. "They want me in a submerged pressurized metal container?"

The Helicarrier powered up and the rotors appeared from the ocean.

"Oh, no," she laughed, "this is much worse."


"I have unfinished business with Peter," Isaac said.

"Yeah?" Derek growled, tightening one of heads on his arrows. "Get in line."


"Stiles," Derek whispered, "before you stopped me, how many agents did I - ?"

"Don't," Stiles cut in. "Don't do that to yourself, Derek. This is Peter. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

"He got away?"

"Yeah. I don't suppose you'd know where?"

"Didn't need to know, didn't ask. He's gonna make his play soon, though. Today."

"We've got to stop him."

"Yeah?" Derek said, sounding skeptical. "Who's we?"

"I don't know," Stiles said, folding his arms. "Whoever's left."

"Well, I... if I put an arrow through Peter's eye socket, I'd sleep better, I suppose," Derek mumbled.

Stiles smiled. "Now you sound like my Sourwolf."

"But you don't. You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why? What did Peter do to you?"

Stiles smile had disappeared. "He didn't, I just......"

There was a long pause, broken when Derek said softly, "Stiles."

"I've been compromised," Stiles murmured. "I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."


"And your actress buddy," Lydia ranted, "is she a spy too? They start that young?"

"I did."

Lydia stopped in her tirade and eyed Stiles, looking disturbed, before going on.


"Captain, none of this is going to mean a damn thing if we can't shut down that portal," Stiles said breathlessly. He was sporting a killer split lip but thankfully nothing else.

"Our biggest guns couldn't touch it," Scott said helplessly.

"Well," Stiles said, in a tone that suggested he was getting an idea, "maybe it's not about guns."

Scott seemed to catch on. "If you want to get up there you're going to need a ride."

Stiles eyed a passing alien fighter craft and threw the spear he'd been carrying from his last fight to the ground. "Oh, I got a ride." He moved away a few meters, calling over his shoulder, "I could use a boost though."

"Are you sure about this?" Scott said warily, readying his shield.

"Yeah," Stiles said, "it's gonna be fun."

He took a run-up, jumped on a nearby car, braced his feet against the shield, and was thrown by Scott into the air. The supersoldier watched in awe as the assassin took off on the tail end of one of the flyers.








Chapter Text

 "Do anything fun Saturday night?" Stiles called to Scott, plucking a parachute from the wall of the craft.

"Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead,, not really," Scott said, fixing his comm.

"You know, if you asked Heather out from Statistics, she'd probably say yes," Stiles said.

"That's why I don't ask," Scott said.

"Too shy or too scared?" Stiles replied, having to yell over the roaring wind as the hatch opened.

"Too busy!" Scott shouted, and jumped.


Within moments of noticing Kali on the opposite escalator, Stiles whipped round to face Scott. "Kiss me."

Scott looked utterly flabbergasted. "What?"

"Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable," Stiles whispered.

"Yes, they do," Scott hissed.

"Especially if they're gay," Stiles said, and kissed him.

Kali shifted to look away, a faint stain appearing on her cheeks. They stayed in that position until they passed, at least five full seconds, before Stiles pulled away. "Still uncomfortable?" he said.

"Not exactly the word I would use," Scott muttered.


"Hey, fellas. Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil."

"Ha ha," Scott said, hearing Danny laugh, "hilarious."


"Forty-first floor!" Danny hacked and coughed, "I said forty-first!"

"It's not like they put the floor numbers on the outside of the building!" Deaton bellowed over the sound of the rotors.


"So.........." Stiles said, mouth stretching into a smug smile, "was that your first kiss since 1945?"

"I'm ninety-five," Scott said, "not dead."


The air seemed to rush away, and when Scott said the word, it sounded muffled - like he was underwater. "Malia?"

Malia - with matted hair and smudgy shadows under her eyes - straightened up. Her brows scrunched, and when she replied, her voice was as clear as a bell. "Malia?" she frowned, "who the hell is Malia?"


Danny opened the door to see a beat-up looking Scott and that cute guy with the moles, both covered in dust and sporting various cuts and bruises.

"We, uh," Scott said hesitantly, "we have nowhere else to go."

"Everyone we know is trying to kill us," Cute Moles added.

Danny's shoulders tensed and released, then he stepped aside to allow them in. "Not everyone."


"Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?" Stiles said.

"Nazi Germany," Scott said, "and we're borrowing. Get your feet off the dash."

There was a long moment when Stiles didn't move, then he shifted and pulled his feet one by one off the dashboard, a slow smirk appearing.


"Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out. But the Coyote was there." Stiles hiked up the hem of his t-shirt, exposing an ugly, puckered pink scar on his hipbone. "I was covering my engineer so she shot him straight through me. Soviet slug. No rifling." He cocked an eyebrow. "Bye-bye shirtless beach parties."

"Yeah," Scott said sarcastically, "I bet you'd look terrible."


"I know who killed Deaton. Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe she exists. The ones that do call her the Coyote. She's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years," Stiles said, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard. 

"So she's a ghost story," Scott frowned.


"Oh, I'm sorry," said the security master. He ran a hand over his face, his voice changing and becoming artificially gritty. His features rippled and changed.

".......Did I step on your moment?" Stiles finished, keeping the gun level as he threw the mask aside.


"Agent McCall, I'm Agent Kitsune with PACK, I've been assigned to protect you," came the echoing voice of the woman he knew as Noshiko. She emerged from behind a bookshelf, looking the same as she always had - Japanese, pretty face, black hair in a loose ponytail, pink scrubs.

The only difference was that she was holding a gun.


"Captain," 'Noshiko' - Agent Kitsune - murmured as she passed.

"Neighbour," Scott said curtly.


There was a long moment after Danny demanded they get Stiles medical help, when suddenly the ALPHA agent on the left shot a foot out and kicked their fellow agent in the throat. A flick of a taser and the one at the other end was down and out for the count.

Hands reached up into the helmet and pushed. It popped off.

"Oh thank god," said Agent Reyes a little breathlessly, a few stray, wispy blonde curls bouncing around her face, "that thing was squeezing my brain." She took a good long look at Danny, and then addressed Scott. "And who is this guy?"


"I sent you to rescue hostages," Deaton said calmly, "which you are comfortable with doing. Now, Agent Stilinski.........he is comfortable with everything."


"You're on the wrong side," Ennis said through gritted teeth.

"That depends on where you're standing," Kira said, gun firmly pressed to his temple.


"What about that nurse that lives across the hall from you?" Stiles said brightly, "she seems nice."

"Secure the engine room, then find me a date," Scott said briskly.

Stiles executed a fluid, effortless leap over a nearby railing, his voice and reply - "I'm multitasking!" - becoming quieter the further away he got.


"First rule of going on the run," Stiles muttered, tugging his hood a little tighter around his face. "Don't run, walk."

"If I run in these shoes they're going to fall off," Scott said in answer.


"Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off the roof? Because it's really not your style, McCall," Aiden panted, grinning a little manically.

There was a very long pause, during which Scott straightened him up and brushed off his jacket. Then, "you're right, it's's his."

Scott swiftly stepped back as Stiles stepped forward, planted a foot in the middle of Aiden's chest - whose grin was now frozen - and kicked him off the roof.


"You should get her number," Stiles said.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Yeah, I should." Then, realizing he only knew her as Agent Kitsune and her fake name Noshiko, he asked, "what's her name?"

"Kira," Stiles said, and smiled his infuriating, I-know-something-you-don't smile. Then he leaned forward and actually gave Scott a peck on the cheek.

During which the Captain caught glimpse of a little arrow pendant around the agent's neck.



Chapter Text

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Derek smiled softly. "I thought I had wandered into a dream."

"Long years have passed. You did not have the cares you carry now. Do you remember what I told you?" Stiles said.

"You said that you would bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people."

"And to that I hold. I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone."

Derek felt Stiles' fingers push something into his palm. His pendant.

"I choose a mortal life."

"You cannot give me this," Derek said, trying to hand it back.

"It is mine to give to whom I will," said Stiles, and didn't get to finish as Derek cut him off with a kiss.


"He isn't coming back," John said, "why do you linger here when there is no hope?"

"There is still hope," Stiles hissed, then looked taken aback by his own aggression towards his father.


"Go to sleep," Stiles whispered.

Derek was almost distracted by how luminous and gorgeous he looked, but then replied equally as gently, "I am already asleep. This is a dream."

"Then it is a good dream," Stiles said.


Stiles stormed up to his father, and said, "tell me what you have seen."

"Stiles?" John said, looking politely confused.

"You have the gift of foresight," Stiles said, feeling daring enough to hit him lightly on the shoulder, "what did you see?"

"I looked into your future and I saw death."

"But there is also life," Stiles said, becoming breathless at the memory. "You saw that there was a child."


Stiles saw Derek, glorious and with a crown gleaming upon his head. He could do nothing but run through the crowd and throw himself on the new king.




Chapter Text

"I am Scott."

"Yeah, that was just as fascinating the first eighty-nine times you said it," Stiles grouched, tugging uncomfortably at his handcuffs. "What is wrong with this tree thing?"

"His vocabulary is limited to 'I' and 'am' and 'Scott', specifically in that order," Lydia said.

"That's wearing thin real fast," Stiles muttered.


"I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you've accepted me despite my blunders. It is good to once again be among friends. You, Stilinski, are my friend."

Stiles smiled at Allison, feeling oddly touched. "Thanks."

"This dumb tree is also my friend."

Scott grunted in response.

Allison paused, then said, "and the green bastard is also - "

"Oh, stop!" Derek snapped.


"I have a plan."

"Oh, you have a plan?" Lydia said incredulously from her perch on the box. "Or are you just copying me from when I said I had a plan?"

"I'm not copying you!" Stiles said, "I actually have a plan! Part of a plan."

"Fine, what percentage of a plan do you have?" Allison asked.

"Oh, you don't get an opinion!" Derek hissed, "not after that nonsense you pulled on Knowhere!"

"I saved Stilinski!" Allison protested, looking insulted.

"We've already established that destroying the ship I'm on is not saving me," Stiles said.

"When did we establish that?" Allison demanded.

"Like three seconds ago!" Stiles said.

"I wasn't listening then," Allison said, shifting in her seat, "I was thinking about something else."

"He's right, you don't get an opinion," Lydia said snootily, then added, "what percentage?"

"I don't know, twelve per cent," Stiles muttered.

"Twelve - ?"

Lydia braced her small arms on her knees, beginning to wheeze with laughter.

"That's a fake laugh."


"Totally fake!"

"That is the most real, authentic, hysterical laugh of my entire life because THAT IS NOT A PLAN!" Lydia bellowed.

"It's barely a concept," Derek agreed.

Stiles rounded on him. "What, now you're taking her side?"

"I am Scott."

"So what if it's better than eleven per cent?" Lydia said to the enormous tree. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Stiles turned to Scott, patting him on the head like a puppy. "Thank you, Scott. Thank you. See, Scott's the only one out of any of you who has a clue."

There was a munching sound and everyone looked to see Scott attempting to chew a leaf on his shoulder.

Stiles made an exasperated noise and pinched the bridge of his nose.


"I'm a warrior," Derek said grumpily, "an assassin. I don't dance."

"Really? Well, on my planet, we have a legend about people like you. It's called Footloose. And in it, a great hero, named Kevin Bacon, teaches an entire city full of people with sticks up their butts that, dancing, well, is the greatest thing there is."

Derek, who had begun to look spellbound by Stiles' tale, suddenly frowned. After a very long pause in which he seemed to be thinking, he asked, "who put the sticks up their butts?"


"Her people are totally literal," Lydia said, darting around the console. "Metaphors are gonna go over her head."

"Nothing goes over my head," Allison said proudly, straightening up and puffing out her chest. "My reflexes are too fast. I would catch it."


"I know who you are, Stiles Stilinski," Derek hissed, pressing the dagger into Stiles' throat, "and I am not some starry-eyed innocent who is here to succumb to your.......pelvic sorcery!"

Stiles huffed, desperately trying to suppress a laugh.


"Why would you want to save the galaxy?" Lydia bitched.

"BECAUSE I'M ONE OF THE IDIOTS WHO LIVES IN IT!" Stiles yelled, just before getting seized by the collar by Derek.


"I have lived most of my life surrounded by my enemies," Derek said quietly, then gave a tentative smile. It was amazing - it seemed to open up his whole face. "I would be grateful to die among my friends."


There was a very long silence, broken only be the hissing of steam and the protesting metal, before Derek said breathlessly, "we're just like Kevin Bacon!"


"You should have learned," Derek sneered, the sunlight illuminating the back of his head like a halo.

"I don't learn," Stiles squeezed out from under Derek's knee pressing on his larynx, "one of my issues."


"You've always been weak," Peter ranted, "stupid, traitorous - "

What looked like a fireball hit Peter on the side and took him screaming off the side of the ship.

Allison stood off to the side, holding the biggest gun Derek had ever seen. She said, totally straight-faced, "nobody talks to my friends like that."



Chapter Text

Derek as Simon Tam

Stiles as River Tam

(they are not, repeat not related in this AU)

Scott as 'Mal' Malcolm Reynolds

Boyd as Zoe Washburne

Erica as Hoban 'Wash' Washburne

Lydia as Inara Serra

Isaac as Kaylee Frye

Allison as Jayne Cobb

Deaton / Peter Hale as Shepherd Book


Chapter Text

"Who would've thought," Scott said victoriously, "that Jackson would turn out to be a lying bastard, that Derek would just go off with another girl, and that Isaac would turn out to be the best boyfriend of them all?"

"Isaac who slept with your brother?" Stiles sniped.

Scott's brows furrowed.


"There are some crazy clothes at this party," Scott mused.

"Oh," said Lydia suddenly, "oh, I'm getting a tingling."

"What?" Stiles said, "do you see Derek?"

"Not that sort of tingling," Lydia sighed. "You know, that sort of tingling when your brain starts to fizz and bang and pop and you know that you're about to put something smart together - you know, that sort of tingling."

"No," Scott and Allison said simultaneously.

"Fisherman," Lydia said, getting excited, "District 4 - farmer, District 11 - coal miner, District 12! It's a Hunger Games themed party! I am so fucking CSI sometimes!"


"Why are you dressed as a vampire?" Stiles demanded. "Is there even a vampire district?" It dawned on him. "Oh, did you - did you get it mixed up with Twilight?"

"Uuuhh," said Derek, "maybe. But - what are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"It's my girlfriend's party," said Derek.

"Oh, so," Stiles said, feeling like his heart was in a vice, "she really is your girlfriend, then?"

"Yeah," said Derek, then, "oh. Sorry. You still got feelings for me, Moles? I mean, if you'd come to me before two fifteen yesterday, when me and Jennifer first - "

Stiles waved his hands. "Oh, god, okay, stop."

"I don't cheat," said Derek apologetically. "It's my policy. Well. Unless it's special circumstances. Then I give myself a bit of leeway."

The window above them opened and Jennifer's head popped out. "Derek?"


"Is Stilinski down there with you?"


"His mates crashed my party."

Stiles made cut-throat motions with his hands, whispering loudly, "no! Tell her I'm not here!"

"Yeah, I can hear you and see you, Stiles," said Jennifer. "And stay away from Derek, yeah? He's my boyfriend now."

"Fine!" Stiles said tightly. "Have him! I don't even want him anymore."

Derek was staring.

Stiles turned around and yelled directly up at the window, "and besides, he's still got my name tattooed on his chest! Hear that? MY name! Stiles!"

He turned to go, almost tripping over a bunch of bushes as his friends walked past, just catching the tail end of Allison saying grumpily, "I wish everyone would just fucking cheer up."


"Right," Allison said determinedly, reaching across Matt and unlocking the door, "get out."

"Allison!" Stiles said, scandalized, as she forced him out and climbed over to the driver's seat.

"I'll drive," Allison said, passing her bottle back. "Someone hold my vodka."

"You can't drive, you've been drinking!" Stiles squeaked, "it's illegal!"


"I'll drive super slow and careful," Allison promised, starting the car. "I'll pretend I have my grandparents in the car and I don't wanna scare them."

"Probably not the best comparison right now, Allison," Stiles groaned, watching Melissa take a swig of the vodka, rubbing her swollen stomach.

"Will someone please get a torch and check what's happening with my vagina!" Melissa bellowed.

"I'll do it!" Scott said cheerfully from the furthest back seat, popping a torch in his mouth and beginning to climb over the seats.

A chorus of "oh my GOD"s could be heard by passersby as they drove along.


"Why are you so cheerful?" Stiles demanded, "you're looking at pictures of naked guys on your boyfriend's phone."

"All of these dudes are fatter than me," Scott said brightly.


"Oh my God, it's Isaac!" Scott yelped.

They glared.

"Not that I care," Scott added, shrinking down in his seat.


"We can't sit there," Stiles said mournfully, "Derek's there with Jennifer."

"Don't look, Stiles," said Lydia, covering his eyes with her hand, "they're being totally inappropriate."

"Stiles would never let Derek eat a burrito out of his cleavage," said Scott. There was a pause, then he said, "oh, wait."


"You love LIFE!" Allison slapped him.

"I love Derek!" Stiles said, hand on his sore cheek.

"You love LIFE!" Allison slapped him again, more aggressively.

"I love Derek!" Stiles said.

"You love Derek!" She slapped him once more.

"I know I do!"


"What? You said I love Derek."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did. Besides," Stiles sighed, "it's no use, Ally. You can't just slap me until I stop loving him."

"Worth a try," Allison shrugged. They began to walk off the football pitch, Allison saying in a thoughtful way, "it scares me how much I like hitting people."


"Oh my god, look who it is!" Lydia gloated.

"So the party really kicked off after we left," Allison complained, watching them go by. "I bet there was a huge fight." She put her hands in her pockets, disgruntled. "I knew we should've stayed."


"Jennifer's in shock," Derek confessed. "Her hair got quite badly injured. She's gonna be in a wig for months."

"Oh dear," Stiles said, almost sympathetic but not quite, "what happened? Did she go as Katniss, the Girl on Fire?"

"No," said Derek, "all I know is that there was some dangerous shit with lighter fuel. Hang on, what are you doing here?"

"Melissa." Stiles pulled out his phone and showed him a picture of baby Liam.

"Aww!" Derek said, peering at it, "he's even cuter than you!"

"Cuter than me?" Stiles said, "does that mean you still find me cute?"


"One of us should go in," Allison said, "have a drink. Scout around, have a drink. Look for Derek, and have a drink."

"Yeah," said Stiles, "but not you, Allison. I'm scared you'll just go in and get pissed."

"Yeah," said Allison defensively, "that's what I wanna do."

"I'll go," said Scott.

"I'll go with you," said Matt.

"YES!" said Stiles, "yes, you two go together. You'll be less noticeable as a couple."

"Quick, Scott!" said Lydia, heaving a plank of wood over to him, "you can't go in without a costume. District 7, lumber."

"District 7," said Scott, fascinated, "lumber."

"And don't forget to get me a drink," Allison reminded him, "vodka, special brand, cherry flavour. If they don't have that, anything at all."

"Right," said Scott, as if he was struggling to remember it all.

"Oh shit," said Allison, wiggling her arm in the letterbox. "I've got my fucking arm stuck."

A passing kid on a bike pointed and laughed, and Allison screeched, "I know where you live, you little shitbag! Scott, chase him and bring him here so I can hit him."

Scott began to rifle through his pockets, pulling out strange trinkets and random coins. "I've got three quarters, two cents, oh, Mr Bear! I wondered where you went! My spare keys, Isaac's spare keys, the keys to my bike....."

They all froze.

"Scott," said Lydia slowly, "say that again."

Scott blinked owlishly. "The keys to my bike?"

"Before that."

"Isaac's spare keys," he repeated blankly. Then the penny dropped and he smiled. "Oh! Looks like we didn't have to do all this after all."

Allison tried to hit his knees.


"I had my first orgasm in this bed," said Scott conversationally, staring at Isaac's ceiling. "That was the moment I realized that Isaac was like some wizard of all sex."

"What was it like?" Stiles asked.

Scott propped himself up on his elbows. "I dunno. It was just - magical. Sort of made me feel better about there being no unicorns and mermaids."

"So you do finally accept that now?" Lydia said, rifling through Isaac's sock drawer.

"Yeah," said Scott, "and I realized that orgasms are basically what grown-ups have instead of unicorns and mermaids." He suddenly looked all wide-eyed at Scott. "Oh my god, I'm so wise."

"When did you have your first orgasm, Lydia?" Stiles said.

Lydia took another sip of the vodka. "I don't wanna say."

Scott leaned over and shoved her gently. "Oh come on, I told you mine!"

"Yeah, Scott told you his," said Stiles

"I was about fourteen," said Lydia after a resigned sigh, "and I'd just decided that I needed to switch from sanitary towels to tampons."

"You mean after that trampolining incident where the towel flew out and hit someone?" Stiles said, beginning to smile.

Scott laughed unabashedly.

"Yes," Lydia said, rolling her eyes, "no need to bring that up. I got home......"

Lydia recounted the story, finishing with Scott almost in tears of laughter and Stiles mouthing "oh my god."


"What about the motorbikes?" Lydia asked, then finished herself, "ah, yes, because they crash when the fairies come off."


Lydia spotted a pair of stripy boxers under Isaac's pillow as Scott mourned over it, flashed them at Stiles - who's eyes bugged - and hid them. They'd heard enough about Isaac only wearing briefs, so they definitely weren't his.

Oh, shit. As she was going to hide the boxers, she spotted a little name tag for a backpack on the floor, etched with the words 'Hello my name is DANNY'. Danny. Shit. Double shit.

Allison came charging in, demanding, "how come you're all in here with the vodka?"

"We're just looking for clues," said Scott.

"Find anything?" asked Allison.

"No!" Stiles and Lydia said a little too quickly.


"We should just tell him," Lydia whispered.

Evidently she wasn't quiet enough, because Scott whipped round, saying, "tell me what?"

"Dude," said Stiles hesitantly, as Lydia held out the name tag, "we did find something."

Scott took it and squinted at it. "'Hello my name is Danny'? What is this? Where did you find it? Who's Danny?"

"By Isaac's bed," said Stiles.

"I bet it's Danny Mahealani who works at that chicken place," Allison called from her spot stretched out over the end of Scott's bed.

"It all makes sense," Scott mumbled, "lately he's been smelling of chicken."

"Bastard," said Stiles forcefully.

"I bet he gets free chicken," Lydia said contemplatively.