Derek knows he should be agitated.
But Stiles' happiness is intoxicating, and contagious and a beauty to witness.
'Are you seeing this?! Are you freaking kidding me!? Is this for real? Are you seeing this?!'
Isaac laughs in amazement, nodding enthusiastically as the afternoon sunlight filters in through the kitchen window 'yeah, I'm seeing, Stiles, it's amazing.'
And it is.
Stiles is amazing.
Stiles is breath taking.
He's standing at the breakfast table in Derek's apartment, the loft, the whole pack is there. Most of them asleep in a puppy pile, with Derek sitting on the armchair, content to let his pack rest, whilst subtly watching Isaac and Stiles in the kitchen. Stiles is levitating a stack of playing cards, twisting his nimble fingers, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He's a spark. His Stiles, is a spark. He hides a smile at his pack. He has beta were-wolves, a kitsune, a banshee and now a spark.
Deaton had said he'd always suspected Stiles, but until the near death experience last week (which Derek is still having nightmares about) Stiles' spark had been exposed, and he was now able to use it. Slowly, carefully. Like learning how to walk. A lot of practise.
'Oh my god,' Stiles says again, under his breath, more to himself, and so Derek tunes in to hear it 'I can't believe I can do this. I can't believe I can do something.'
Isaac hears it too, and he nudges Stiles 'you're awesome, Stiles. This is awesome.' He plucks a card from the air, and Stiles blows on it, and it bursts into flames. Stiles beams, ducking his head shyly
'I have to keep practising.'
The rest of the pack are at a party.
The loft is dark. Derek is pretending to sleep on the sofa, but he's watching through barely lidded eyes.
Stiles' books are splayed over the table, and Peter is being his usual self.
'But what if the walls are something? I mean- why a bank? Why?'
'If you keep saying the same thing I'm going to jump out of a window.' Peter drawls, and Stiles shoots him a smirk
'I'd actually love it if you did that. Your second death should be your own, you know.'
Derek's lips tug up into a smile, and Peter rolls his eyes, reaching for one of the books
And then there's a hammer in his chest.
Peter looks down at it, the metal jammed two inches into his chest and he sighs. 'Really, Stiles?'
'Don't touch my books.' And he winks, before leaving the room.
Peter turns to him with a raised eyebrow, plucking the hammer out of his chest with a wince, absentmindedly wiping off the blood 'laughing now, Derek? When you haven't worked up the courage to ask the boy? At least I can talk to him.'
Derek sits up, eyes hard 'what?'
'Oh, come on,' Peter's eyes are glinting in amusement 'the entire pack knows you want Stiles as your pack emissary.'
Thank god. 'Yeah, I'll ask him when he's progressed a little further.'
Peter looks pointedly at his chest, and Derek rolls his eyes
'I just want to give him a little more time,'
'Fine, fine,' Peter relents, heading to the sofa, collapsing beside him. 'You should probably also mention how you want him to be your mate and have all your little were-cubs.'
Derek falls off the sofa.
And Scott is hyperventilating.
And Peter is somewhere bleeding, and Lydia's gone and Isaac's crying and everything's just falling to shit, and Liam is roaring somewhere a few floors below the hospital roof.
Stiles pushes Derek and Scott aside, and stands over her, hands raised.
Stiles is calm. Steady. Whilst everything else spirals out of control, the hoodie-wearing teen lifts his hands slightly, and gold erupts from his fingertips, and they surround Kira, caressing her.
Scott falls to her side, staring up at Stiles in awe. 'Stiles,' he whispers, voice choked in reverence, but Stiles just closes his eyes, and silver erupts from him- Kira's chest heaves, and she's spluttering, and Stiles falls to his knees, back taut, his neck wrenches up, baring it to the sky and his mouth opens in pain.
Derek touches him, unsure what to do, and feels the magic race up his arms, feels his body burst with energy as Stiles writhes.
And then the light disappears, and Stiles slumps into his chest.
Derek holds him, and Kira and Scott embrace.
'M'sorry,' Stiles mumbles sleepily into Derek's chest 'resurrecting someone takes a lot out of me, it seems,'
Derek laughs wetly, running his fingers through Stiles' hair 'you're amazing.' He whispers
He can feel Stiles' smile on his bare skin.
'Be my emissary,' he whispers, and Stiles nods
'Who else's could I be? I'm yours, Derek. Always.'
Derek imagines that night that he asked the other question.
He's going to do it on Saturday.
At Scott's barbecue, he's going to ask, he's going to be super casual, super slick, uber cool-
he jerks at the knock on the door.
He hears Peter's laughter from upstairs, and ignores it, opening the door to Stiles, beaming at him.
'Hey Der', I made you cupcakes,' and he holds out a plate. Derek takes it dumbly, letting Stiles in. Stiles sticks his hands into his pockets bashfully 'I actually wanted to ask you something,'
'Yeah, sure, Stiles,' Derek nods 'anything.'
'There's this new place, downtown,' he clears his throat 'they do curly fries. And also- also healthy stuff! I know you're...you like keeping healthy.' He rubs the back of his neck 'what I'm saying is, I can sort of just magic my car to work now, so I could...I could drive us there, sometime? For...a meal?'
Derek nods easily 'sure, Stiles.'
'No- I-' Stiles makes a huff of frustration, smiling wryly 'I mean...as a...as a date, Derek,'
Derek stares at him. Eyes wide. He looks down at the cupcakes. 'Stiles, I-'
'I know,' Stiles says in a rush 'it was stupid, forget everything-'
'I was meant to ask first.'
Stiles breaks into a grin, and the muffins land on the floor as they kiss.
They both hear Peter mutter 'idiots' upstairs.