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For Neither Ever, Nor Never

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When Derek is sixteen-years-old, he loses his mind.

His affliction isn’t so bad that he has to be sent away because he claws at his own skin and is locked inside his mind. It’s much worse, because Derek can hide all that behind his pretty face and no one is the wiser.

Derek wants Kate even before he knows he can have her. He doesn’t realize it is even possible until she winks at him, playful and sharp, the fifth time she catches him staring.

Derek should look down immediately, like he has every other time, embarrassment burning the tips of his ears. He should pretend she hasn’t just given the kind of signal that says she likes that his eyes are on her. Instead, he sends her a smile and turns back to his work.

At first, he only sees her Wednesdays and Fridays. It’s the class he now looks forward to the most, and coincidentally thinks he is terrible at. Derek is all quiet grace when on the field, but his fingers are never coordinated enough to flow across the page.

Arms always end up looking like eggplants and heads are never proportionate to bodies. His teacher always sighs in a longsuffering manner when he hands back his work; clearly disappointed even though he puts in plenty of effort.

Ms. Argent is different.

During the second week she is there, she sidles close to Derek and tells him he just needs to practice. She is a flurry of motion though and is off just as fast, dropping compliments at the next table before he can say anything back.

She brushes her hand across his shoulder as she passes.

Ms. Argent is their student teacher and much prettier than should be allowed. All the boys are over the moon and smirk when her back is turned. The girls scowl, even knowing that she is nicer than the guy that actually runs the class.

The third week in, Ms. Argent takes his wrist between her fingers and directs the stroke of his pencil.

“Try to be more gentle, Derek. Long lines. Softer,” she says next to his ear, which makes him shiver. She draws her nails against the inside of his wrist as if she felt it. “You can press a little harder when you have more control.”

They continue that way for another minute, her directing his hand until there is a shape of a face and long, lean neck. “There you go. Show me what else you can do.” She starts to pull away and Derek turns his head quickly to softly say, “Thanks Ms. Argent.” She gives him a small smirk, darker then what the boys have been throwing her way, and tells him, “Call me Kate.”

She wears dark colors well. They seem to suit her smile and tan tone of the breasts that he gets an eyeful of when she decides to sit across from him. When Kate catches him looking, he knows it is deliberate. She takes her pen, while she talks to him, and traces the tip around and ‘round where her nipple should be. She is lucky no one notices but they’re busy packing away because the promise of the bell is coming, and with it the end of the day.

Derek is hard in his jeans, however, and there is no way he’s standing up to get his bag until everyone is gone. His hand has stopped its movement against the paper and he is trying not to stare as she switches sides, smiling and talking to not draw attention. Derek doesn’t even know what she’s been saying; he just knows he wants to jerk off all over her tits.

The bell rings and there is a stampede towards the door and Kate pushes herself up and out of her chair. She leans in and says, “you better take care of that before practice.” Then she is gone, leaving with the rest of them after she grabs her purse to flee.

Derek groans, grabbing his dick through his jeans. It’s unfair that she knows how hard she’s made him, but he is more focused on the fact that she knows he is on the lacrosse team because that means she’s been paying more attention to him than just in the classroom.

He is almost late for practice because he is busy jerking off in the darkroom, next to all the developing pictures. He wonders briefly what he would look like, at this moment, if someone captured him in a photograph.

Being on the field makes him feel better; gets rid of that nervous energy that has been building up. Coach praises him for the focus he has today and for almost breaking Wilkox’s leg when he slams into him. Derek apologizes profusely, but Finstock tells the kid to quit whining and rub some dirt in it.

The following Wednesday, Kate coaxes him to the quarry, after school, so they can hang out. Maybe he isn’t like most boys, because he honestly did not expect her to have his jeans around his knees and to be rolling a condom down his dick within five minutes of him arriving. They are in the back of the pickup her dad is letting her drive until she is done with college, a blanket spread out beneath them.

Kate’s skirt is hiked around her hips and her underwear are nowhere in sight. “I fingered myself the whole way here,” she says by way of explanation, voice raspy and making Derek whine. Then she is wrapping her legs around him and the head of his dick rubs against her slick entrance for a moment before he slips in.

Kate is quiet, mostly breathy gasps as his hips snap forward and this was not how he imagined losing his virginity. His jeans are still on, both of them mostly clothed, and not even in a bed. He comes way too quickly; face flushing red with embarrassment, but Kate shushes him when he says sorry.

She unwraps her legs, pushes him off until he is on his back. Derek doesn’t know what to expect from her next, but it is not for Kate to crawl up his body and sit on his face.

“Lick me open,” she orders and he does. He drags the flat of his tongue against her center, where she is already open and wet and smearing her slickness against his chin. She tastes just as dark as her smile and like the latex that was just inside her. Derek grips her thighs and she rides his face, bumping against his nose and crying out when she finally comes.

Kate starts meeting him almost everyday; fucking him only in the bed of her truck but at least they get around to removing all their clothes. Derek starts skipping practice so he can see her, and she drags him to a party on campus where she kisses him in public. In class she keeps her distance and at home Derek gets the third degree.

His parents went to his game and he wasn’t even there, the coach said he hasn’t been at practice either. His grades have begun to slip so they ground him and take away his car keys. He ends up walking a couple blocks away from the school to climb into Kate’s truck.

Laura rats him out later that week, after witnessing it.

“He’s dating some older girl,” she says when they finally all have a meal together. His parents tell Aaron and Kimberly to go eat in the other room so they can punish Derek in private.

He doesn’t mean to tell them that Kate is twenty-three, but they always know how to make him talk, because they are his parents and he has always told them the truth. They forbid Derek from seeing Kate when he lets it slip and he shouts at them furiously.

“I love her!”

The both shoot him looks, pitying and sad but it’s his mom that speaks. “Derek…you’re sixteen. You don’t know what love is.” Derek scoffs but she holds up her hand to stop him from speaking. “Even if you think you do—she’s going to break your heart.”

Derek doesn’t believe her for a second and tells Kate that his parents don’t want him seeing her anymore at the end of class. They have taken his phone, so he has no other way of contacting her about the situation. They drive out to the quarry after school and Derek naively whispers into her hair that he loves her, while they lay wrapped around each other in the back of her truck.

She returns the sentiment and snuggles closer, says, “no one can keep us from seeing each other.” Her voice goes raspy like it usually does before sex, not after, but it doesn’t sound the same. Derek doesn’t know why. “If they try to keep us apart, I’ll kill them.” Kate pauses, contemplating her next words. “We’ll kill them. They can’t do this to us. No one can keep us apart.” She says it with such conviction that it should be scary, with such hardness in her voice that Derek actually believes her. He loves that she wants him so badly that she’ll do anything to keep him.

They light the fire together and Kate laughs like it is a game and perhaps it had been. Maybe she thought the flames would putter out with no wind to fuel them, because her face turns shocked when the house is full of red and orange, blue at the base where it licks along the wood. She turns to look at him, fright in her features, and Derek doesn’t understand. This was her idea, so why is she looking at him as if he is a monster?

It must be because he is.

Kate is gone in the morning and her cell has been disconnected. All he has is Laura clutching him close and sobbing because everyone is dead, even Uncle Peter. No one made it out of the house.

Derek stares at the wall unseeing and the police officer tells Laura that he must be in shock.

He is. Kate had told him that she loved him. He killed the people that were keeping them apart, and then she left. Kate had coaxed him into lighting those flames, just as easily as she had controlled his wrist when coaxing him to draw.

In the end, his mother was right. He doesn’t feel broken-hearted; just broken, mostly because he can’t even get comfort from the people who warned him against her. Can’t cry over them either because it is his fault they are dead.

The fire gets filed under suspected arson and Laura cries herself to sleep for weeks. She only survived because she was at dress rehearsal for the musical. The understudy for her character stepped in after the accident. Derek feels doubly guilty when he finds out there were scouts from several colleges in the audience. Not only did he take away their family, but also he took away her chance at a better future.

Laura has always lived for the spotlight and now she shies away from it. People are always staring and whispering and it makes her tear up. Derek curls an arm around her and tries to offer the comfort he burned away.

They move into a small apartment that would feel cramped if they had anything to fill it with, but they each only have a large pile of clothes that people in town have brought to them. They always offer their condolences along with the hand-me-downs.

Derek and Laura are just lucky their parents had life insurance on everyone—even little Aaron and Kimmy, the twins who were barely old enough to be in school.

They also have savings, college funds, and whatever small fortune their grandparents left behind when they died. The judge, by some miracle, grants Laura guardianship over Derek and access to her money since she turned eighteen back in December. She tries not to cry in front of him. Tries not to show any weakness that will force him to take Derek away from her and send him into foster care for the next two years. She looks like she wants to, though. How dare he give her piles of money when all she wants is her family back? She would give every luxury she has ever known just for their presence.

It doesn’t break her, however, because Laura is the strongest person he knows. Within a few months she is back to hanging out with her friends, decides to attend the community college instead of heading off to a big city like she always planned. She would rather not remove herself completely from what they lost, by packing up and leaving the place they grew up behind. Knowing what she wants beyond that escapes her. Acting is out of the question now, because she was on a stage, planning to play the perfect part when her family was being burnt to death.

She talks to Derek endlessly about what mom would have wanted her to do…what dad did. Kimmy always wanted to be a princess, and Laura laughs about how impractical a career that is. She used to dress their little sister in sheets, wrapping them around her tiny body like some kind of gown. Aaron would cry until they made him pretty too, even down to the eye shadow. It was the normal weekend around the house. Derek and Laura playing mom and dad when the twins cajoled them into it.

Laura gets better at bringing them up, telling others about mundane family things they did.

Derek doesn’t speak at all.

At first Laura understands. Or thinks she does anyway. They lost everyone; of course Derek doesn’t want to talk. Except she doesn’t know that her brother is the one that lit the match.

Laura understands until suddenly she doesn’t.

He isn’t coping, and she knows his grades are slipping.

“Do you want them to take you away from me?” she screams because he doesn’t respond, only looks at her like always. “You can’t just give up. I won’t let you!” The fight seems to fall right out of her as she takes the seat next to him. “I know this hurts. It hurts so bad that I can’t even breathe some days, Derek,” she says, and he gets that. He does, because it is Laura and she is allowed to hurt. Her voice catches around a sob when she tries to speak again and when he looks up at her he sees she is crying.

“I’d give anything to see you laugh again. Even just a smile.” Laura wipes at her face, trying to hide what he has already seen. “I love you so much Derek and I know you’re going to hate me for this, but I need my brother.”

That is how he finds himself seated on a leather couch with a doctor sitting across from him. Derek knows the man is getting way too much of their money to ask all these probing questions, especially when Derek refuses to answer them. He has this fear that if he opens his mouth, everyone will know what he has done. The doctor is patient though. Derek should have suspected this when he opened with, “I don’t expect you to speak to me right away. This is going to be a journey, Derek, and I know it will take you a while to trust me and accept that I am here to help.”

They do tests on him and the doctor rambles on and on about how hard life is for everyone. Says they can find a support group for him with people who have lost just as much. They give him anti-depressants after the first session. He is there an entire month, three days a week, before Derek finally says, “maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

“But that’s a start,” the doctor says with a smile, like he has finally cracked Derek open and has him spilling all his secrets. He puts his pen to paper and Derek rubs at his throat, voice scratchy from not being used for the better part of a year. He doesn’t say anything else, and his psychiatrist seems mildly disappointed.

The thing is, Derek doesn’t want to be strapped to a gurney and wheeled away to a room dressed all in white. Thinking about it hurts his eyes, and he comes to the realization that if he doesn’t start making the sessions satisfying then he’s bound to end up in exactly that position.

So he gives in.

He learns how to fake it. Be childlike and guilty for not saving them.

When he talks about his family, he wishes he would have set Kate’s truck on fire instead; thrown a Molotov into the passenger seat while she was still belted in.

So much for loving her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

This is how it goes. Derek attends school and gets his grades back up; he goes to see his therapist and gets better. The doctor scribbles in his notebook, and is no doubt analyzing Derek’s every word and then surprises him when he takes him off his medication. Derek graduates high school and Laura becomes a STNA, but wants to become a full time nurse. Derek smiles and tells her how proud their parents would be and she hugs him close whispering into his shoulder, “you too.”

When she pulls back, Laura presses her fingers to his lips and she is so happy that Derek doesn’t stop smiling. He lets her revel in the fact that she may have helped him.

When he realizes he has convinced his sister that everything is alright underneath his skin, he thanks his therapist for all the help he has given him, sticks around for a few more sessions, and then leaves with the plan of never returning.

He has come a long way. Everyone quits treating him like he is fragile and they trust themselves to speak freely around him without hurting his feelings. They invite him out and he has no idea why. Though he speaks again and makes the occasional point to smile, he is cold and clinical. Derek likes to divulge random, useless information when small silences begin to feel awkward. Everyone looks interested when he talks. They find him charming and intelligent and always lean closer to hear more. They always try to come closer, to touch, but Derek shies away, feels murderous when the woman across the hall slides her hand down the sleeve of his leather jacket.

Laura doesn’t notice either; makes it a point to commend him on all the effort he has put into trying to be happy again.

He comes home one night to a stack of papers on the table and the smell of Laura’s homemade Thai sizzling away, and immediately knows it is a trap. She did the same thing when she suggested therapy, the only difference being recommended doctors instead of whatever the pamphlets are for. Derek’s first urge is to panic, because he thought he had fooled her into believing he was okay. That everything was better, even though nothing would ever be better. The spring of his sophomore year has ruined him indefinitely and nothing she shouts at him this time is going to change that.

The second thing he wants to do is flee. Avoiding his sister to go bar crawl sounds like a much better option to the evening, but she calls him into the kitchen just as he turns back towards the door.

“Derek, come set the table,” she says and he does because she has made it her mission to keep Hale tradition of eating around a table.

When they sit, each twirling peanut noodles around their forks, Laura is quick to get to the point. “So, I am under no delusions that you’re going to like this idea—”


“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I didn’t have to, so no.” He’s been eyeing the booklets and feeling progressively more horrified. She wants him to go to a support group and share his feelings, or be somebody’s sponsor. Play the victim when he is the perpetrator. What he says instead is, “sharing my pain with someone who is paid to listen to me whine is much different then sitting in a crowded room.”

“Quit being melodramatic,” Laura sighs. “I just thought that with how far you have come, you could help others who have experienced tragedy.”

“Not gonna happen.”

She stares at him, scowl forming around the delicate lines of her mouth. “Well, if you don’t want to share what we’ve gone through, then would you at least consider something else?” Derek shoves a bite into his mouth, refusing to answer. “Please?”

She keeps at it well into Derek’s second helping, which is how he finds himself filling out paperwork and being interviewed as a candidate. His background check takes longer than necessary, and when they call to tell him he’s been approved they also tell him how sorry they are about his family. The fury that hits him is instantaneous, but he brushes it off with a well practiced, “thank you.” It’s been five years, and the burn of his loss still sizzles beneath the surface of his skin like the flames of the fire.

Laura has manipulated him into thinking he likes kids, or used to, and that they like him, but the first two kids the agency tries to match him with make it known that they can’t stand him.

Scott scowls at him and pouts and tells him that he would rather be with his father. Derek doesn’t know the details, but divorce is apparent. Based on the way the boy shies away from him when he moves in close he would guess abuse. Derek kind of wishes he wouldn’t be so difficult, and then they’re thrusting Matt Daehler in front of him as second choice.

Matt spends ten minutes with Derek and says he needs to use the bathroom. Derek hears him pleading with his parents in the hallway to just let him stay home. He says that being around Derek will just make him worse. Derek supposes the kid can sense how broken he is. Matt can feel it through his skin when they shook hands, or more accurately has seen it in the deadness of Derek’s eyes when he took a picture with the cheap digital his mom and dad bought him. He snapped the photo before they were introduced and then stared at the screen until it was time to say hi.

Matt’s parents oblige him, saying that they’re sorry but perhaps this wasn’t the best thing for Matthew. Derek spends two weeks waiting for the next child the agency wants to match him with. He figures they have decided he’s not actually a good applicant, but they surprisingly call.

The boy is young. He can’t be younger than either of the other two, but he looks so small from where he’s standing beside his dad. His face is hidden behind his embarrassingly floppy hair.

“What happened with your last charge?” Mr. Stilinski asks without preamble.

“Apparently didn’t like it,” Derek answers simply. “They really didn’t give me any details.” They didn’t have to.

He swipes a hand through his hair in what he hopes comes across as nerves and then he is shoving his hands in his pockets. He hunches his shoulders a bit and it must do the trick because Mr. Stilinski smiles and holds out his hand to introduce himself.

“Say hi, Stiles,” the Sheriff coaxes and the boy leans out from behind his dad to give a two fingered salute before ducking back behind him. “Sorry, he’s not usually shy.” He sounds honestly perplexed at his son’s behavior.

“It’s fine,” Derek says even though it’s not. He wants to see the kid, spend ten minutes with him before the boy decides that he hates Derek just like the other two did. Instead he says, “It’ll keep the mystery of who I’ll be spending my days with alive.”

Mr. Stilinski laughs and breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’m sure you’re going to miss the other kid you were paired with, but I am so glad they didn’t stick around. I’ve been on the waiting list for months.”

Derek isn’t surprised. He had heard that was typical, and many people waited past the year mark. “Well, then I’m glad they decided it wasn’t for them.” Derek’s lying. This kid could be a total asshole and that’s why his dad is trying to pawn him off on some other adult. They stand there talking idly and the boy slips away, going over to the table with a couple of kids lingering at it; waiting for their Big. Derek notes that Scott is there. Derek’s new charge flops down right beside him and immediately starts opening his mouth to say something. He gets worried when Scott glances over at him and immediate anger clouds his face, but Derek is already saying his goodbyes and leaving before he can dwell on it.

The next time Derek sees the kid he is no longer being suffocated by his hair. It’s only a couple of inches long, but short around his neck and ears.

He doesn’t look happy to see Derek, which is exactly how he is feeling about their few hours together. He’d almost told Laura to go fuck herself when she had shook him awake from where he had passed out on the loveseat. His long limbs had been hanging haphazardly over the armrest after a long shift at the garage.

If she is so hell-bent on helping people she should enlist herself as the one to save the downtrodden. Except her main argument in this endeavor was to help Derek, and that she was already helping people by working in a hospital. Also, that if Derek connected with others he would quit with his personal vendetta against happiness.

Looking at the boy now, though, completely changes his outlook on the afternoon. Stiles’ mangy mane had been hiding a fresh-faced boy. He has a slight upturn to his nose and the roundness of his face makes him look even younger with his diminutive frame. At twelve, it is kind of sad that he doesn’t even reach Derek’s chest. He looks even smaller than when they met, and Derek’s finding it hard not to want to pull him close like he used to do with Kim and Aaron. That urge hasn’t taken him since he killed them.

“You got your hair cut,” Derek says, by way of greeting, when the boy opens the door and flops into the passenger seat.

“Well, it’s a good thing you have eyes,” Stiles mutters with a scowl. Derek’s knee-jerk reaction is to slam the kid into something, probably the dashboard. It’s not a good idea though, especially since the kid is a minor. That asshole Derek had resituated the face of two nights ago was another story. The man had been well deserving of the broken jaw and the long gash along his brow. Music had no need to be heard throughout the entire apartment complex and when he had refused to turn it down, Derek had no choice.

“I like it. Kind of nice to see the face of the person I’ll be hanging out with.” Stiles doesn’t respond but he relaxes a little as they pull out of the school parking lot. Derek almost thinks this is going to be easy, because the kid is silent, almost petulant, not a first rate bastard like Scott was, but then he opens his mouth again.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t want to be here, frankly don’t need to be, and Scott told me you’re a jerk.”

“Technically, that’s three things,” Derek remarks just to prove the kid’s point. Stiles scowls and keeps on talking.

“Also, I don’t need you commentating on what I say or do. If I wanted that I would go back to school. At least there, I’d be getting graded.”

“You are getting graded,” Derek says as he makes a turn, shifting his eyes briefly to Stiles, and then slowing the car. “I had you pegged for vaguely awesome, but you’re taking a turn towards bratty child.”

Stiles glares, the car stops, and when he looks at where they have arrived he scoffs. “The park? You do realize I’m not seven, right?”

“You sure aren’t acting like you’re any older.”

He gapes at Derek a moment. “I’m not getting out of this car, unless you’re taking me somewhere a bit more practical.” His eyebrow lifts in challenge and for some reason Derek isn’t pissed. Someone confronting him and testing him never ends well. He’d gotten in trouble for fighting after the fire, but they were lenient when punishing him. Pitying, even though the man he’d kicked the shit out of had every right to press charges.

This kid though has a slight smile like he knows he’s going to win this argument, like he wins often, and Derek’s glare won’t have him backing down.

Derek huffs and turns his keys in the ignition. “Fine,” he says and the kid crows, fist-pumping the air.

“That was easier than convincing my dad that I didn’t do things that I actually did.”

“Like what?” Derek asks as they pull away from the curb.

“Mass murder.” Derek’s hands clench on the steering wheel, but the kid is being nonchalant and not all-knowing, so he forces himself to stay calm. It’s a common trick that he learned to master when in the company of his doctor. Never had he ever said something that clicked so well with what Derek is capable of, however.

They end up at the movies because Stiles begs and Laura always said it was a good buffer. Derek doesn’t care for them much, but Derek doesn’t care for anything much.

It’s silly and has no real substance and Derek stopped paying attention. Stiles keeps covering his face due to secondhand embarrassment, and Derek’s just watching him do it. “Oh my God, this is just awful. If I wanted to be witness to something so pitiful, I would’ve tried to talk to Lydia Martin and watched her shoot me down.”

“Who is that?” Derek asks, digging into the bag of popcorn on Stiles lap.

“Only the greatest thing to ever happen to this town. It’s not every day that gorgeous, strawberry-blondes with a brain like Einstein’s are born.” His hand meets Derek’s inside the bag as he reaches for more. “Hey! Get your own!”

“So you like smart girls?”

“I like anything with a pulse and even that is up for debate. The way you gunned the engine when we left the park was quite nice.”

“Um,” Derek says, taken aback.

“Cool your jets buddy. I’m not about to jump your bones. I wouldn’t know what to do even if you wanted me to.”

“What a relief,” Derek says, voice flat.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Stiles laughs. “You know how many people are lining up to get a piece of this? If I ever come on to you, you better count yourself lucky.”

Derek snorts, because this kid is being way too blasé about sex, but perhaps he has no filter.

He doesn’t. In addition to talking nonstop about school, and that thing he looked up on his new laptop, and Scott, and lacrosse, and anything else that comes to mind, Derek finds out he’s a mouthy little shit. Stiles also asks inappropriate questions and clings to Derek like a limpet because he knows it annoys him. Derek has pushed him off, with more force than necessary, several times.

Stiles becomes his companion once a week, then twice, and Derek is surprised that he doesn’t end up hating him. Everyone is a pain in the ass, especially this kid, but Derek actually looks forward to his company. It’s only a few hours at a time and then John gives them an entire Saturday together and Stiles isn’t wary of him. They watch movies and Stiles runs his hands along the spines of books that all belong to Laura.

Laura adores him. She bakes him cookies and lets him borrow all the books he wants. It would make Derek jealous, except that Stiles doesn’t pay nearly the same amount of attention to her that he does to Derek…even when Derek is making him do homework. They work well together, even though they bicker constantly, and that is something Derek is definitely not used to. Arguing with a preteen is above his pay grade. Not that he is getting paid.

Once, Derek asks, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that you aren’t supposed to speak unless you can improve the silence?”

“My mom always told me to never let silence linger.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “She was probably just trying to make me feel better about never being able to shut up. She was always trying to make me feel better.” He is quiet after that, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she is no longer a piece of Stiles’ life. He doesn’t bring her up again and pushes at Stiles just to see him get indignant.

Stiles makes it fun though. Gives so much in everything he does, even though sometimes he says things that rub Derek the wrong way.

“So, do you always look like a serial killer?” Stiles asks as he hops into the Camaro after school. Derek glares. “That, right there! That look says ‘sorry, but your organs are going to look real nice on the outside’. Except, you know, without the sorry because you totally wouldn’t be.”

“Do you always ask such stupid questions?” Derek returns, but is pondering Stiles’ words because it’s true. He thinks that about his neighbors all the time.

“Oh, they are not! You just don’t want to answer them because you don’t think a twelve-year-old should be right. Do you think my dad would let me out of this if I told him you were ageist?”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Ah! My ears!” Stiles admonishes. “You are letting me hear terrible things. I think I just lost the entirety of my innocence.”

“You wish,” Derek snorts, and Stiles waggles his eyebrows suggestively. It’s quite the talent. He finds out that Stiles has perhaps the most expressive face he has ever seen, which is a nice contrast to his own.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

The program is more trouble than it’s worth and Derek has half a mind to not even deal with it, except Mr. Stilinski is no fool. He also knows that the man has been informed of the same strict policies that Derek was told.

Stiles and Derek don’t really know each other, and neither joined of their own free will, but they start to grow used to each other’s company. He knows Scott is filling Stiles’ head with so much sense about who Derek is and he hates him for it. He sees him whispering lowly during the group meeting and giving Derek the side-eye, which causes Stiles to peek at him as well. Stiles presses his lips together though and then studies Derek more intently the next time they are alone.

It doesn’t last long. Scott’s warnings or whatever the hell he’s been saying start to slide right off and Stiles looks at Derek with a little more liking.

They still butt heads, mostly because Derek refuses to smile unless he’s being an asshole, and Stiles finds it way too amusing that Derek is damaged. He must be doing something right, however, because Stiles hops into his car and immediately asks, “Can I stay the night?”

“No,” Derek responds. When he glances over at Stiles he looks hurt, and for once Derek is sorry for his monosyllabic answers.

“Oh. Okay,” Stiles starts. “Don’t worry about it. I guess I’ll just head to Scott’s tonight.”

“Hey, it’s not that I don’t want you to stay over.”

“You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m not. You’re just not allowed. I have to be your Big for at least six months.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous.”

“Company policy, kid.”

Stiles sighs. “Quit calling me kid.”

“Never. As soon as the six months is up though, you can stay over whenever you want.”


“Why not? It’s not as if I have friends or a cool job, right?” Derek asks.

“I was kidding when I said that.”

“No you weren’t.”

Stiles smirks and those last few weeks disappear so quick, you’d think they were Laura’s baked goods. The boy is over eager and chattering away at his dad when Derek arrives to pick him up. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulder and a smile all for Derek that makes him want to shove his cock between his lips.

It’s a startling thought, but he brushes it off and tells the Sheriff they’ll be fine. And they are.

They watch bad movies and eat worse food and curl together on the couch. It’s normal and Derek wonders why that rubs him the wrong way. He throws a blanket over Stiles when he gets cold and the next time he stays over he plays with his hair.

Derek is a bastard. He coaxes Stiles into sitting next to him and sometimes pulls him half onto his lap, and the kid has no idea what he’s doing. Derek doesn’t really know either, but it starts to feel like a game. When Stiles drops off from exhaustion Derek will move away, or move the boy elsewhere. He looks so vulnerable in sleep that suddenly Derek doesn’t know if he’ll stay safe.

It goes like that for once a week and the Sheriff is so kind to Derek, invites him to their family dinners of takeout and pizza when Laura gets her own place. (Stiles complains about the food, even though he stuffs his face thoroughly.) The Sheriff stops Derek to chat when they run into each other at the store, and then a miracle happens.

He never thought he would see her again, but when he does, it is not the throb of want he remembers from when Kate sat across from him and toyed with her breasts along with his brain. The rage he feels when people talk about his family fills him up and he wants nothing more than to see her dead. How dare she coax him into killing the people he loved with the promise of keeping his dick wet, and then not follow through…

Kate is just as pretty as he remembers, but that dark smile brims with guilt when she looks at him. She pulls a girl with pinwheel curls close and starts walking away. She doesn’t run, knows it makes her look like appealing prey to someone like Derek, especially when she is carting around a girl with her matching dimples and porcelain skin.

The girl carries an innocence that once belonged to Derek and he contemplates taking it from her, but that wouldn’t be fair. Not that he cares about fair, but she looks barely older than Stiles. Derek may be a monster, but even he isn’t that crazy.

Derek smiles crookedly though when Kate looks back at him. He’ll be sure to mention how thoroughly he is going to fuck that darling girl with dimples when he strings Kate up to kill her, he thinks. The thought of watching her squirm is enough to make him feel a surge of happiness and he feels content until all the way into the following week when he sees Stiles.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

The boy is brilliantly lit up because it is his birthday and Derek thinks the program would probably reprimand him if they knew the gift he was giving him.

“This is just between you and me, okay buddy?”

Stiles says, “yep,” all emphatically and correctly punctuated with exclamations as Derek hands over a present wrapped in red and gold. The edges are pristinely crimped and the tape barely visible where it folds along the edge lines and it takes less than two seconds for Stiles to ruin his work.

“This is awfully small for a lacrosse stick,” he chirps, because he wants to join the eighth grade team. His little hands fit around the box easily as he pulls off the top.

“But way more useful,” Derek huffs, because lacrosse had been nothing but a waste of time when he was in school. The blade is small. It is only bigger than the average pocket knife, but it fits beautifully in the palm of Stiles’ hand.

He looks unsure at first, so much like the muted boy Derek saw hiding behind his father eight months ago, but then he sees the catch on the side. When he slides his thumb over it, the knife swooshes out and his jaw drops. It is his expression of awe, or more often indignation, but Derek is pretty sure it is the former when Stiles’ breath catches. “Wow, Derek. If my dad knew you got me this—“

“That’s why it’s our little secret.”

“He’d kill me,” Stiles pushes on and Derek fights down the urge to say, “Not before I killed him.”

It’s inappropriate and awful and he doesn’t think Stiles would look at him the same; all sudden smiles and blinding hero-worship. It’s not that Derek would say it, it is the way he would. The voice in his head is chilling and already calculating the crime, just in case, and the last thing he wants to do is scare this kid away. He is the only person that actually looks at Derek to do more than look.

“I don’t know if I can accept this.” It sounds sad and earnest, but his thumb is playing along the edge like he wants to.

“It’s a gift,” Derek tells him, closing his hands around Stiles’ own. “I want you to have it.” He runs the pad of his thumb across Stiles’ knuckles and the boy tracks the movement, breath hitching before he nods.

Derek smiles, loves that he has given in and it startles Derek enough that he almost lets go.

He only does when Stiles asks for Derek to show him how to use it. Instead they pop in a movie because Derek insists that tomorrow would be better.

It’s a little past eleven when Derek carries the boy into his room and lays him on the bed, Stiles mumbling sleepily into his shoulder the whole time. He is not too big to be in Derek’s arms but if he were fully awake he would be complaining. Derek likes it though. He likes being able to lift his weight and cart him around. It reminds him of the twins, and not in the mind-numbing way he is used to.

He thinks this is going to become a ritual on every overnight. Derek counts himself lucky that the sheriff is letting him have Stiles for two days instead of one, especially since it is his birthday. The station has been particularly busy the past week though, and Mr. Stilinski had thanked him when he offered to hang out with the boy an extra day. “As long as he is back Sunday morning,” he’d smiled and patted Stiles’ shoulder. “We’ll have all day together, kid.”

Stiles is thirteen now, but when Derek leans back, takes his weight off the bed to leave, he still looks the same. So young and innocent in his face and so, so tiny. He’s so small when he’s being encompassed by a King size bed, and he wonders what he’d look like with Derek covering him.

It’s that terrifying thought that has him switching off the lights and fleeing the room. He hasn’t felt that kind of want since Kate had ridden his face until the bridge of his nose was sore. He clicks the door shut and goes to lie across the loveseat.

He takes Stiles to the preserve, just on the outskirts of his old home, to show him how to use his knife. He takes his own as well, and Derek tells him all the mundane ways he could put it to use. Cutting open packages and eating an apple like a douche.

Stiles laughs, “only way to do it bro.”

“I’m not your bro; and who the hell is teaching you to speak like this?”

“You’re totally my bro. It says so on all those fancy documents you filled out in triplicate.” He pauses a beat before answering Derek’s question. “Scott.”

Derek feels a flare of jealousy even though he knows it’s stupid. Just because he didn’t like Derek doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be allowed to be within Stiles’ space. He knows that they hang out in school. Same grade, same classes, but they live on opposite ends of town. Sometimes Mrs. McCall picks Stiles up from school when the Sheriff is still at the station and Derek is not scheduled for time with his Little.

They end up hunting, which Stiles takes to it like a champ. It’s weird to see him go quiet after they set the traps, using his knife to cut the twine.

The kid is so contained and it surprises Derek, makes him wonder what else keeps even his voice still.

They curl together against a tree, kicking away all the fallen leaves until it’s just dirt beneath them. It will do no good if the crackling of leaves is what keeps the animals from coming close. It’s chilly in the early morning air and Derek pulls the boy in close, almost in his lap and arms around his middle. Stiles is all rigid warmth against his chest but he’s shivering. The quiet tremors run through his body.

When Derek lifts up Stiles’ hand, the skin is covered in goose bumps, so he curls his hands around them and rubs warmth into his fingers. It seems to help because he goes pliant and relaxes while they wait. The steady creak of the forest pools out around them. It’s early, so everything is awakening along with the sun that is rising and letting thick streaks of light through the branches above. Birds are chirping in morning calm and Stiles in quiet. The trunk is digging into his back where Derek is leaning against it, and when he shifts, so does Stiles. He is heat against Derek’s chest and he scoots closer, so Stiles is pressed right against the crotch of his jeans. That sudden flare of want from the night before prods at him, licking down his spine and making his dick sit up and pay attention. It’s a tell-tale pull in his groin and he knows that any moment now Stiles is going to feel him getting hard against his ass. But he doesn’t because there’s a snap as one of their traps goes off and Stiles ‘woops’ and jumps up from his spot on the ground and Derek adjusts himself while the kid is distracted.

“Come on,” he says, recommencing the hyperactivity that has been locked away for the better part of an hour. Derek stretches his legs out and stands, immediately heading for the source of the sound.

Stiles is much too excited for a squirrel. It barely has any meat, but Derek’s dad would shame him for wasting it, so he kills it quick. Stiles doesn’t look horrified until Derek takes his knife and starts peeling back the fur. Blood coats his hands and the muscle is thinly corded where he holds it in place.

“Okay. Oh my God. Gross!” Stiles exclaims. “That’s disgusting!”

You’re disgusting,” Derek responds, though as comebacks go, it is pretty weak. Derek’s knife is similar to Stiles’, except for the tip where it is hooked for gutting, and he’s taking the tip of the knife across the squirrel’s stomach , ready to spill the organs when Stiles starts talking again.

“So, what’s next mountain man? You gonna pull out a spit and start roasting this over a fire?”

“Don’t be a smartass. Just because we hunted this thing, doesn’t mean we’re suddenly starring in Man vs. Wild. Besides, there is a perfectly good stove back home.”

Stiles snorts. “Not only do I believe that you don’t know what cable is, but I’m pretty sure you don’t know how to cook.”

“I can cook, I just choose to order takeout.”

“And therein lays the answer to why my dad likes you so much.”

“That, or because I take care of his son when he’s working,” he points out as he packs away the meat in the miniature ice chest he brought along.

“I don’t know why you insist on saying that like I’m some sort of child. We hang out, this isn’t babysitting,” Stiles says with a scowl.

“Sure.” Derek’s voice is flat. The last thing he wants to do is sound overly sarcastic and have the kid ignore him until the next time they see each other. He wagers that it was the right move when Stiles lips quirk.

There’s not much meat when he strips it from the bones, so he cooks it up quick and throws it into the omelets they should have eaten before they left. Stiles grimaces, not wanting to touch the plate that’s set in front of him and Derek has to shove a forkful of the mess into his mouth when he opens it to protest. His eyes go surprisingly round, and Derek can tell he likes it by the little whine that leaves his throat, and the growl his stomach makes in a demand for more.

Instead of admitting it, however, he says, “oh baby, I love it when you feed me from your own hand. It’s so manly.” Derek blinks because he can’t tell if the kid is joking or not, especially since his ears are turning red with heated embarrassment.

“I’ll show you manly,” he says after a few beats.

Stiles eyes him, smile challenging. “Promises, promises.” Derek is about to show him how he always follows through with things he really shouldn’t, but Laura bounds through the front door.

“I thought you got your own place?” Derek questions without preamble.

“I couldn’t remember my own address so I asked my date to drop me off here.”

“What a gentleman,” Derek deadpans.

“What a one-night-stand,” she replies as Stiles chokes on his orange juice. Derek has to commend his intelligence before scolding his sister.

“There are young ears in the vicinity, so please keep the talk of your sex life to a minimum.”

Laura shrugs and proceeds to spend the rest of the day refusing to go home, until Derek insists that they need to go to the store. He buys Stiles a small cake and Laura tosses the first season of Family Guy onto Stiles’ lap when they get back into the Camaro. Derek pointedly drives her to her own apartment. “You’re a bad influence,” he tells her.

“Fine, don’t give me cake. See if I help cure your diseases if you ever get admitted to the hospital.”

“You wouldn’t be allowed anyway,” Stiles interjects. “You’re family.”

“Touché, little dude.’

“See? She gets it! Why can’t you use words like dude?”

Derek sighs, “because, if you want me to treat you like an adult, then you need to speak like one.”

Laura laughs as she climbs out of the car and slams the door behind her. Derek peels away from the curb and makes it back to his apartment in record time so they can devour the cake.

Afterward, Stiles sprawls out on the couch, moaning pitifully about how bad his stomach hurts and Derek is sitting on the end saying. “I told you so,” because the boy hadn’t listened when Derek warned that piece four wasn’t a good idea.

Stiles scowls and his voice goes all deep as he proceeds to mock Derek. “If you want to be treated like an adult, you have to talk like one.” His voice can’t handle the change in pitch and breaks on the last word. Derek laughs and Stiles kicks him with his sock-clad feet, only for Derek to catch them in his iron grip. It’s pretty difficult to hold steady when the kid is acting like a fish out of water, but he stops when Derek admonishes him.

“Stop,” he growls, because as much he likes the kid being this close, he would rather not be kicked in the balls for the boy’s rambunctiousness. He goes still; loose in Derek’s hold and just relaxes, tuning back into the television and what his sister calls a masterpiece.

“You’re a bad influence, Derek Hale,” Stiles says midway through the second episode.

“I beg to differ. My sister bought this for you. Not me.” Derek’s not so naïve to think that Stiles has never seen this show, but his mouth has still fallen open in scandalized surprise just as often as he has laughed.

“My father would judge you so much for this weekend. Knives, and hunting trips, and Family Guy marathons.” He supposes Stiles isn’t that much different from himself. Derek had thought about sex and drugs only objectively until the former was thrust right in his face…literally.

“Just think of it as a lost weekend.”

“What’s that?” Stiles murmurs, always questioning but never wanting to let people know he needs answers. Derek noticed a while ago that he likes finding them on his own.

“It’s something bad,” he answers, voice rough as he thinks about all the sex he could be having if this were a lost weekend. He could bury himself so deeply inside Stiles, but he knows how wrong that is. He is not a complete idiot to think the kid would want that, even if he isn’t quite sane. “I can’t tell you.” Derek runs his thumb down the arch of the boy’s foot and for once Stiles doesn’t argue, too distracted by what Derek has just done to him. He hadn’t meant to get a reaction out of the kid, but his toes spread like stars.

It shouldn’t be a game because the Sheriff would have him arrested for even thinking about this, but that doesn’t stop him from slipping the socks off and pressing his fingers along the bones of his toes. Stiles shifts, looks at him and snaps his eyes back to the television when their eyes meet. He pulls his feet back and tries not to laugh when Derek runs his nails down his arches.

“Tickles,” he says with a squirm and places his feet back. The little brat has no idea what that does to Derek. It makes his stomach clench with want and the need to figure out where else he’s ticklish.

“Good,” he answers with the smirk he uses to pretend he is playing. This is not a game, but making it one gives him the idea that Stiles might not freak out on him. “This will be fun.”

“Don’t you dare,” he exclaims when Derek’s grip goes firm.

“Shush,” he says, “I promise not to play rough.”

"What if that’s how I like it?”

Derek groans. The little shit sounds like he’s flirting. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

He slides his hands up to Stiles’ ankles, the bones a startling contrast against the meat as he works his way under the fabric of his sleep pants. The material is loose, way too big for Stiles’ small frame, which makes it easy for Derek to fit his hands inside to massage his legs, one at a time. Stiles doesn’t speak, only tensing minutely every time the pads of Derek’s fingers move higher and then he’s switching legs. Once he is wrist deep in the pajama bottoms, Derek shoves them up and out of the way so he has access to more skin. Stiles is pale here, from always wearing jeans and Derek’s eyes get caught on the fact that he still doesn’t have the wiry hair that comes with age. He runs his fingers across the fine blonde ones that prove his adolescence and Stiles shivers. Derek looks up at him and smiles when he sees his eyes closed, mouth open on a sigh.

“Your legs been hurting?” he asks as he squeezes along his calves. Stiles is groaning, but his eyes fly open at the question.

“How’d you know?”

“Just guessing. You’re bound to have a growth spurt sneak up on you one of these days. Strains your muscles,” he explains, and runs his nails lightly across the skin again before pressing his thumbs in hard. Stiles gets caught halfway between a laugh and a moan as he digs his heels into Derek’s thighs. “They’re sore,” he whimpers, and Derek doesn’t even realize he’s hard until Stiles’ foot nudges against his dick, and then the boy stills and Derek has a mini heart attack. Stiles is back in motion after a beat though, stretching out his legs and digging his toes into the meat of Derek’s thigh. Derek thanks his lucky stars that he was just tensing from the massage and didn’t notice Derek’s hard on.

Derek alternates legs again, moving just over his calf and rubs; presses his digits into his flesh and when he touches the back of his knee Stiles quivers, foot rubbing along Derek’s erection again.

It continues like that, Derek inching further along and the boy letting him. Letting himself be pulled partially down the couch when Derek grabs his ankles to haul him closer. He pushes his pant legs back up and pool around his thighs; way too big even there. Stiles is loving every minute of this. All the attention and Derek wheedling out the pain in his poor muscles until Derek slides his hands up and up Stiles’ inner thighs and then there are suddenly hands on his wrists stopping him.

“Derek,” Stiles whines. “Stop,” and he thinks ‘fuck’, he’s going to completely freak out. Derek’s finally gone too far and he’s totally going to prison if the kid starts screaming.

“Stop,” he says again on a ragged breath. Derek lifts his eyes, afraid for the first time ever of what he’ll see on Stiles’ face. His cheeks are stained a dark red in what must be anger and he sees tears starting to well when the kid stutters out, “I’m sorry. I’m so so-sorry Derek.”

“For what?” Derek breathes because Stiles didn’t do anything wrong. It’s Derek who has been coveting what doesn’t belong to him. Touching what is forbidden to touch.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers and his cheeks burn even brighter, and tear slips down his cheek when he blinks.

“Hey,” Derek starts and he shifts his body, climbing closer so he can thumb away the moisture. “I’m sorry,” he tells him, even though he isn’t.

Stiles looks confused, is quiet for a few seconds before he asks, “you don’t hate me?”

“Hate you? Of course not,” he whispers, wrapping the hand not cupping the boy’s cheek across his skinny thigh. Stiles whimpers, mouth falling open and suddenly Derek gets it. Stiles isn’t mad, he’s embarrassed, and this is perfect. His grip goes loose, slides up and over the folds of fabric that he’s been pushing out of the way, and lands on Stiles’ lap.

“Wha—“ Stiles starts and Derek shushes him, fingers against his lips as he palms the boy’s crotch. He’s not very big but he’s so hard. Makes Derek wonder how long he has been trying to hide his erection. Stiles starts moaning, viciously shoving up into Derek’s hand and his face starts to turn bright pink, cheeks all flushed.

“Lift your hips,” Derek orders, and Stiles eyes lock on him and pinkness travels down his neck. Derek nudges him and the boy listens, putting his weight on feet and elbows so Derek can drag down his pants and briefs. They get stuck around his thighs from where they’ve been bunched, but Derek doesn’t really care. He doesn’t need to get the boy naked to do this.

Derek can cradle Stiles’ balls in one hand and he notices the sprinkle of hair at the base of his dick, which is by no means done growing. He looks up to see Stiles staring at the ceiling, hands balled into fists and so very red from his blush. Stiles skinny cock is already plump and Derek curls his fingers around it, watching as it becomes hidden in his grip. The boy’s breathing becomes erratic and when Derek starts stroking he brings his hands up to cover his whimpers.

He’s so embarrassed of the noises he’s making and probably the fact that he’s pushing his hips into Derek’s hands, helping the way Derek is jerking him in earnest.

Derek lets go of his dick, so he can reach up and bring his hands away. “I want to hear you,” he says, voice hard as Stiles looks down at him, and then he’s swallowing the boy’s dick in one motion. Fitting all of him in his mouth in one go is no hardship and the kid can’t help himself, he keens, bucks up into Derek’s mouth like it’s his job.

Derek strokes his tongue along the shaft and Stiles lets out a gasp and a jumble of words. “fu— Oh! God. Don’t st— Derek.”

He’s squirming all over and Derek places a hand on his soft tummy to stop him from moving so much, but then Stiles grabs his hair to shove him into place instead. He could overpower the boy in two seconds flat, but the fact that Stiles is holding him down, so his dick is shoved all the way in Derek’s mouth, makes him even hornier. He starts rutting against the couch, as he sucks Stiles in, and the boy is making so much noise.

Derek’s own dick finds the edge where the cushions meet and it’s perfect. That bit of friction, and a crevice that his cock can slip right into, against the shuddering that Stiles is doing is getting him hot all over. It would probably be turning his skin red, if he ever had a sex flush, but Stiles is doing enough of that for the both of them. Skin all heated and taking color everywhere and his mouth is yammering away, little chants of, “Derek—Uhn DerekDerekDerek.”

He would make fun of Stiles for saying his name that way, but his mouth is full of dick, and it kinds of makes him warm in his chest. It sends a jolt straight to his cock, and then Stiles bucks so hard he almost clips Derek in the jaw. His body seizes up as he orgasms, and Derek’s got the proof of it in his mouth. It’s milky and barely any fluid at all and it tastes nothing like Kate.

It tastes like the end of innocence.

Derek moves up the couch, instead of continuing to rock against it, and pulls his dick out. The elastic band is bunched right under his balls, and Stiles is staring wide-eyed at his crotch as he puts a hand around himself and crouches over Stiles. The boy’s shirt is in the way, so he pushes it up, revealing his flat stomach and sweaty skin and starts stripping his dick, while he looks at Stiles' face. He’s still pink and breathing heavy, but his babbling has stopped and he’s staring at Derek, which makes him come. Thick ropes of it across Stiles’ belly, and the kid has enough of a mind to say, “gross,” before Derek collapses on top of him.

It’s brief because he doesn’t want to crush the kid, so he rolls them over, still breathing hard and shirt sticky against his back. Stiles sighs from atop him. It’s all content sleepiness and he presses a kiss to Derek’s neck, just a barely there press of lips that tugs at Derek’s chest and then his breathing goes steady.

“Wore you out already,” he whispers into the boy’s hair. “We’ll have to change that.”

He plans to, but Stiles is being handed off to his father in the morning and Derek is planning something terrible.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Kate corners him first. She thinks that instilling fear in him is the way to keep a monster away from her family. She’s obviously not a fan of horror movies though, because that’s all Stiles has him watch, and everyone knows that monsters lurk in the shadows. They can wait forever for the most opportune time to strike.

The Taser she purchased weeks ago doesn’t stand a chance against him when she has it tucked safely in her purse. Constant vigilance is definitely not her strong suit.

She’s juggling her keys, briefcase, and a coffee as she exits the school, and night has already fallen. There are still a few other cars in the parking lot and Derek is sidling between the blue tiers holding up the overhang. He’s keeping to the blackness, but as soon as her key hits the lock of the car door, Kate is a goner. He has her pressed against the vehicle with all his weight, and a rag soaked in chloroform blocking off her air passages and the scream that tries to escape her.

She can’t flail much because of the way he has her pinned, but she does manage to get a good head-butt in before she goes limp. His skull throbs where it cracked against the back of her head but he manages to get her in the passenger seat and himself in the driver’s before anyone else exits the school.

He takes her to an abandoned warehouse just outside of town and decides to play with her after he strips her down to bra and panties.

Her body is still beautifully toned and tanned, and he tells her as much when she wakes up.

She looks groggy, confusion on her face until she tries to stand and finds that she’s strapped to a chair, which is plastic and hard. Her legs are tied to the cold metal legs with fraying rope, and her hands are behind the back of the chair. It puts her shoulders at an odd angle because they are twisted behind her.

He’s been keeping to the shadows, but when he sidles closer her eyes widen in fright, finally getting it.

“I’m going to remove your gag, but you better not scream. It’s not as if anyone will hear you anyway.” When he unties the fabric she swipes at him with her teeth and completely misses.

After that he just watches her. Somehow he knows that Kate won’t answer if he wants her to speak. Her jaw is clenched so tightly he’s surprised she hasn’t broken a tooth. She looks angry and frightened and so cold in the dead of winter, where she is wearing close to nothing.

Kate refuses to even look at him until her teeth start to chatter, and then her mouth dips into a smirk; proud of the dark bruising of his forehead. Derek just tilts his head at her, smile wide and everything but comforting.

“What do you want from me?” she asks when she can’t bear the quiet or the cold any longer.

“Everything,” he whispers and moves forward with his knife, which gets her screams going. It doesn’t last long because he presses hard on her vocal chords with the heel of his hand. She pisses right through her pretty, white panties. Derek can hear it splashing against the tarp he laid down as it floods over the seat, and she looks humiliated under her pain. There are tears springing in her eyes and she looks away in shame; her eyes darting away from his face even when he tilts her chin up.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on your darling little niece.” Kate’s eyes go hard and between one second and the next she has spit in his face. Derek smiles, wiping it away with his sleeve.

“She’s going to be so much tighter than you. I bet she rides my face just like you did.”

“You sick fuck,” she tries to say, but every other syllable gets caught in her abused throat. “Do—n’t you da—re.”

“Dare what? Fuck her?” Derek asks gently around her coughs. He tilts his head in mock innocence as he drags the edge of the blade against her cheek. “Why not?”

A thin line of blood appears in its wake and his tone goes hard. “It’s the same thing you did to me.” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes closed to try and block him out, but his voice is still thick in her ears. She doesn’t want to listen anymore though, so he pushes the knife deep into her gut and drags it upward until she stops screaming; voice all wet and gasping until it all just goes out of her at once.

Derek bags her broken body into black garbage bags so she won’t bleed out onto the interior of her trunk. He drives to the Hale property, where his house stands in half dilapidation; all blackened beams and shattered windows. That’s where he buries her.

Right below his bedroom window, where she helped murder his family and brought him to his knees. The grave is pretty shallow, but she’ll decay quickly.

Getting rid of the body is easy, the car not so much, so he abandons it outside of Beacon Hills.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

They still hang out, but now with an added bonus.

They go to the preserve and Derek sucks Stiles off with the boy’s back pressed against a tree. His hips are all stuttering and he gets all shy about having his pants around his ankles. Derek tries not to be bitter that he hasn’t been wringing orgasms out of the kid since they met. The company Stiles has given him for the better part of a year is much more important than sex, but this is so much more fun than what Derek was promised when he joined the program.

He jerks himself off again, jeans unzipped and come soaking into the earth at his feet by the time Stiles gives a shout, and that mild flavor is hitting Derek’s tongue again. Derek rubs what little wetness he gathered from the tip of his cock into the skin of Stiles’ stomach, because he loves the way the boy wrinkles his nose and flushes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

He goes to the school, because it’s his day to pick Stiles up, and ends up way too early. Tryouts for lacrosse are in session and he can see all these gangly teenagers running across a field with their sticks in hand. Scott and Stiles are easy to pick out of the lineup, since they are so small. Their growth spurts will come in time, but they look so tiny compared to the others.

Scott ends up sprawled on his back after a particularly nasty lap around the field. Stiles is handing him an inhaler when another boy wanders past and laughs, nudging Scott with his foot.

They make the team, but judging by the way the coach had eyed them warily, Derek knows they’ll end up benched the entire season. It pisses him off.

Not because Stiles isn’t going to be seeing the field, but because it’s cutting into time with Derek.

He tells Stiles as much when he drives him home later. Stiles shrugs and presses a hesitant kiss to his jaw before he climbs out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

There’s a little gas station just on the out skirts of town that Derek frequents because he’s impatient, and hates waiting for a pump at the one near his apartment. He stops there on his way home from work one day, still all gritty and greasy from the garage, and the Argents pull in behind him. He glances at them as he continues to fill his tank and plans to ignore them.

He does well enough. He doesn’t pay them any mind, and doesn’t act nervous because he has no reason to be. No one should suspect what he’s done.

Chris is the one to get out to get his car fueled up and Derek can feel the prickle of being watched within moments. He half turns and sees the family of three staring at him. A huff leaves his lungs and he goes to remove the pump when it clicks.

Chris speaks before he can round the Camaro to get back in. “Watch your back Hale.” It should be a threat, but it doesn’t have any animosity behind it. Derek looks up as Chris continues. “Really, Hale.” His head nudges to the left to indicate his wife. Derek flicks his eyes to her prone form, all hard shoulders and face icy.

He nods at Chris in acknowledgement and the next day Sheriff Stilinski is asking him to come in for questioning.

“I’m really sorry we have to do this Derek, but if the family has any suspicions we need to look into them.”

“It’s alright,” Derek replies as they slide into the interrogation room. “Given what’s between me and Kate, I don’t blame them for wondering.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Derek feels like he’s constantly being cornered by Argents after he gets questioned, and it’s a testament to his self-control that that he doesn’t snap and kill them all.

Chris isn’t all that bad. He’s just weirdly pleasant. It’s kind of forced, like he has no reason not to be except for the suspicions of his wife. In contrast, Victoria looks like she’s about to pull out a gun at any moment to start shooting.

It’s funny how he never really noticed this family until he cut the life right out of one of them. He thinks they are meanly following him just because he walked away from the station instead of being thrown in a cell. He’s seen them when they pick up their daughter from school or sitting behind him at stop lights. It gets really weird when Derek takes Stiles to the mall, which is almost forty minutes away, and they end up being in the Barnes & Noble that Stiles insists they enter.

They curiously try to see the books Derek is holding, but the spines are pressed to his chest. When they see Stiles adding a ‘Dungeons and Dragons Game Master Guide’ to the pile they move along. It’s as if they thought Derek was compiling a library in his own home titled: How to Get Away With Murder.

Chris gives him a nod and Derek frowns. “You’re going to bankrupt me,” he tells the floor.

Stiles scoffs. “You forget that I’m nosy and check your bank statements.”

“Opening someone’s mail is a federal offense.”

“Your face is a federal offense.” Derek laughs and Stiles says, “No. Seriously. Have you seen your face? It’s fucking rude to look that perfect.”

“Language,” Derek admonishes, because they’re in public and Stiles is only thirteen. As much as he likes Stiles gasping out words he shouldn’t when they’re about to get off, he can’t have him acting too grown up in front of the rest of the world.

Also, it’s Stiles who is criminal to look at.

Seriously. This kid is going to be the end of him.

Stiles starts flipping through his new books as soon as they get in the car. He gets so engrossed in them, like with all the books Laura has lent him, but now he’s into online gaming. Sometimes he tries to get Derek involved, calling him via Skype and asking him to join the league he’s in.

They are about halfway home when Derek glances over and sees Stiles biting his lip as he turns the page, eyes flickering across the words as he reads. The kid is so sexy when he does the most mundane things that it has him saying, “call your dad.”


Derek tosses his phone onto the boy’s lap and repeats himself. “Call your dad. I want you to fuck me, so you need to ask if you can stay the night.”

Stiles gulps, throat working as he dials. It must only ring once because he starts talking right away, and of course he gets his way since the Sheriff loves Derek.

“Leave the books,” Derek orders when they park and they’re barely in the room five seconds before he throws the kid against the door. He lifts him up by his skinny hips and Stiles wraps his legs around him and starts rutting. Breathy gasps are already leaving his lungs and Derek goes for his mouth.

Stiles is unsure and doesn’t know what he’s doing when Derek kisses him and that makes this even better. Derek is taking everything that Stiles has to give. Even his first kiss.

He’s clumsy when Derek swipes at his lips with his tongue. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t really know what to do when Derek licks into it. It shouldn’t be sexy because Stiles is just breathing into his mouth for a full minute before he licks back, massaging his tongue against Derek’s.

They are both moving against each other, just a gentle rock of hips and then, “let’s take this to the bedroom,” Derek says.

Stiles moans and lets Derek carry his weight, not seeming to mind now that he’s so turned on he can barely walk. Derek deposits him on the bed and the kid starts stripping. It’s still coy, but Derek said they are going to have sex. Real sex.

For a teenager, that must outweigh the cost of someone seeing them completely naked. He still tries to cover himself, however, shifting so his thighs block his hardness and crossing his arms across his stomach and chest.

Derek smiles and reaches into his night stand for the lube. “Open that,” he says, tossing it at Stiles, and then he’s opening his jeans and shoving them off. His Henley follows suit and he gives his dick a squeeze before lying next to Stiles. “Hand it over.”

The tube is pressed into his palm and he coats his fingers in the stuff. Derek has never done this, but it would take an idiot not to know the mechanics of anal. He slides a finger around his hole, getting it wet and more comfortable. After a minute or so he pushes inside, and a pained grunt falls from his lips.

“Uhn. Damn.” The angle is awkward and he can’t quite finger himself properly. When he makes another noise Stiles get excited.

“Let me see,” he rasps, forgetting about his shyness as he bends down to see between Derek’s legs. He spreads his thighs wider and shoves another finger in, hoping to get the discomfort over and done with. “fuck,” he groans and Stiles runs his hands down his thighs.

“Wow.” Derek catches him watching the bob of his cock and then the moment he sees what Derek’s fingers are doing. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” Derek moans. “I want you right in there.” Stiles blushes furiously and looks up at Derek’s face.

“Can I touch it?” It sounds so innocent and a whine leaves his throat as he nods. A finger slides around his rim, where he’s already open, and Stiles is nudging his hand, pressing right along with Derek when he pushes into his second knuckle. It stings now that there are three fingers inside him, but Stiles whimpers and Derek can see him fondling his own dick. “It’s so tight.”

“Yeah,” Derek starts, pulling out his fingers. “Get inside me.”

Stiles fumbles, not sure what to do, so Derek pushes him onto his back and crawls atop him. There’s a moment of Stiles’ erratic breathing when Derek leads his skinny dick towards his entrance. He rubs it there, and when the head pops through, Stiles cries out, curses even. “Fuck. Oh my God!”

It doesn’t feel like much, just a little more than his fingers so he doesn’t bother getting used to him, just starts rocking. It’s a back and forth motion, only lifting up a little so Stiles doesn’t slip out. He rocks and rocks and Stiles whines and whimpers his way through it. His litany of, “Derek,” and, “Oh God,” starting up rather quick. “I’m gonna—”

And then he is coming inside Derek, and for some reason he wishes for more. He wants it to be wetter.

Stiles is panting beneath him. Sweat-sloppy tired when Derek lets him slide out and he crawls up the length of him. Every time they have gotten off Derek has touched himself, but not this time.

Derek squeezes his cock, knees bracketing Stiles’ shoulders, and then he’s cradling the boy’s head, rubbing his slick slit against the seam of his lips.

“What are yo—?” Stiles starts to ask and Derek takes the opportunity to shove in. Just the head at first, so Stiles can taste him.

He’s so pliant and sucks experimentally and Derek grips his jaw, making him open wider. There’s no way all of him will fit, but he wants him to take just a little more. When he hits the back of Stiles’ throat, he chokes, tears smarting. It stops almost immediately when he pulls back and then he’s fucking Stiles’ face in earnest. One hand is curled around his shaft to the point where Stiles can handle his length, and the other is bracing himself on the headboard, where it’s rocking so hard it is smacking against the wall.

It doesn’t take him long to come, thick streaks of it coating Stiles’ lips and long eyelashes. The boy doesn’t even complain about it this time and Derek licks part of away. He gathers the rest, shoving his fingers into Stiles mouth.

They fall asleep curled around each other and Stiles loses all of his shyness when Derek helps him shower in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Every few months, Derek buys Stiles a better blade. Butterfly and then serrated, a hook tipped (like his own), and a handy set of throwing knives that he teaches him how to use while they are in the woods over the summer.

“They’re called lightning bolts,” he tells Stiles and teaches him to throw first from the handle. As he progresses, he will have him hold it further down. “Don’t flick your wrist,” he orders and it takes Stiles the better part of an hour to manage it.

Every time they come back to practice he has to reteach himself not to commit that little mistake. “It’s hard at first,” Derek encourages, and Stiles quirks an eyebrow. “Not like that. Quit thinking about sex. Concentrate on your throw.”

When school starts back up, they have a harder time getting to the trees to learn, and Stiles turns fourteen.

Derek buys Stiles anything and everything, which the Sheriff complains about constantly. “Derek,” he sighs heavily, when he sees a stack of new video games cradled against his chest and a brand new lacrosse stick strapped to his back. “I told you not to buy him things. He’s already way too spoiled for his own good.”

“Define spoiled,” Stiles asks.

John looks at him pointedly and simply says, “you.”

Stiles makes a squawk of indignation and Derek talks over him.

“It’s fine. I have more money than I know what to do with.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not his Big anymore. I feel bad that you’re even still picking him up from school.”

“It’s not a chore,” Derek interrupts before he can continue, because he doesn’t want the Sheriff to take Stiles away now that he’s too old to be enrolled in the program. “Stiles is…cool. If I didn’t like him, trust me, I would have been gone the first chance I got.”

John laughs. “It’s surprising you didn’t run for the hills.”

“Hey! I’m standing right here.”

“Shush,” Derek says, “the adults are talking.”

Stiles glares, the promise of punishment in his gaze.

“All the same, Derek…you should be waiting to spend that money on your own kids when they come along.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s fine. Really.” Stiles smiles smugly. He gets books and games and movies. When he finds some ridiculous t-shirt he begs Derek to buy it. Derek buys him a whetstone to sharpen his own knives and promises to watch him play lacrosse.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Stiles gets tackled so hard at practice that he can barely walk. When Derek calls the Sheriff he asks if Derek can just drive him to the hospital to get him x-rayed. “Give them my number if they give you any grief. Tell them I’m out on call and can’t be there.”

They do no such thing, because he is Stiles, and Melissa McCall pulls up his file and insurance information without any problems.

“You and Scott are going to be a patchwork of bruises and broken bones by the time the season is over.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I was just trying to impress Lydia. It’s not even that bad,” he whines and to prove his point he asks Derek to fuck him on the examination table when Melissa leaves the room. He’s lying back on the crinkly paper, legs spread and hospital gown rucked up around his waist.

Derek indulges him because he can’t resist that tight ass and almost has a heart attack when the doctor stumbles in afterward, just as he’s buttoning his pants. He forgot to lock the door in his eagerness to get inside Stiles and they could have been caught.

He doesn’t realize until later that they were

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

His list of victims is small, but he keeps a token from each. His whole family is reduced to a single photo he had in his wallet, which had been taken the summer before he met Kate. The photo is small and creased from where it had been folded and it was hard to see detail in the faces. Even Derek’s severe case of acne just looked red and splotchy. The twins looked impossibly small; Kimmy propped on their mom’s hip and Aaron sucking his thumb and holding onto Derek’s leg like he was afraid he was going to flee. Laura was scowling at their father, ever the aggressor in an argument. Derek remembers her not wanting to stand next to him. She was always saying he smelled like feet and forever getting slapped upside her head for making sure everyone was informed.

Derek had seen Never Been Kissed before, because it was Laura’s favorite, and knew that if his name was capable of rhyming his sister would have been cruel enough to spread whatever she could come up with.

From Kate he took her pendant, but he keeps it tucked away somewhere safe. He likes his family photo more.

Derek knows Laura was frowning, though her face is damaged from the fold down the center of it. Somehow, he never thought he’d regret creasing it, until he comes home from dropping off Stiles and she’s there waiting when he flicks on the light. It’s haloed behind her head, her expression is dark, haunting and anything but angelic.

“What are you doing?” Laura asks and her voice is hollow, and instantly Derek knows she has found out.

“What do you mean?” Playing dumb seems like the best bet.

“Don’t,” she says and her tone has turned hard and unyielding. “I saw y—” Derek tries to interrupt, but she cuts him off, voice rising. “I saw you.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Laura’s just looking at him as if everything she’s ever known has disappeared, but she has no idea. There is no way to explain this, no way to make it sound better then it is, because he’s fucking a fourteen-year-old boy, so he lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug.

That one movement has her in action, mouth dropping open disbelievingly and face turning a blotchy red as she starts to cry. It’s hysterical and hurts when she starts to hit him.

“Are you out of your mind?” she screeches. “Why? Why would you do this?” Derek just takes it; her blows and all the unintelligible screams, and then he is grabbing her wrists and pinning her against his chest. “You were better Derek! Why would you take advantage of someone like that?”

“Did you ever stop to think that he seduced me?” She looks up at his face and he sees so much disgust laden in them. She shoves at him and says something about turning himself in.

“You told me to help him,” he whispers. “So I did,” and she looks at him, confused, because she apparently believes all the stories about how sex can destroy a child. No. It’s when you break their heart that they feel worthless. Derek knows this story.

“This is not helping him,” Laura cries and she tries to wrench away from him but he holds her tighter, switches his grip so he’s holding her head, her face.

“Sure it is. He wanted it so badly, Laura. He just didn’t know how to ask for it.”


“Yes,” he spits with a nod, “he did. I let him inside me first because I was so afraid I’d hurt him. He came almost right away. Poor kid couldn’t handle how good it felt.” Laura’s trying to look away and when he won’t let her she snaps her eyes shut, as if that will block out everything he’s saying.

“It wasn’t much, but he was so determined to get me off. Sometimes I still let him fuck me. I like the feel of him all up inside me, and being all wet after he shoots.” Distantly, he knows that this is wrong. The Stiles thing, of course, because he wouldn’t have hidden it if he thought it wasn’t. Telling Laura about this isn’t normal. He should feel ashamed, but mostly he’s excited that he can finally tell someone about Stiles’ tight little hole, and the pretty noises that leave his throat when he bounces on Derek’s lap.

“You’re sick,” she spits at him. “I need to get you some help. You need to be kept away from Stiles.”

Derek smiles then. Smiles like he never does with anyone but Stiles. All white, glinting teeth, and Laura looks frightened as his thumb swipes at her tears. “No Laura. No one can keep me from him…not even you.”

The sickening crack after his statement should not have come as a surprise, but he didn’t realize he was going to do it, until it was already done. Her head lolls for a moment, before he drops her to the floor. The blankness in her stare should be unnerving, but he just steps over her body and goes into the kitchen to make dinner. He’ll deal with her body later.

He dumps her body in a hole he digs right next to his house. It’s the same place that Kate was buried. Laura is shoved into the clothing bag she had a pretty dress hanging in. He covers her in lye and water so it will work faster. Just like he did with Kate.

It’s kind of poetic, he thinks, that her final resting place is earth when the rest of the family is ash. He’ll miss her.

He’ll miss her chocolate cake the most.

When he’s back home, Derek pulls the family photo out of his wallet and feels a faint tinge of sadness that he didn’t think to take care of it better. He has plenty of pictures of Laura now, but this is the last piece of family memorabilia. This is the piece of them he kept when he killed them.

As a last minute reminder, he calls her cell phone, which he knows will be on record now, and leaves a message.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

He waits three days before calling the Sheriff. “This isn’t like her Mr. Stilinski.”

“Please Derek, call me John. Now when did you say was the last time you seen her?”

“A week,” Derek stutters out. “Maybe eight or nine days. I’m not really sure.” He pauses before he presses on. “It’s was Stiles’ last home game. I’ve tried calling her, but she still hasn’t responded. Won’t answer her door either.”

“Hmm,” the Sheriff hums.

“I’m really sorry about this, sir. I don’t want to bother you with this, but I watch the news…I don’t want to think about Laura becoming a statistic.”

“Okay son. I’ll look into it. You’ll have to come down to the station to file a missing person’s report.”

So he does and the police go to the hospital and find out she hasn’t been at work, and so the investigation begins. The Sheriff says he’ll have to stay back while they try to figure out what’s happened. He does it kindly though, because this is Laura and Derek’s only relative.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, and grabs his hand. Derek screws up his face and tries to look upset. He shakes his head, curling his fingers around Stiles’.

Stiles hugs him, brief and bold and whispers, “she is fine. Everything is going to be fine.”

The Sheriff is watching them, face curious but he doesn’t look suspicious. “Derek…why don’t you stay with us tonight?”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“I insist. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” His face is so concerned and sad and Stiles pipes in.

“Yeah dude. We can play video games and watch bad movies. It’ll make you feel better.”

That’s how he finds himself in Stiles room, remote controllers forgotten on the floor because he’s driving into Stiles with slow, sweet thrusts. The boy’s thighs are spread so wide, and Derek’s covering his mouth so he won’t make any noise. Usually he loves every sound that falls out of Stiles’, but not when his dad is right down the hall.

Stiles is growing up, there is no doubt about that, but he looks really young in his twin size bed, Spiderman sheets under his back.

When he comes, he bites the meat of Derek’s hand and Derek spills into him a few minutes later, Stiles squirming away from him because he’s so sensitive.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Life goes on. No one suspects. Stiles goes to high school and gets on the varsity team because it’s the only one they have. It’s a small school and not enough people try out to have a junior varsity. Plus, everyone is pretty damn good, except Scott, Stiles, and Greenberg. Derek’s never seen the latter boy’s face but he’s seen him fuck up plenty during practice.

Stiles claims to never having seen his face either. “That’s coach’s imaginary player, dude. There is no Greenberg.”

For a moment, Derek thinks he really is losing it, and he furrows his brow. Stiles laughs, always so smug when he manages to tease Derek.

“Asshole,” Derek complains and that year flies by in a flash of tangled limbs, sports, and no reports of his sister. The Argents still watch him suspiciously though. Even Allison, who he has finally learned the name of, won’t come near when he’s with Stiles.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Stiles’ sophomore year changes everything.

Stiles becomes beautiful with a blade. He throws it precisely and plays with one all the time.

Derek likes to watch him when he doesn’t know he’s being looked at. Stiles spends a lot of time with Scott in the park, talking instead of playing since they aren’t children, and Derek is in the copse of trees. Derek can’t hear what they’re discussing, but he can see the glint of sunlight off the knife as he spins it round and round and round, and then Stiles gets up. He’s angry and storming off and Scott is following after him, calling his name.

Derek also finds out he’s got a bit of a size kink.

Stiles springs up in height the year he turns fifteen. One minute he is impish and so light that Derek never has a problem carrying him, and the next he surpasses Scott. He sees them walking to Scott’s house after school, passing the garage where Derek is detailing that douchebag Jackson Whittemore’s brand new Porsche.

They’ve both got their bags slung over one shoulder and are chatting away, eyes towards the pavement, because they’re slouching. Stiles steps off the curb though and Scott matches him for height. It’s a bit disconcerting to see his boy so big, so he turns back to his handiwork and keeps painting what he’s getting paid to do.

He likes that he can manhandle Stiles. He looks so tiny all the time that Derek can’t help but to find any reason to touch him, to be up in his space so no one will come near.

They do anyway, of course, because Stiles is the Sheriff’s son and everyone knows him. Derek’s always by his side too, so that ensures people will come up and ask questions.

How you doing Derek?” and “Have they found Laura yet?”

The pitiful search for her has gone nowhere. No leads. No body. It’s been a year with her missing.

In that time, Stiles ends up a little slut for Derek’s cock. He begs for it to be up inside him or asks Derek to choke him on his dick. Derek does, because who is he to deny such a pretty request? Derek can palm almost the entirety of the boy’s head while he pushes the boy’s face down in his lap and he likes holding him while they fuck. One leg gets wrapped around Derek’s waist, while the other is thrown over the crook of his arm; Derek driving into him.

They must make a pretty picture that way. Stiles speared on Derek’s cock, just taking it and moaning like a whore.

Stiles seems to grow up overnight. Derek doesn’t notice it until he’s got the boy pressed against the wall and realizes they are almost eye level. Stiles is no boy anymore.

Just a few inches separate them and when he looks at him all spread out on the bed, he can see all the differences. The flatness of his tummy is now muscle. Long, sinewy lines of it, which is a result of the god awful hours he puts into lacrosse, though he has yet to see the field…and all the sex he’s been having.

Stiles is a greedy pig for being stuffed full of cock or making Derek writhe on his own. His dick has grown into his frame so well. He doesn’t know how he failed to notice until Stiles is ratcheting him up the bed with every thrust, and driving right across his prostate, which has his back bowing and an embarrassing array of noises leaving his throat.

“Fuck, fuck. Oh God. Harder,” he whines and Stiles pins his thighs to the mattress to open him further as he jackhammers in. The muscles in his legs burn from being so wide, but the pleasure far outweighs the pain.

He’s actually stuffed full. Stiles’ fat cock is big, instead of just giving him the sensation of something, and Derek worrying he is going to slip out at any moment.

It’s nothing like that anymore. He can come without even touching his dick, and he knows Stiles likes being in control. He likes rocking against Derek; short, shallow thrusts that leave a constant, overwhelming pressure against his prostate. When Stiles comes inside him, it is so much more that it leaves him leaking out onto the mattress or down his thigh when he stands up.

Derek lets go all over his stomach and Stiles rubs it into to his skin, pulling out and collapsing beside him, breathing starting to even out. He’s idly stroking Derek’s hip when he says, “I’m going to winter formal with Lydia.”

Derek tenses because he’s been waiting for this. Subconsciously.

Stiles was bound to find someone better sooner or later, and he’s been over the moon for Lydia since before Derek came along. “That’s cool, right?” Stiles asks, but he sounds unsure. “It’s just as friends. I mean, Jackson broke up with her a few weeks ago and I didn’t want her to have to go alone.” He stops, searching Derek’s face.

“It’s fine,” Derek answers, but he sounds detached because this feels like so much more than Stiles helping out a friend.

“Are you sure? She’s just been so ups—”

“It’s fine, Stiles.” His voice is harder and Stiles gets quiet. He stops stroking Derek’s skin. Another minute of awkward silence and Derek’s getting up to shower.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

They look gorgeous together. Like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together. A matching set and Derek feels like someone punched a hole through his heart when Stiles’ long fingers curl around her delicate, fair-skinned wrist to tie a corsage. He can’t hear what they are saying, but he’s became a master at reading Stiles’ lips and he catches the word ‘beautiful’ and Lydia Martin’s blush that follows.

They pose for a few photos. Scott and Allison make puppy eyes at each other every time the flash flares and Stiles looks like he’s getting everything he ever wanted. A girl wrapped in pink silk.

Not the guy that has taken so many of his firsts.

Victoria Argent looks happy for once and he guesses it’s because her daughter is dolled up for a date. Her gaze turns sharp, however, when Stiles starts babbling and catches her attention. Scott has gone a bit rigid as well, and is focusing a glare on Stiles’ back.

Derek is such a freak. Spying on them from the bushes of the neighbor’s yard is somewhat juvenile, but mostly creepy. Especially since Stiles never mentioned where they were meeting.

Derek feels like throwing up when Stiles places his hand on Lydia’s tiny waist to guide her to the car. Derek has never had the privilege of being directed by him, except in the bedroom, and it hurts.

When they pull away from the house, Derek goes back to the apartment and starts sharpening his Bowie knife. It’s the gorgeous one with the handle that looks marbled and intricate with patterns. The shine of the edge as it hits the whetstone over and over is a gentle lull that distracts him from where Stiles’ hands might be now: surely on the pretty redhead he’s been crushing on for years. Derek hasn’t felt Stiles’ skin on his for a full week. Not since Stiles told him about the dance.

The knife scrapes, sharpens, and rolls over the stone smoothly; only stopping when Derek’s fingers are sore and it’s well past midnight.

Stiles comes over a few days later, a little quiet because Derek hasn’t invited him over. “You do know that you’re the only one I want, right?” he asks. Derek doesn’t answer. “I took her to a dance. I take you to bed.” He smiles a little and Derek won’t meet his eyes. Stiles sighs, grabbing his hand so he can tangle their fingers. “When I’m old enough, I’ll dance with you in every public place I can.”

Derek’s heart clenches, because Stiles wants to do those things with him, but he’s a little too late.

He has already broken open the flesh beneath all that flaming red hair …Stiles would insist it was strawberry blonde.

Derek doesn’t really know. All he can focus on is Stiles' hand in his, and the deep, angry gouges he left across her waist where Stiles fingers had caressed as they danced.

He almost feels bad for her, but then he remembers how beautiful she looked at Stiles’s side. Both of them flushed red in the cheeks from excitement, and her tiny wrist being touched by his long fingers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Lacrosse leaves Stiles covered in bruises, and Derek is pissed when he realizes just how many. They only have one game left, but Stiles’ whole left side is bruised black and blue. His back is tender and he’s limping, when last week he was at winter formal.

 “It’s just been getting a bit rough. Championships have everyone on edge.”

“On the edge of brutal,” Derek snarls. When he watches through the bleachers, it’s no surprise who the culprit is. Number thirty seven. Whittemore.

Derek sees red and has half a mind to murder the stupid fucker. It’s too soon though. Not with Lydia in a fresh grave and her boyfriend the prime suspect. It wouldn’t do to have the police sniffing out a new trail if his turned up cold and dead.

Jackson Whittemore seems to rough Stiles up the most. It’s one of his strategies when Coach Finstock is being particularly nasty: pick on the weakest link.

He gets body-checked a number of times and tackled so hard that Derek swears he can hear bone cracking. He doesn’t know why Stiles refuses to fight back. As small as the boy looks, he’s got a mean bit of muscle behind him. He’s grown into himself now. Derek would bet that he’s taller than this asshole.

He can pin Derek to the bed in under a minute and have his filthy way with him. Derek’s legs get tucked over Stiles’ slim shoulders as he pounds into him, a litany of more and harder falling from his lips.

Stiles stays on the field when practice is over, repeatedly tossing balls into the net as Scott tries to block him. The hard line of his shoulders tells Derek that he’s angry.

It’s by luck alone that Jackson is the only member of the team still in the locker room when he barges in. The kid is rinsing soap from his eyes, not even aware that someone is sharing the steamed air with him. That is until Derek shoves him hard against the shower wall, face pressed against the tile.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Jackson near shouts, but then Derek is grabbing him by the back of the neck, which causes a pained gasp to leave his lungs. “If you want my wallet it's in my locker. I’m kinda naked here buddy.”

“I noticed,” Derek replies. His shirt and jeans are wet from the spray. “If you ever touch Stiles again, I’m going to cut your pretty little face off,” he growls and runs a finger along Jackson’s jaw.

“You do know my father’s a lawyer, right? I could press charges for this.”

“Not if you are dead.” Jackson’s breath hitches, obviously frightened and Derek takes the moment to send a clear message by slamming his face against the tiles. One cracks, all delicate spidery lines, and Derek is across the room before Jackson hits the floor.

Stiles would be pissed if he knew about this. He gets all up in arms about being protected. He says he isn’t a girl and then takes it back immediately. “Lydia Martin is no damsel. Girls, or I, for that matter, don’t need a man that can bench-press their weight in order to feel complete.”

Derek smirks. “Obviously, you do.”

Stiles' jaw drops wide, like he’s offended or about to take Derek’s cock in his mouth. It is the former, but he ends up on his knees anyway, swallowing Derek down now that he is big enough to handle it in his throat.

He still chokes on it though, when Derek holds him down and bucks his hips up until he’s coming and pulling at the little bit of hair Stiles has.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

John catches them kissing.

He looks confused and uncertain because he made this arrangement, and there is no way that he would put his son in this kind of danger. There’s a flicker across his face, like he’s wondering how long this has been going on, but really Derek doesn’t think he’ll come to the conclusion of: since the beginning.

Still, he’s angry, and tells Derek to stay away from his son.

“I’m sorry you’ve lost your whole family Derek, but you can’t take mine.” But he has. So many times, and what the Sheriff doesn’t know is that nothing can keep them apart.

He’ll wait. Forever if that’s what it takes.

He tells Stiles as much, and then he gets a headstone for his sister and has it placed in his family’s plot. It’s time to quit letting the rest of the world pretend that she is coming back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Stiles hero worships the hell outta Derek Hale. The guy is pretty much perfect and actually likes Stiles; wants him all the time. His best friend thinks he’s crazy, and tells him, “There’s something wrong with him Stiles. You need to stop seeing him.”

Scott doesn’t listen when Stiles proclaims that he loves him. The look of pity hurts, because it can only mean Scott doesn’t want him to be happy. He wants to take this away from him, but he at least has the decency to look taken aback, as if Scott hadn’t expected this.

His mouth twitches unhappily and he reaches out a hand to place on Stiles’ shoulder. “The problem is, I don’t think he can love you back.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, suddenly furious. “Because I’m not you? Or Jackson? Or some girl?”

“No, that’s not what—”

“Then what? Why can’t he love me?”

Scott is quiet, unable to find words and Stiles storms out of his own house and heads for the police station.

This isn’t the first time he’s fought with Scott about Derek. He should have never told him, but Scott’s his best friend. He couldn’t keep something like this from him.

He wants nothing more than to talk to his dad, except not about Derek, because he’s not supposed to be around him. Stiles isn’t an idiot.

Derek is nine years his senior and Stiles is still underage, and his dad is still the Sheriff. The law comes first.

Jess tells him that his father is out on a call, should be back in about half an hour if he wants to wait, and he does. He treks back to his dad’s office and makes himself at home, propping his feet on the desk for all of two minutes before he’s bored. He’s up and out of his seat, looking at the tack boards lining the walls.

Stiles can’t ever remember them being so full of papers and pictures and sticky notes. Beacon Hills seemed to be racking up quite the total for missing persons and homicides. Apparent stabbing, strangulation, an as-of-yet-unidentified-body, and among those a beautiful snapshot of Lydia Martin in her pink champagne dress from winter formal. Allison, Scott, and Stiles have been cropped out of the photo. He’d kept the picture on his desk until it had gone missing. Now he realizes his dad must have taken it, since it was the most recent picture of her. He runs his fingers over her glossy smile to her jaw and down over her bare shoulder, where he sees a red string is connecting her to Laura Hale.

Derek’s sister had been missing for a little over a year. She’s dressed in scrubs and smiling even though her eyes look doggedly tired. Above them both is Allison’s Aunt. Stiles never met her, but he’s seen her bright face littering the walls all over the Argent’s home. Two strings branch off of her; one to Lydia and the other to Laura. There’s a sticky note in the middle of the triangle they make that says ‘connection?’. The dates they went missing are big and bold, as are the last place they were seen.

Laura on a surveillance camera (leaving the hospital), Kate by her family, and Lydia by Jackson Whittemore. It was two days after the dance and in the middle of the night.

Stiles hadn’t even known they had gotten back together. Not that she would have been inclined to tell him.

Stiles turns away from the board because that is way too much devastation to deal with. Lydia has only been missing two weeks, but that still isn’t a good sign. He knows Laura and Kate are presumed dead, though no bodies have been recovered. The entire thing is bleak and probably why his dad is always pushing him to stay with Scott or Derek when he isn’t going to be home…well, not Derek anymore.

He plops down in his dad’s chair, spinning it childishly for a minute. The haphazard piles of folders covering the desk are too tempting to resist being flicked through. All of them seem to be the cases that cover the walls, and soon this hotbed of murder is going to attract the FBI. He notices Lydia’s is pretty slim, and he lays it aside without prying because he wants to believe she is alive. Anything he reads in there won’t be good.

Laura’s file is thicker, and he feels guilty for opening it, even though the extra heft is due mostly to the house fire almost a decade ago. Derek has never spoken of it, but Stiles has seen the folded five by seven in his wallet, which shows a smiling, happy family. Stiles knows Derek is the last surviving member, even if Laura is technically still missing persons.

Stiles feels equally as bad flipping through Kate’s file. It’s like invading Allison’s privacy, but curiosity killed the cat and all that.

It isn’t very interesting.

Teacher. Unmarried. Car found abandoned two towns over. List of suspects including Derek Hale. Still filed und—

His eyes backtrack to Derek’s name, under a few others, all male. Stiles didn’t even know that Derek knew the Argents. Not well enough to have been questioned about a disappearance within the family. There it is though.

At the back of the folder was his statement saying that, ‘yes, we slept together. Several times. But when Kate refused to acknowledge that we were a couple I broke it off. I was immature and young…I was hoping that she would beg me to be with her, but a week later I didn’t even care because everyone but Laura was gone.’

Stiles wants to be jealous, to be angry that Derek wanted someone other than himself, but he knows Derek had done better than a teenager at one point. A gut-wrenching sadness is blocking those emotions though, because without him, Derek would truly be alone.

His dad’s untidy scrawl reads: Victioria and Chris Argents Suspicions Unwarranted.

He lets the manila folder fall closed, and picks up the final one, which is worn from handling and definitely thinner than the previous case files. His breath gets caught on the one photo inside, which is of his mom, all proudly pregnant with the weight of him in her belly. Stiles has never seen it before. But it was no science to figure out who it is, especially when the form behind it reads:

Autopsy Report: Stilinski, Jenna R.

CoD: Drug-Overdose.

Stiles swears his heart stops beating for a few seconds.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

It’s pure luck that Stiles happens to be by the clinic. Actually, it’s more his hope to catch Scott before they close, but the door is already locked and the lights switched off. Instead of Scott, he hears the squeal of tires and a thunk from the alley.

He rounds the corner, because he’s Stiles and can’t keep himself out of anything, least of all an accident. He hears the sharp click of heels before he sees one pressed delicately to Derek’s chest, as if testing whether he’s still alive. Thankfully he is, if the groan is anything to go by and Stiles rushes forward, Derek’s name falling from his lips.

The woman looks up, cold and calculating gaze falling right on Stiles, and he would know that burning burgundy hair anywhere. She smiles at him, if her rictus of a grin can be considered a smile.

“I’m done letting your dad protect him,” Victoria starts, “and if you think I’m going to let the likes of you come between me and justice for my family—”

“I read the file,” Stiles interrupts. “Derek’s innocent.”

“And you’re just as blinded by his pretty face as everyone else.”

“Or maybe you need to look into things a bit more thoroughly. If Derek was capable of killing someone, don’t you think his therapist would have come to the conclusion that he was a murderer?”

Victoria gives her vicious grin again and Stiles swears there is no amount of this woman in Allison’s veins. “I would give you that Stiles, if it weren’t for the fact that Kate went missing after his therapy was finished.”

Derek coughs from at her feet, and it sounds pained, rough in his lungs from being hit by a car, but he laughs. It’s dark and sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine, so he slips a hand inside his pocket. Derek doesn’t laugh, and when he does it never sounds so cold. Derek coughs again though, the laughter too hard on him and it makes Stiles step forward. “Did you ever think that I might have a good reason for killing her?” he asks and Stiles freezes.

“See? He admits it,” Victoria crows and Stiles shakes his head because…

No. Derek wouldn’t do that. He knows him. As well as he knows himself. Except that he didn’t even know Derek had been in therapy, or been with Kate until a few hours ago.

“Of course I killed her,” Derek says, lifting up onto his elbows. “That stupid bitch deserved every agonizing moment I dragged out of her.”

“No,” Stiles says disbelievingly, and Derek looks up at him. His face is sad, resigned even, and if there is one thing Derek has never been, it is sad.

“I’m sorry Stiles. I am, but it’s not like she didn’t have it coming.” Derek pauses, looking between Stiles and Victoria, who is looking more upset with every passing moment. “What would you do if the person that promised you everything, murdered almost every member of your family and then fled town?”

“She wouldn’t,” Victoria responds quickly. Her voice holds her conviction, but she looks unsure and Stiles suddenly feels terrible because this is Derek, and of course he would have a reason. “If you were so sure it was her, what stopped you from going to the police?”

“Just like you, I didn’t have any concrete evidence. Do you really think they would go on my word? Do you think they’d believe a boy that said the teacher he was fucking decided to burn his family alive?”

“You’re lying,” Victoria says, and this time she sounds certain, but it makes so much sense to Stiles. Why else did Derek never talk about his family? “I’m not going to let you turn this on my family. You finally confessed.” Her smile turns grim as she reaches inside her purse and Stiles doesn’t know why he’s expecting a phone because this woman has clearly lost it. He’s practical though, and really, she should be calling the police. It’s a gun though and she points it at Derek, so sure in her aim, but then she’s crumpling to the ground. Blood is blooming from her neck, where a lightning bolt is lodged deeply enough that it must have hit her jugular.

Stiles is confused, as is Derek who is trying to get up. He turns to look at Stiles and his eyes lock on the hand that’s extended. ‘Huh,’ Stiles thinks, because yeah, he had reached into his pocket, but throwing the blade had been pure instinct. He hadn’t planned on it at all, and now Allison’s mom is bleeding out on the pavement.

He didn’t mean to do it, but now she is dead or dying and Derek is telling him to run, suddenly up and pushing at Stiles, forcing him to go. Stiles only takes a few steps though, and Derek is swaying, feet unsteady after being hit by a car. He rushes back; pulls the knife from Victoria’s neck, and it slips free with another hot pulse of blood. He pockets it and then slips under Derek’s arm to take his weight, and he ends up pulling the older boy along because he can barely walk.

“I’ve got you,” he says, even though his mind is screaming ‘what have I done?’ This is the second person he’s murdered and there is no coming back from that. He hauls a worse for wear Derek into the Camaro and only stops at Derek’s apartment to fill a duffle full of their clothes and the knife set.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

They end up further north, crossing into Oregon, after being on the road for far too long, when Stiles calls his dad and says, “I love you, but I’m killing you. I don’t want to be a burden any longer.”

His dad cries, like he hasn’t since his mom’s funeral, and like he didn’t when he found out about him and Derek. His dad pleads for him to “come home,” and “if you think this is going to help anything, you’re wrong. I can’t lose you too,” he says through a sob.

Stiles eyes burn, but he can’t give in. He wonders if his dad will feel the same when he finds out his son has killed someone else. “I’m sorry,” he says as he clicks off the line.

Derek’s actually awake and looking at him in awe. He doesn’t speak, just takes his hand as they finish their run from Beacon Hills.

They end up in Portland, which is not somewhere warm, but at least it’s beautiful and the big city life he’s dreamed of. They’re staying in a hostel in the historic district when Stiles tells Derek that he enjoyed it. He’s pulling out his sleep pants and running his hands over the fabric and he’s so ashamed, because he didn’t mean to but it was the best kind of rush…coming in close second to an orgasm. Or actually third because nothing could beat the deep mewling noises that left Derek’s throat when he was being fingered open.

There was something about the way Stiles could continuously press against that spot with his first and middle finger and drive Derek absolutely wild. Watching the gush of red leave Victoria’s body came in after that, because a desperate and leaking Derek was better than anything.

Derek winds him down and comforts him in the best way he knows how. Getting him undressed and having him rock and plead on Derek’s lap until he gets bent over and fucked, leaving him loose-limbed and wet with Derek’s come.

He tells Derek that he killed his mother.

“The cancer was already taking her, but I’m the one that gave her the pills. I didn’t know she was going to take all of them.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” It’s quiet. The gentle hum of the heater the only sound in the room when Derek says, “I can teach you how to do it right.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

They rent a small house just outside the city and Derek takes him hunting after shaving off his hair.

It’s different from doing it to animals, but gives the same result. Derek assures him it’s more fun when the prey can fight back, think strategically, and it is.

They bring a handsome little thing back to their bed, who reminds him of Jackson in the way he holds himself. He has a mouth that speaks volumes about how he is better, even though he flashes a wad of bills that makes Stiles think he pays for it often. Stiles wants to be offended that he is thought to be a hooker, but Derek gives a smile like a shark and invites him back to their place.

They paint him pretty in his own blood and dress him in plastic. Derek rubs all that red into Stiles skin; between the juncture of his shoulder blades and across his sharp cheekbones, whispering, “gorgeous,” and “beautiful,” and a litany of things that make Stiles blush like he hasn’t since he was twelve.

They stand shoulder to shoulder, sharing the same sink as they wash off their rusty hands; all crusted over with dried blood. It sleuths off as they entangle their fingers and Stiles looks up to see Derek staring at him.

His mouth quirks into a smile at being caught and those dark-hooded eyes watch him intently. They play over his wide eyes and open mouth. “My family would have loved you,” he says, which causes Stiles to grin.

‘Mine did love you,’ he thinks. ‘Until he found out you were fucking me.’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Derek loves the delicate line of blood that spills from the knick just above Stiles’ Adams apple. It’s dark against his pale, freckled skin, pooling in the pit of his clavicle and driving Derek absolutely wild. Stiles is breathing hard, baring his neck. Unafraid.

He wants it.

So Derek cuts him again and again and then closes his hands around his boy’s throat. He watches as his face goes from red to purple and then back when he releases. Derek wonders what it would be like to fuck him so hard and viciously that the bruises would be seared into his flesh for weeks, because they’ve gone bone deep.

When Derek is twenty-five, he thinks ‘huh. So that’s what love is.’ When he presses the edge of a blade to the supple length of Stiles’ throat and he does not flinch or cry. He tips his head into its bite and his mouth falls open on a thready exhale.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

When Stiles is sixteen-years-old he loses his mind.

He blows out the birthday candles to a brand new year and knows the promise of blood awaits.