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“They’ll hate me, Laur,” Derek says, eyeing the glass box set up in the park.
“Cora went in yesterday and she was fine , Derek,” Laura tells him, pulling on his arm to get him to the door. “I did this last week, and even as an Alpha, I was okay.”
“I’m not a cat person,” he tries weakly.
“That’s a lie and you know it, Der. Come on , they won’t bite. And even if they do, look how tiny they are!”
“It won’t work the way it’s supposed to anyway,” Derek says, but he’s already following Laura towards the entrance to the glass box. “I know the surprise is kittens, and I’d be able to smell and hear them even with the headphones.”
“Does it matter? It’s not about the surprise, it’s about you being surrounded by little balls of fluff that will make even you smile for a little while.”
“I smile,” Derek protests weakly, but Laura is already throwing him a look that says she’s disagreeing.
“It’s twenty minutes of your time, on a day that you’re supposed to use to relax anyway. Stop being a grouchy wolf, Der, and just go in,” Laura nudges him towards the door.
“Fine, but I’m not promising to have fun.”
“Said like the grown up that you really are, little brother,” Laura laughs.
He’s out of responses, so he walks into the glass cube and finds the blindfold and headphones that are hanging on the wall inside. Just as he’s settling on the grass, the scent of another person enters his nose, startling him a little. Laura did explain that the glass box allowed two people in at the same time, and unless he went in with someone else, there was a chance that someone would join him. He remembers her words just as he’s about to pull off the headphones in reaction to the other person’s presence, so he stops himself and listens to the music that’s coming into his ears instead.
When the other person has also settled on the grass -- Derek can hear their heartbeat get steadier and slower even through the headphones -- a voice interrupts the soothing music, and tells him the basic rules. It’s all simple, and nothing that he hasn’t heard from Laura before: he’s to sit down, take off the headphones and blindfold when the music stops, and then just enjoy himself.
There are noises that his hearing picks up on despite the headphones that he guesses are noise-cancelling to regular humans, including the heartbeat coming from the person in the box with him. He waits though, since the music is still playing, and tries not to flinch when something wet nudges his hand, reminding himself that he is expecting kittens to be in there with him. The music stops then, and the first thing Derek hears as he’s pulling off his headphones is a chuckle, and then a small hiss. His blindfold isn’t entirely off when the scent of blood hits his nose, and Derek’s immediately on alert, turning in the direction of the other person in there with him.
“Are you okay?”
The words are out before he can think about it, but he heard the hiss and smelled the blood, which makes him immediately jump into defensive mode. There’s a kitten staring at him from his knees, stopped from its attempt to climb on him by his sudden change of mood and position.
“Yeah, I’m good,” the stranger says, not looking at Derek but at the black furball in his hands, “little thing has sharp claws, that’s all.”
Derek’s brain screeches to a halt when his momentary panic disappears, and he finally takes in his companions, the little furry ones that he can’t even count, and the human one who’s still focused on one of the kittens in his hands. Because he knows the guy, and there are very few people who would surprise Derek more by their presence in New York, let alone in the enclosed glass box.
“Stiles?” Derek asks, picking up the kitten that’s insistently nudging his hand with its cold nose.
The guy looks up, and Derek watches as his eyes widen in surprise, and hears his heart speed up.
“Derek,” Stiles says, and a smile brightens his face immediately. “Whoa.”
It about sums up Derek’s surprise too, because he hasn’t seen Stiles in what feels like a lifetime, not since the Hales -- well, Laura and Derek then -- left Beacon Hills. But he remembers the kid that was always under the Sheriff’s feet, curious more than many people appreciated. He also recalls the day before they left, and Stiles’ insistence that Derek take some of the cookies from the station’s break room, because “chocolate makes everything better”. Stiles was maybe ten then, and at the height of a Harry Potter obsession that Derek felt too grown up for, despite only being sixteen.
“Yeah,” Derek nods after a moment, the kitten climbing up his T-shirt, little claws digging into his skin in ways that would be painful to anyone else. “Whoa sounds about right. It’s been what, eight years?”
Stiles carefully shuffles closer, the black kitten still in his hands and a calico pouncing on the string of his hoodie. Derek’s nose is filled with a scent that’s both familiar -- the hints of Beacon Hills and the Preserve unmistakable -- and new. He doesn’t have to pay attention to Stiles’ face to smell the spike of attraction coming from Stiles already, and he’s glad that he’s the only werewolf in the vicinity.
“About that, yeah,” Stiles nods. “I didn’t know you guys were here. Wait, are Laura and Cora here too, or is it just you? You just vanished into thin air, and when the land got sold, I figured you left the country, actually.”
“I see the rambling hasn’t changed,” Derek says, and it’s more fond than he thought he’d be.
“Sorry about that,” Stiles immediately apologizes, a blush rising in his cheeks. “The ADHD doesn’t really go away, though it’s more manageable. Or at least that’s what Dad likes to think.”
“How is your Dad?” Derek asks, glad of the opening for conversation.
They fall into easy small talk, only interrupted by an occasional meow and Stiles’ hiss when the tiny but sharp claws dig into his skin. The kittens have -- despite Derek’s earlier worries -- absolutely zero fear of the werewolf in the box, and that somehow brings up memories of the lack of fear that Stiles always showed too. Of course, he didn’t know then that he was dealing with werewolves, but his curiosity had always been stronger than his self-preservation instinct, if Derek’s memory of the Sheriff’s comments is accurate.
“So how come you’re in New York?” Derek asks finally, once they’ve exhausted the small talk of how everyone is doing.
“Funny that, I was going to ask you the same thing,” Stiles says with a laugh. “But first things first, and what you should know before I explain why I’m here…”
He pauses, and Derek can feel the nervousness rolling off of Stiles in waves. Despite being curious what it is that’s making Stiles jumpy enough that the kitten he’s holding fidgets and looks like it’s contemplating an escape, Derek waits.
“Things happened in Beacon Hills, a few years after you guys moved away,” Stiles starts talking, his eyes turned down to the string of his hoodie that he’s using to distract the black furball in his lap. “And there’s stuff that you probably think is a secret, but I’m aware of now.”
Derek freezes, because he knows where the conversation is going, and he’s not sure he wants to go into that topic. But it feels inevitable, somehow, and Stiles doesn’t look like he’d be willing to let it be.
“I know about your… furry problem,” Stiles finally says, a little bluntly, still not looking up. “There was a rogue wolf in the Preserve when we were sixteen, and... “ he pauses to take a breath, shaky like the memory is painful.
“Did you…?” Derek asks, a burst of protectiveness washing over him.
Stiles is shaking his head while Derek’s mind reminds him that he would have smelled it if Stiles was a werewolf. He’s a little past rational thinking though, feeling all of Stiles’ anxiety.
“Nah, still pathetically human,” Stiles shrugs, and Derek wants to interrupt, protest that there is nothing bad about not being supernatural, not being a monster . “Scott got bitten though. Did wonders for his asthma, which was convenient. Made him a little more aggressive, which wasn’t convenient at all, especially since we had no one to help for a while. The first few full moons were… interesting.”
“I’ll say,” Derek cringes, remembering his own struggles with controlling his shifting when he was a teenager. He imagines being turned at that age, and the idea is as far from pleasant as can be.
“But that’s not why I’m here,” Stiles says after a short pause. “There were other things that happened in our last two years of high school, and well, we’re lucky to be alive. It’s for a longer conversation than we have time for here, and I can tell you at some other time if you want to know. The short version is that there was a magical tree that acted as a beacon for the supernatural, an evil kitsune spirit, several rogue wolves crossing through, a bunch of creatures I didn’t even imagine . Some possessions and a few hunters,” Derek cringes at that, his own memories still as painful as the day his family died. “Yeah,” Stiles nods as he notices Derek’s reaction, “well the good thing is, and I don’t know if you knew, but Kate Argent is dead.”
“Oh,” Derek feels like something heavy fell off his chest, but at the same time like an anvil was dropped on his head. “I didn’t know.”
“I figured, since I thought you guys were as far as you could possibly be,” Stiles nods. “But I thought you’d want to know.”
“I… yeah, thanks?”
Derek doesn’t know whether it’s the right thing to say, to thank for that information, regardless of how evil and inhuman -- ironically -- Kate had been. Stiles has stopped talking, and he’s watching Derek like a hawk, like he’s looking for signs of Derek losing control.
“You’re good at that,” Derek says, eager to derail the topic a little.
“What?”
“Keeping an eye on a werewolf’s behaviour,” Derek explains. “Most people wouldn’t know to watch the hands when a were is on edge.”
“I’ve had practice with Scotty,” Stiles shrugs. “And it’s not all that different to watching for signs of a panic attack. Those, I’m very familiar with, so it helps in its own twisted way.”
One of the kittens meows from the grass, looking up at Stiles’ hoodie string that he’s pulled up to his lips and away from the kitten’s paws. Derek, to his own surprise, chuckles at the accusing expression in the kitten’s face and the answering apologetic one in Stiles’. It breaks the gloom that was gathering around them because of what they talked about, and almost immediately Derek feels the difference.
“So, like I said before, if you’re interested, or if Laura is,” Stiles starts talking after he’s offered the string back to the kitten to paw at, “we could meet up afterwards. If you want. I wouldn’t mind.”
He’s flustered, and there’s a blush creeping up his cheeks that Derek is way too aware of.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he replies quietly. “Maybe… it doesn’t have to be to talk about Beacon Hills either.”
Stiles’ eyes fly wide open at the words, but there’s a surprised look in them, one that Derek is pretty sure -- he hopes, at least -- won’t lead to a no.
“I’d like that too,” Stiles says. “Do you think we can bring the kittens, though? I think I want to keep the visual of you like this for another while.”
It’s Derek’s turn to blush as he watches Stiles take in the sight: Derek sitting on the grass with his legs crossed, a little calico curled up in his lap and purring, and a white one doing the same on his shoulder. There’s another one that is chasing after his fingers as he’s running them through the grass by his hip. Derek can’t look away from the sight in front of him either: Stiles is still using his hoodie to tease the little black one that hasn’t moved from his side from the beginning, and he has a grey ball of fur inside his hoodie, peeking out from the collar.
“I don’t think they’d let us, so it’ll just be me,” Derek tells Stiles. “Less biting though, and less scratching.”
“Not even if I ask for it?” Stiles asks, his voice low enough that a human wouldn’t hear it, but Derek does. “Oh shit, sorry, werewolf , I forgot,” Stiles blurts out seconds later, his face bright red.
“How about a date first, then we can discuss those things?” Derek asks, feeling suddenly brave.
“That…” Stiles’ heart stutters. “Yeah, we can do that,” he nods eagerly.
Derek smiles, and Laura’s words from earlier come back to him. He has a feeling it won’t require kittens for him to smile more in the near future. But he’s never ever admitting that her idea was good.