Told y’all I was overly invested in Teen Wolf. What started as a drabble has become at least 15,000 words long, though I’m only posted the beginning. Obviously I own nothing of Teen Wolf. Unless someone wants to offer me a 50 Shades kind of deal and then fuck it, I own everything about it.
It seems that fandom has made Sheriff Stilinski’s name John and that Isaac is sort of awesome around Stiles and so I went with that. Anyway, here it is.
Stiles flung his lacrosse equipment into the back of his jeep with a little more force than necessary. The time spent on the lacrosse field had worked as a distraction but it really didn’t do any more than that. All of the things Stiles had told the guidance counselor still mattered.
“When you’re drowning, you don’t actually inhale until you black out.” He knew how he’d continued. He talked about how you can’t let anything in and made it seem like he was focused on Matt and yet that really wasn’t the point.
She got that. She’d pulled a little more out of him, until he realized he was about to share the kind of secrets he rarely even let himself think about, let alone talk through with a high school counselor.
But the truth? The truth was glaring at him now that Scott had left. Because it kind of came right back to that. Even though they’d spent time practicing, Scott still cut their time short when Allison called. And even with Peter still out there (and an enigma) at that, Scott just took off without even helping Stiles pack up their shit.
It sounded stupid. But it just added to Stiles’ burdens. He didn’t want someone to remember him when his life was in danger. He wanted people to pay attention to him in the little moments. Anyone who could see, just for a few seconds, the way Stiles was breaking apart on the inside.
Who was he kidding? After being kidnapped by Gerard, no one had come for him. Hell no one even checked on him. The human didn’t matter. Not unless they needed him.
Stiles was beyond sick of it and yet he couldn’t tear himself away. Because if the pack didn’t need him, the question became who did. He growled a little, surprising himself at the ferocity in the noise, and slammed the steering wheel in frustration.
Stiles pulled into his driveway, his dad’s car wasn’t there (shocker) and buried his face in his arms. He took several deep breaths, trying to tell himself to calm the fuck down. They still had problems to deal with. He could practically feel danger looming on the town and it didn’t all lie with Peter Hale.
So Stiles did what he always did. He sat up, duct-taped his emotions and fears and heartbreak together, grabbed his keys and walked into his house.
He heated up some leftovers for dinner and cleaned up the dishes from the past few days and started a load of laundry. And then he figured he’d sleep, as much as he possibly could, despite the fact that every time he closed his eyes he could see Gerard’s face looming at him, promising all manner of destruction.
It took a few minutes for him to drift off but the exhaustion took over. Unfortunately, so did the nightmares. Barely an hour had passed before Stiles was tossing and turning, screaming in his sleep. He kept twisting the covers as he moved, trapping himself and causing him to struggle more in his dream state. And through it all he could hear Gerard’s laughter. Stiles was shaking in his sleep, cowering in the corner of his room.
The voice didn’t sound like Gerard’s. Something in a coherent process of Stiles’ brain processed that and was trying to get him to wake up and figure out who it was.
“Stiles! Wake up!”
Whoever was screaming at him was now gently shaking him, trying to coax him out of his nightmare.
Stiles flailed, reaching out to strike at the person touching him, still half-asleep. His hand slapped against a rough surface, almost like sandpaper, and that sensation was enough to fully wake him up.
“Derek?” he asked in a whisper, trying to figure out why Derek was in his room.
“Yeah. Are you awake now or do I need to let you hit me a few more times?” said the Alpha, though he didn’t have his usual scowl when he said it.
Stiles shook his head, though he wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” answered Derek, as though the answer was completely obvious.
“Because as insane as the last few months have been, I have noticed how much you deal with Stiles. Scott said he left you earlier and I figured someone should make sure you were okay.”
“You could have made Isaac come over here,” snapped Stiles, a little of his spark returning. If he was going to be a check mark on a chore list, he’d rather have someone with a little more empathy.
Derek frowned. “Isaac’s busy researching a rival pack with Peter.”
Stiles couldn’t help himself. He shuddered in fear.
Derek’s arm reached out and wrapped itself around Stiles’ shoulders. “He can’t get to you, Stiles.”
Stiles shook his head. “You don’t know that,” he whispered, so quietly he wasn’t sure even Derek’s wolf hearing caught it.
“Yes, I do,” came the reply. “I won’t let him.”
Stiles didn’t even want to touch that. He liked Derek’s protective nature but it also made him think about things that he usually didn’t touch with a thirty-foot pole. In fact, those thoughts were ones that were best buried very, very deep. But in this moment, when he was trying so hard to hold it together, he indulged a tiny bit.
“Do you promise?”
“Yes.” Derek sounded so serious. As though he was making a vow.
Something about that simple promise made Stiles feel like maybe he could do this. Maybe. He just needed to feel like someone was watching out for him.
Derek squeezed Stiles shoulders slightly and then he stood up.
Stiles panicked. “Don’t!”
Derek stopped and looked at down at Stiles. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t leave me alone,” said Stiles. It hurt his pride to say it but he also couldn’t bear to be left alone to deal with the nightmares again. “Please don’t go.”
Derek sat back down. This time he didn’t just put an arm over Stiles’ shoulders. He wrapped both of his arms around him and pulled him close. “I’ll stay.”
Stiles was pretty sure this had to do with some sort of werewolf calming technique but he didn’t really care either way. For the first time since his mom had died, he felt safe. So he did the only thing he could think of. He leaned his head against Derek’s chest, wrapped his fingers in the Alpha’s shirt, and closed his eyes again.
When he woke up Derek was gone but the entire night had passed and Stiles hadn’t woken from any more nightmares. He didn’t really know what any of it meant, if it meant anything. But something in him decided it was going to stay his secret. Stiles wasn’t all that keen on sharing Derek. Even if he was pretty sure he’d never see Derek again.
But that night, as Stiles was drifting off to sleep, there was a tap at his window. He freaked out momentarily and came crashing off the side of the bed before realizing it was Derek.
Stiles could practically hear the Alpha’s eye roll.
He raised the window. “You’re here,” he said, not sure if it was a question or statement.
“You need me,” was the only answer he got.
It became a routine. Derek would show up late at night, tap on the window and wait for Stiles to let him in. After a while Stiles didn’t really need Derek to keep away the nightmares. In fact he was getting a little worried about Derek finding out what types of dreams he’d been having.
Peter had mobilized Derek’s young pack into being a cohesive unit and they’d quickly routed the rival pack. Even Jackson was pulling it together.
Derek started coming over more often too. He’d drop in for dinner or show up with coffee. Stiles’ dad never said anything about it and after a while Stiles sort of accepted it as normal.
Derek never acted like he had any other reason but Stiles’ well being in mind when he was there. Except sometimes, when Stiles would wake up in the middle of the night and have a few brief seconds before Derek noticed, he could see this look in Derek’s eyes that said maybe there was more to this.
The pack didn’t really say anything about it. It was just sort of acknowledged that Stiles now smelled like Derek and belonged.
Isaac made a comment once that it didn’t really seem fair that Stiles always had Derek’s scent on him but Derek rarely smelled like Stiles.
Stiles had jokingly responded by hugging Derek and sniffing at his neck, declaring him to be Stilized. He thought it was funny.
Then he was rather happy that Isaac didn’t say anything about the tiny moan that escaped from Derek’s lips, or the fact that Stiles lingered a bit longer than necessary for the joke.
But for the most part, Stiles chose to live in his little delusion world. A world that said he could curl up against an Alpha’s chest and go to sleep every night (except for full moons obviously) and there wasn’t anything weird about it.
Because if Stiles is honest, he knows how he really feels. But Stiles isn’t sure how to bring up his feelings to Derek. Is feelings even the right word? It doesn’t sound right. More like want—no, need. He needs Derek. So much it kind of scares him. Because that means he’s gay. And there’s nothing wrong with that, it just confuses Stiles more. After all, he’s been in love with Lydia Martin for so long, it doesn’t seem like he should be able to just switch.
But he knows the way he wants Derek is different.
Because while Stiles can tell you what brand of shampoo Lydia uses and that she only wears her hair curly when she’s pissed off or that she secretly loves baseball, he can also go days without thinking about her. Or missing her.
Not Derek. When Derek’s gone for a day it feels like a fist starts clenching around his heart. Stiles is still a little embarrassed about the week Derek went to Oregon to meet with another Alpha. He’d barely slept the first two nights so he finally went over to the den when he knew Erica and Isaac and Boyd would be gone.
The plan was just to grab one of Derek’s t-shirts so he could sleep in it and keep his smell around him.
The whole smell thing had seemed weird to Stiles at first. Sniffing someone? Gross. But then he started noticing how the foot of his bed smelled like pine trees and dark beer and something else that was distinctly Derek.
So he went to get a shirt so he could keep Derek’s smell around. Sure Derek only stayed with him at night but his scent was there throughout the day. Stiles needed to feel like he was still there.
Stiles ended up falling asleep on Derek’s mattress, wearing his clothes, arms hugging Derek’s pillow. No one was there when he woke up but Erica’s stuff was moved around and there were new dishes so he was pretty sure they’d seen him. Stiles wasn’t sure what they thought about him being there. He guessed no one really cared or they would have said something by now.
That was the week that Stiles realized how badly he needed Derek.
And after nearly three months of this, two of them lying to himself, here he was, trying to think of a way to tell Derek about his feelings. So Stiles figured he’d talk to his dad first. Maybe he could help him sort out some of his issues
~ ~ ~
“Dad, we need to talk,” said Stiles, sitting down at the dinner table.
John Stilinski sat down opposite his son and reached for the spaghetti bowl. “About?”
“Remember when you said I couldn’t be gay that night with Danny and the kanima and everything?”
“I believe what I said was you weren’t gay,” corrected the Sheriff. “There’s a difference.”
“There is?” questioned Stiles.
“Of course. One implies something that will never happen. The other is just a matter of timing.”
“So you think I’m gay now?”
“Not exactly.” John took a bite of garlic bread before continuing. “I mean you still find Lydia attractive so I don’t think you can say you’re 100% gay.”
“So you think I’m bi?” asked Stiles, confused about what his dad was saying.
“I’m saying I think it’s not so much about WHAT you are or are not but about whose you are,” answered John Stilinski.
The confusion was written all over Stiles face to the point he might as well have been a billboard. “Whose? I’m not anyone’s, dad, I mean this was like a hypothetical question, obviously because there’s not anyone specific in mind. Plus like no one but Danny is gay around here that I know of and Danny’s totally taken and I don’t think I’m his type…” his voice trailed away because all the words in the world weren’t stopping the look on his dad’s face.
“I can’t say I’m surprised that you fell for someone as dense as you are about this stuff,” muttered John. “Sometimes I think you’re worse than Scott when it comes to love.”
“Dad!” protested Stiles. Some insults were just too much. “How would you even guess who I might be interested in?”
John shook his head. “Stiles, I may turn a blind eye to a lot of the shit you and Scott pull but I didn’t get to be Sheriff without some keen observation skills. Not to mention the fact that knowing about werewolves means I pay extra close attention. You think I haven’t noticed that your bed always looked like two people slept in it? Or that you start cooking foods I’m normally not allowed to eat whenever Derek’s out of town because your mind is a hundred miles away?”
And there it was. Something in Stiles had thought maybe his dad had the wrong idea or something. Anything. But no, even his dad could see how hung up he was on Derek freaking Hale.
“So you’re okay with me being gay?” asked Stiles again. “Or bi or whatever?”
“I would be,”” said his father. “But I told you before, you don’t act like a guy who’s gay. Or bi. Or whatever other label you want to come up with. And I think you want a label because that’s less scary than facing the truth.”
“I have to be something!” yelled Stiles in frustration.
“Okay, I’m not even going to touch the creepiness of my dad thinking I belong to someone but in general, I can’t just BELONG to someone.” Stiles was getting more nervous and unfortunately it wasn’t so much at what his dad was saying as it was at the accurateness of what he was saying. That scared Stiles. Because if Derek didn’t want him back, he was basically fucked.
“Do you remember how your mom and I were together?” asked John.
Stiles was taken aback by the switch in conversation but went with it. Almost. “Yeah. It always felt like you fit together more than most parents I knew. Like I could picture Scott’s mom or Lydia’s dad or either of Jackson’s parents but my parents always had to be mentioned together. Even now, all these years later it feels weird to think of just my dad. Like you’re missing something. It felt the same with Allison’s parents.”
“Like puzzle pieces were missing.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Stiles. “But I still don’t get…”
“That’s what your mom used to tell me. She’d say we were like a puzzle. Not just one piece fitting the other, the way most couples are but the whole puzzle. I was the outline but she filled in all the good parts,” explained John. “And when she died it felt like someone took the puzzle apart and tried to put it back together but lost too many pieces. All the background was there but the little details were missing.”
Stiles thought that was possibly the best description of his parents that he’d ever heard. But it hurt a little to see his dad getting teary-eyed. He’d never realized quite how empty his dad felt without his mom.
John continued. “It is admittedly strange to think that my son, at barely 18, has found his puzzle pieces, but that’s how you act around Derek. As though you’ve put together a puzzle and the outline is there and the scenery and colors are all lined up but it’s not until he shows up that someone fills in the details.”
“I do?” asked Stiles, a little breathlessly. Maybe this could be real if someone else could see how he felt. Maybe he could find the courage to at least talk to Derek, even if he ended up being completely rejected.
“You do. More importantly, Derek acts like you’re the one that holds his pieces together. He’s calmer with you. Kinder. You bring out a side of him that’s nearly forgotten how to exist.”
John walked around the table and hugged his son. “Talk to Derek, Stiles. Tell him how you feel. Really feel, don’t just hint at it. If you don’t like his response, I’m retiring.”
Stiles hugged tightly to his dad. “Thanks, dad.”
“You’re welcome. Now do the dishes so I can watch a game and pretend that I didn’t just tell my 18 year old son that his soulmate is a tempestuous 25 year old werewolf.”