#*gifts16

Stiles looked down at his fingers, which were now tapping so fast on the plastic arms of the chair that it sounded like a snare drum. He jerked his hands into his lap and clenched them into fists. "Sorry."

"Stiles," Dad said gently. "I'm going to be fine. They just want to keep an eye on me. This kind of stuff doesn't heal overnight."

Stiles's heart tripped at the reminder, and he had to cough to clear his throat. No, five claws across the stomach did not heal overnight, especially not on puny humans. "It does if you're a werewolf."

Dad rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm not there yet."

Someone knocked softly on the door, and Stiles snapped his head up to see Derek Hale, of all people, standing in the damn doorway. He looked spectacularly uncomfortable, fiddling at the cuffs of his leather jacket, which were still just a shade too long for his arms.

Stiles blinked. "Derek?"

"Derek," Dad said with a warm smile. "Glad you could make it."

Derek nodded seriously. "Of course, Sheriff."

Stiles felt the pieces slot together in his head. "Wait, you called him?"

"Technically, Melissa called him," Dad said.

"Ha ha. What's he doing here?" Stiles turned to Derek. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

Derek held up his keys. "I'm here to take you home."

Stiles shook his head. "Nope. No. I'm staying here, it's fine—"

"It's not fine," Dad cut in. "You've barely slept in the past three days. At this rate, they're going to have to admit you, too."

Stiles started tapping on the chair arms again, and then clenched his fists to make it stop. "I don't want to leave you," he made himself say. It felt too vulnerable to say with Derek standing right there.

Dad's face softened. "I know. But look, son, I'll be home before Christmas and then you can fuss over me all you want, okay?"

Tears pricked at his eyes, and Stiles laughed and swiped his sleeve across them. "I'm holding you to that. You have a witness." He turned to Derek. "You heard that, right?"

"I'd swear to it in a court of law," Derek deadpanned.

Stiles grabbed his backpack off the floor, shoved two of his books back into it, and stood up. "Okay. But I'll be back here every day, do you hear me? Someone's got to make sure the hospital's feeding you right." He slung the backpack over his shoulder and jabbed a finger at his dad. "Jello and old mashed potatoes are not part of a heart-healthy diet."

Dad sighed heavily. "Stiles, they aren't even going to let me have solids for another two days."

"And you're not allowed to charm Melissa into giving them to you any sooner!"

Dad snorted. "I wish."

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles by the arm. "Come on, Dr. Stilinski. Let's get you home."

***

Stiles spent most of the ride back to his house alternating between fidgeting uncontrollably and nodding off. Every time he felt his chin dip toward his chest, he jerked himself awake. If Derek noticed, he didn't say anything; he just gripped the steering wheel at ten and two and glared out the windshield, the wipers whipping away the steady rain.

The Jeep was in the shop and would be for a while, if Stiles's bank account had anything to say about it. Using it as a battering ram was a tactic both effective and extremely expensive. At this rate, Stiles was going to have to update his strategy.

Still, if it meant saving his dad, meant saving his friends, he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

The house was dark and silent when Derek drove them up to it, a stark contrast to the neighbors up and down the street, lit up with Christmas lights and decorations. For one heart-stopping moment, Stiles didn't want to go inside, didn't want to face being in the house alone when his dad wasn't there.

But Derek was pulling into the driveway, and, well, it wasn't like Stiles could stay in the Camaro for the night. Besides, he probably smelled awful.

Stiles grabbed the door handle. "Thanks for the ride."

Derek parked the car and turned it off.

"You don't have to—" Stiles started.

"I'm walking you inside."

Stiles felt like he should argue—he was capable of going into the house himself—but Derek looked determined and honestly, he was too damn tired to put up much of a fight. "Fine," he said.

Derek followed him up the walk and into the house, and Stiles flicked all the lights on as he went. He stopped in the living room, where they'd dragged all their Christmas stuff down from the attic with the intention of putting it up that weekend.

Unbidden, he remembered the first Christmas after his mother had died, how his dad had gotten down the boxes but neither of them had been able to put up decorations. In the end, the only thing they'd done that year was a tabletop tree in the dining room and a wreath on the front door.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Stiles flinched at the unexpected touch. He'd forgotten Derek was there.

Derek pulled his hand away, holding it up as if to show Stiles he meant no harm. "Want me to put the boxes up?"

Stiles took a shaky breath and shook his head. "No. No, I'll start unpacking them after a shower or something. Someone needs to get them up before Mrs. Jefferson sics the HOA on us."

He meant for it to come out a joke, but even he could tell it fell flat. Whatever. He was tired, and he couldn't be expected to be witty all the time.

Derek shoved his hands in his pockets. "Do you want help?"

Stiles blinked at him, feeling he'd lost the thread of the conversation. "What?"

Derek nodded at the boxes. "With those. I can unpack them while you're taking a shower, and we can put them up when you're done?"

Stiles continued blinking. Maybe he was just too tired and worried to process that Derek Hale, of all people, had just offered to help him put up Christmas decorations.

Derek's shoulders hunched a bit. "Or not. Whatever works for you."

Dammit. Stiles wasn't entirely sure they were friends, not the way he and Scott were friends, but after saving each other's life more times than he could count, they were definitely something. Research buddies or not-so-reluctant allies or somewhat-friendly acquaintances. The point was, he'd made Derek hunch away and Derek had been through enough shit in his life that Stiles didn't really like being the one who made him hunch away.

"No!" Stiles said quickly, and then realized that responding to Derek's body language was probably confusing. "I mean, yes. I mean, ugh." He dragged his hands over his face. "Yeah, uh. The unpacking thing. That would be good. And we should have coffee, I think. Maybe hot chocolate? Um."

Derek raised an eyebrow, and then escorted Stiles to the stairs. "Go take a shower, and I'll get things ready down here."

"Is this your way of telling me I stink?" Stiles asked.

"Yes," Derek said flatly.

Stiles whirled around, offended, but Derek's stony glare was ruined by the way his lips twitched.

Stiles poked him in the chest. "You're making a joke."

Derek smirked. "It's almost like I occasionally have a sense of humor."

***

Stiles came downstairs after his shower to see that Christmas had exploded in his living room. Garland, ornaments, lights, wreaths, and other decorations covered every available surface and most of the floor. Derek was beside the armchair, struggling with a bunch of flickering icicle lights, and had two steaming mugs of what smelled like hot chocolate perched on the single square foot of the coffee table that was still clear.

Stiles gaped. "Holy shit!"

Derek jerked his head up, and Stiles could've sworn he looked sheepish. "Sorry. I was trying to get everything out and organized, but these stupid lights—"

"Are a pain in the ass, believe me, I know." Stiles picked his way over to Derek. "I don't think we even messed with them last year."

Derek set the pile aside with a frustrated grunt. "Well, we can't put them up while it's still raining."

Stiles shoved a box with his foot and dropped to the floor next to Derek. "True, but future us will thank past us for untangling the damn things."

He made grabby hands for the pile, and with a huff, Derek handed them over. They worked quietly for a bit, Stiles untangling the lights and Derek draping the unknotted strands over the armchair to keep them straight.

After they were mostly done with the lights, Stiles cleared his throat. "Thank you. For staying and helping me with this. I know you've got other things to do that don't involve babysitting me."

Derek shrugged. "Nothing that can't wait." He set the last of the lights aside. "So, where do you want to put the Christmas tree?"

***

Stiles woke up on the couch, groggy and disoriented. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep; the last thing he remembered was arguing with Derek about proper ornament placement on the tree and sharing Chinese takeout.

He slowly sat up and surveyed the room. The tree was decorated, the stockings were hung, the garland was draped over the mantle. The boxes and outdoor lights were nowhere to be seen, and Stiles sure as hell didn't remember putting them away.

A donut and a glass of orange juice sat on the coffee table next to him, and Stiles stared at them uncomprehendingly until his front door opened and, a moment later, Derek walked in.

He paused in the hall. "You're awake."

Stiles nodded and dragged his hands through his hair. "How long was I out?"

Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket. "About fourteen hours?"

"About...what?" Stiles flailed, looking for his phone. "Fourteen hours?!"

"Your phone's charging in your room." Derek held out his own, presumably so Stiles could see he wasn't lying. "You fell asleep pretty hard around eight, so I went ahead and cleaned up."

Stiles grabbed Derek's phone and stared at it. Sure enough, it was ten in the morning. "Holy shit." He scrubbed his hands over his face, but the time and date didn't change. "Holy shit. I haven't slept that long in...ever."

"Apparently you hadn't slept in three days," Derek said dryly. "I'm shocked."

Stiles half-heartedly flipped him off. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than a few hours without nightmares, let alone an entire night and then some. He handed the phone back to Derek and hoped he didn't notice how his hands were shaking. "So, uh, did you stay here? Or..."

Derek fiddled with his jacket cuffs, looking shifty. "Most of the night."

Stiles gaped. "What?"

"I wasn't going to leave you alone," Derek said defensively.

Stiles tightened his grip on the blanket—the blanket, he realized, Derek must have put over him because Stiles sure has hell hadn't done it. He cast around for some sort of joke, something to break the emotion that was threatening to make him do something stupid, like jump up and kiss Derek. "Then, what, did you magically teleport donuts here?"

"I left for thirty minutes at seven this morning to pick up donuts and coffee before I started on the Christmas lights." Derek shoved his hands into his pockets. "I figured you would be okay for that long."

"You don't know," Stiles said accusingly. "I could've strangled myself on Christmas lights."

Derek rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "You're nineteen years old. If you could strangle yourself on Christmas lights in your sleep, I would be both concerned and impressed."

Stiles laughed. There they were, back on familiar ground. He could handle this.

"Anyway. I was going to go Christmas shopping today," Derek said. "You're welcome to come with me, if you want. And we could swing by the hospital first so you can see your dad."

Stiles just stared, because what.

"Or not," Derek amended. "I could drop you back off here, or you don't have to—"

Stiles nearly tripped over the blanket trying to scramble off the couch. "No! No, I want to go. Both to see my dad—obviously to see my dad—but also with the Christmas shopping, because otherwise I'm going to have to beg Scott for a ride whenever he's back in town or be entirely dependent on the shipping whims of the Internet."

Derek laughed softly, his face crinkling in a way Stiles had literally never seen before. His heart gave an entirely unhealthy thud at the sight.

"Well, uh, I'm going to go put on some clothes I haven't been wearing for, like, forty-eight hours at this point." Stiles headed for the stairs. "I'll be ready in ten minutes or less."

"I won't leave without you," Derek said, and it sounded like he was trying not to laugh, dammit.

Stiles escaped up the stairs and into his room, and took a few precious seconds to compose himself. He thought he'd been able to put the kibosh on his high school crush, but no. Apparently all Derek had to do was fucking smile and it came surging back like he hadn't spent the past six months trying to get over it.

And they'd be spending all day together. Fantastic.

***

If you had told Stiles at the beginning of high school that he would one day find himself attracted to someone other than Lydia Martin, he probably would have laughed. And then Derek Hale had glared and grumped his way into Stiles's life, and he had had to reevaluate that idea, as well as his sexuality. By the time he'd graduated, Stiles was actual friends with Lydia, secure in his bisexuality, and nursing the world's most epic unrequited crush on Derek.

College would be the time to get over that, Stiles had decided, and he had launched himself into the idea with way more enthusiasm than he'd had for his classes. And when he'd come home over Thanksgiving, he'd thought it was over and done with. He'd seen Derek and the attraction was there, but that was it.

Now...

Now Derek had bought him donuts and Chinese food and helped him put up Christmas decorations so he wouldn't have to sit there with the whole of it overwhelming him.

Now Derek was standing in the corner of his dad's hospital room with a small smile on his face, making jokes with his dad while Stiles flailed at them both.

Now Derek was driving him to the mall without a single complaint, even though the holiday traffic was outrageous.

Now Derek was buying him a pretzel and teasing him when he got cinnamon sugar on his nose.

It was so much like a date, so much like they were together that it was painful, and Stiles had to hold back from reaching out to take Derek's hand as they walked through the mall.

He alternated between hating it, because it hurt, and being grateful for it, because it kept him from thinking too much about his dad. He had to remind himself that his dad would be out of the hospital and home before Christmas. Everything would be fine.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Derek asked.

"Considering I've only had a donut today, yes," Stiles said.

Derek steered them toward the food court. "I can't believe you give your dad so much grief about his health when you subsist almost solely on sugar and fried foods."

"Hey, I still have age on my side," Stiles pointed out. "Ooh, let's get curly fries!"

Derek shook his head, but he was grinning. "You're ridiculous."

***

For the next week, Derek came over every day. He brought over breakfast, took Stiles to the hospital to see his dad, and helped him run whatever errands needed running, Christmas-related or otherwise. With the Jeep out of commission until Stiles could afford to fix it, he was dependent on the kindness of others to get anywhere. Or the kindness of Derek, really, because he was just there, ready and willing to take Stiles wherever he needed to go.

Stiles had no idea what it meant, but it sure as hell wasn't helping his crush.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said while they walked through the store, picking up wrapping paper and cards. Normally Stiles had a stash of both, but he'd used up most of his wrapping paper last year and he couldn't find his Christmas cards despite practically tearing the office apart. "I know you've got other shit to do."

Derek picked up a box of cards with a snowman on them. "You think my life is far more exciting than it is."

"Okay, one, your life is more exciting than most people's, because I don't know how many people have gotten stabbed, what, three times at this point? And still lived," Stiles said. "And two, I know your pack's back in town and I'm sure you've got some Christmas stuff you can't do with me around, like wrap my present."

Derek tapped him on the nose with the box of cards. "And that's why I had Boyd wrap your present."

"You got Boyd to wrap my present? What, did you bribe him?"

"No, I just helped him with his gift for Erica." Derek shrugged. "Although I guess that could be considered a bribe."

Stiles snorted. "Definitely."

His phone rang, and he juggled his four rolls of wrapping paper to his other arm so he could pull it out and answer it. "Hello?"

"Stiles," Melissa said, and her voice had a tone to it.

Stiles's heart stopped. "What happened?"

"Before you freak out, he's fine—"

"What happened?"

"Your dad caught an infection. We're going to need to keep him a few more days."

Dimly, Stiles was aware of a hand on his shoulder, but all he could feel were his fingers locked on his phone, his heart pounding in his chest. "How long is a few more days? How bad is it?"

"He's going to be fine," Melissa said patiently. "But he's probably not going to get home by Christmas."

"Oh." Christmas was a week away; his dad was going to be in the hospital for another week. What if he got another infection? What if he didn't heal fast enough? What if—?

Derek moved in front of him, concern clear on his face. "Do you want to go now?"

Stiles nodded. He wasn't sure he could speak right now.

Derek pried the phone from his hand. "Melissa? We'll be there in fifteen minutes."  

***

The only way they'd let him into the room was with a mask and a hospital gown, so he wouldn't chance spreading the infection to other patients. Stiles stood by his dad's bed, holding his hand while he slept, and his dad only woke up enough once to give it a weak squeeze.

Derek ushered him out of the hospital and into the car after an hour. The sun was low in the sky, and shadows stretched across the parking lot.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head and stared fiercely out the car window.

"Okay."

He thought that meant they would end up at a restaurant, or maybe Derek would drop him off with Scott since he had just gotten back in town, but instead they were pulling into the loft's parking garage half an hour later.

"Come on up," Derek said. "The others are already here."

"Others?" Stiles asked dumbly.

"Others," Derek repeated. "I told them you're allowed first pick of whatever's on Netflix, but Erica's probably going to badger you into watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas for the fifth time."

"Animated or Jim Carrey?"

Derek got the most appalled look on his face. "Animated. There is no other."

Stiles couldn't help it. He burst out laughing so hard he had to lean against the elevator wall. His sides ached, and he couldn't breathe.

Derek caught him by the arm. "Are you okay? Stiles?"

Stiles didn't think he could explain, nor did he think he could actually stop laughing now that he'd started. It was laugh or cry, and he supposed this was the better of the two options.

"Okay." Derek got an arm around him. "Let's get you inside."

Stiles let Derek pull him off the elevator and into the loft. By the time he was on the couch, he'd calmed down a bit, but then he thought about how utterly offended Derek looked at the thought of the live-action Grinch movie, and he cracked up all over again.

"Oh my God, did you break him?" Erica asked.

"No," Derek said sullenly.

Boyd peered at Stiles thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think you broke him."

"Just put something on and keep him company," Derek muttered. "Isaac, come help me make dinner."

"But I was watching Stranger Things!" Isaac whined.

"And it's your turn in the kitchen," Derek said. "Up."

Isaac groaned, but he pushed himself out of the armchair and followed Derek into the kitchen.

Erica threw herself on to the couch beside Stiles. "So. Stilinski. I'm supposed to let you have first pick of the Netflix queue, but seeing as how you're laughing too hard to watch TV, is it okay if I just put How the Grinch Stole Christmas back on?"

"No," Boyd said. "Please, God, no. You've watched it three times this afternoon already. You're worse than my little cousins."

Erica stuck her tongue out at him. "It's the best Christmas movie, bar none."

"No, that would be The Nightmare Before Christmas," Boyd said smoothly.

"That is a heinous lie, and honestly I can't believe we're friends," Erica said.

The companionable bickering went a long way to calming Stiles down, and he finally stopped laughing long enough to speak. "Sorry, Catwoman," he said. "I'm going to have to side with Boyd on this one. Unless you were championing Die Hard, in which case, there is no contest."

Erica made a face at him. "The Nightmare Before Christmas isn't on Netflix."

"I have it on DVD," Derek called from the kitchen.

Boyd smirked victoriously, and Erica groaned. "It's a Blu-ray, old man!"

"It's a disc you stick in the player, I don't care what it's called."

Boyd got up and put the movie on, and not-so-surreptitiously threw a giant fleece blanket over Stiles and Erica. Stiles burrowed into it and claimed his corner of the couch, while Boyd and Erica settled in on the other side. With Boyd and Erica quietly singing along to the familiar songs and the sound of Isaac and Derek in the kitchen, the tension seeped out of Stiles's shoulders and the coil of worry in his gut slowly unknotted.

Scott, Lydia, and Kira showed up bearing desserts just as the movie was ending. Erica was off the couch in an instant with a cheer, taking away the pie plate Scott was carrying.

Scott made a beeline straight to Stiles and enveloped him in a hug. "How are you holding up?" he asked. "Mom told me what happened."

Stiles shrugged. "I'm..."

He wasn't sure what he was about to say, but he found himself looking over at Derek, who was pulling the lasagna out of the oven and holding it out for Lydia and Kira to inspect.

"I'm okay," he said. "Really, I'm okay."

Scott looked at Stiles's chest, like he was expecting a lie, and then glanced over to Derek. "I see," he said knowingly.

Stiles felt his face heat. "What? There's nothing to see."

"Sure there isn't." Scott clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's eat."

***

The pack spent the next week in and out of Stiles's house. Erica came over to borrow his TV because Isaac wouldn't stop watching Stranger Things, and they ended up marathoning the Die Hard movies. Boyd dropped by under the pretense of borrowing a book and ended up reading said book on the couch while Stiles wrapped Christmas presents. Scott was over more now that he was back from college for the holidays, sometimes with Lydia or Kira but more often by himself.

Stiles didn't think he would ever be able to tell any of them (except maybe Scott) how grateful he was for it. He was used to being alone, what with his dad being the sheriff and working all kinds of hours, but knowing his dad was in the hospital made the "being alone" part worse. But all of them showed up like clockwork, making sure that someone else was always in his house.

Surprisingly, none of that meant Derek was over any less. Sometimes he didn't stay quite as long if someone else was over there; other times he would bring over food and settle in to watch whatever was on TV. Stiles would never in a million years admit how happy it made him to have Derek on the couch beside him, shoulder brushing Stiles's every time he leaned forward to grab a piece of pizza.

It was amazing and excruciating, all at the same time.

But Stiles tamped down the feeling. Maybe he and Derek were friends, now. And if that was the case, he didn't want to ruin it. Derek hadn't had a whole lot of people in his life he could call friends before now. Stiles was more than happy to be one of them, or so he told himself. Repeatedly.

Christmas Eve rolled around, with the pack party at Derek's loft. Stiles always had fun, but this year it doubled as a distraction that he'd be alone tomorrow. Both Scott and Derek had said they'd take him to see his dad, but Stiles knew that would be afternoon at the earliest.

But he was determined to have fun tonight, dammit.

Of course, that was easy when Erica grabbed him the second he'd put all his presents under the tree and demanded, "Dance with me!"

"Uh—" Stiles started to say, but she was already dragging him into the middle of the living room, where Scott, Isaac, and Kira had pushed the coffee table and furniture out of the way and were already dancing.

Erica paused. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I'm just a little worried Boyd's going to break my fingers," Stiles admitted, keeping his voice low so that other werewolves wouldn't hear. "And, uh..."

He was pretty sure Erica's high school crush on him had met the same fate as his feelings about Lydia, but Stiles also didn't want there to be any misunderstandings.

Erica smiled, shyly, and squeezed his hand. "I know you're not into me, and sorry, you're cute but I'm not into you. This is just fun," she said, just as quietly, and then winked. "And until Boyd makes a move, he can deal."

Stiles laughed. "In that case, let's dance."

Erica beamed and pulled him onto the floor.

By the time dinner was ready, Stiles had danced with half the pack and was ready to collapse. Derek pushed him into a chair with a plate full of food. "Don't fall asleep. We haven't even gotten to presents yet."

Stiles grinned and waved his fork in Derek's direction. "Don't worry. I intend to party all night long."

Derek snorted. "Sure you do."

***

Okay, so it might not have been all night, but Stiles was one of the last people left at the loft, helping Derek pick up after they'd finished exchanging gifts. Granted, he was waiting on Derek to give him a ride home as well, but still. Stiles counted it.

Of course, now that they'd cleaned up the living room and put all the furniture back and put all the food away and all the dishes were either in the dishwasher or drying in the rack next to the sink, there wasn't much else for Stiles to do but go home.

He was grateful he'd had the foresight to plug in the lights before he left, because it was slightly less depressing driving up to his house when there were icicle lights everywhere.

Icicle lights that Derek put up, his brain helpfully reminded him. Just like Derek is bringing you home right now.

Yes, Stiles was well aware of that. Thanks, brain.

Derek pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. It was suddenly very quiet without the engine on, and Stiles fiddled with the handles of his bag of presents from the pack.

"Thanks for helping to clean up," Derek said.

Stiles snorted. "No problem, man, but you're my ride. It's not like I was going to walk anywhere."

"True, but you didn't have to help clean up." Derek raised an eyebrow at him. "But you did. So, thank you."

Stiles nodded stiffly. "You're welcome."

"Do you..." Derek cleared his throat. "Are you going to be okay here?"

By yourself, Stiles heard at the end of the question. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he said automatically, but hell, he could feel it was a lie and he wasn't even a werewolf.

Derek frowned at the steering wheel, and then looked back up at him. "Do you want me to stay?"

Stiles's heart stuttered at the thought. Yes, yes, he really did. "I, uh...are you sure?"

Derek lifted one shoulder. "My only plans for the rest of the night are to settle in with a book and read for a bit. I can do that anywhere."

"I..." Stiles's throat closed up, so he just nodded jerkily. "Yeah."

Derek nodded back at him. "Okay, then."

It shouldn't have been weird, by now, for Derek to be in his house, but this time it felt heavier than it had before. Maybe it was because it was Christmas, maybe it was because Stiles was more aware of his feelings, maybe it was because he just felt vulnerable with all of this.

"I'm gonna," Stiles hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the stair, "go get changed and stuff. You can borrow some pajama pants, if you want. I might have a pair that will fit you and your butt."

Derek gave him a flat look. "I sleep in the nude."

Stiles choked on nothing at that mental image.

Derek maintained the serious look for another two seconds, and then grinned. "Kidding. Sweatpants would be great."

Oh thank God, he wouldn't be in a house with a naked, sleeping Derek Hale. Stiles didn't think he could handle that. His heart started beating again. "You're a menace," Stiles declared.

Derek bowed.

Stiles hurried up the stairs and changed clothes, and threw his largest sweatpants down the stairs at Derek. "These are for you, asshole!"

"You shouldn't call people assholes at Christmas," Derek chided.

Stiles stomped down the stairs. "I hate you."

Derek grinned. "Lie."

God, Stiles really, really couldn't handle Derek's self-satisfied, heart-stopping grin right now. He flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. "You know where the bathroom is."

"So accommodating," Derek said, but when Stiles turned around to glare at him, he was still grinning.

Jerk.

Stiles was so stupidly gone on him it wasn't even funny at this point.

He flipped over to Netflix and turned on Leverage. Derek came out a few minutes into the episode and settled next to him on the couch. "Vigilante justice, very holiday appropriate."

"There are like three Christmas episodes; it's totally holiday appropriate," Stiles said. "Peace on Earth, and let justice be done by a bunch of thieves with hearts of gold."

"Fair," Derek said, and rested his arm along the back of the couch.

He wasn't quite touching Stiles, but if Stiles leaned his head back just a bit, he could feel the back of his head brush Derek's arm.

He tried to make it through the episode, but now that he was sitting down and comfortable, he could hardly keep his eyes open. It was warm and safe with Derek here, and that made it even easier to sink back into the cushions.

He slid along the couch and mashed into Derek's side, which was even more comfortable, but Derek probably didn't want Stiles drooling on him. He started to push himself back up, but Derek dropped his arm around Stiles's shoulders and pulled him closer.

"It's okay," Derek said. "You can use me as a pillow."

"Thanks for staying," Stiles murmured.

"Always," Derek said quietly. "Go to sleep, Stiles."

***

The next morning, Stiles woke up alone on the couch.

For a moment, he thought maybe Derek was in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or somewhere else, but a quick circuit through the house showed that Derek was nowhere to be seen. There were no notes, no messages, no sign that he'd been there at all, except for Stiles's sweatpants folded up on the armchair.

Oh. Well, then.

Stiles staggered back to the couch and wrapped the blanket around him. It was fine. Derek probably had something to do. He'd be back, eventually, to take him to the hospital to see his dad.

It was fine.

Stiles listlessly scrolled through his phone, responding to the Merry Christmas texts and messages with more enthusiasm than he felt. He should probably go shower, or get breakfast, or something, but he didn't really want to move right now.

He was just about to rouse himself long enough to get a drink when he heard the front door's deadbolt turning.

Stiles practically vaulted over the back of the couch, skidding over the hardwood in his socks and nearly braining himself on the opposite wall. He made it to the front door without further incident, fully prepared to give Derek a talking-to about leaving people alone when you promised not to.

"Dude, where the hell have you b—"

The words died on his lips when Derek walked through the door with his dad.

Stiles's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He rubbed his eyes, sure it was a hallucination, but no. His dad was still there, leaning heavily on Derek, but he was there.

Home.

Stiles wasn't sure how he went from the end of the hall to hugging his dad, because one second he was still standing there gaping like an idiot and the next he was hugging his dad as hard as he could and trying not to cry.

His dad rubbed his back, like he'd done when Stiles was sick as a kid. "Missed you, too, kid."

"Melissa said you wouldn't be back for Christmas," Stiles said. He had no idea how he got it out over the lump in his throat.

"Psh, it's going to take more than a few cuts and a staph infection to keep me down," Dad said.

Stiles pulled back and tried to glare, but he wasn't sure how effective it was. "You were stabbed. By an omega werewolf."

"Swiped at," Dad corrected. "Stabbed implies more of a stabbing motion."

Stiles flailed at him. "Really? That's the argument you're going with?"

"It is." Dad winced. "And now I'm going with 'please let the injured old man sit in his armchair and make him some coffee for Christmas.'"

"Oh my God," Stiles said, but he helped Derek get his dad into the living room.

Dad settled into the chair with a sigh. "I don't suppose I could also trouble you for some bacon or something?"

"You literally just got out of the hospital," Stiles said. "You'll have fruit and you'll like it."

Derek grabbed him by the arms and steered him to the kitchen. "We'll make some breakfast, Sheriff."

"Thank you!" Dad called after them.

"Sorry," Derek said when they were in the kitchen. "I wouldn't have left, but the hospital called while you were asleep and said he could come home early. I thought it would be a nice surprise."

Nice. Stiles stared at him.

Derek brought his dad home because he thought it would be nice. For fuck's sake.

Stiles kissed him.

Once again, he wasn't really sure how it happened. First he was standing on the other side of the kitchen because how the fuck was Derek even real right now, and then in the next heartbeat, he had the collar of Derek's leather jacket gripped in his hands and he was kissing him.

A little voice in the back of his head said he should probably stop, but when he started to pull away, Derek's hands grabbed at his hips and yanked him back.

Stiles half-opened his mouth to make a joke, but then Derek kissed him, beard scraping along the edges of his mouth and tenderly urging his mouth open more, and honestly fuck tender.

Stiles moved his hands into Derek's hair and tugged at it, and Derek growled and that time Stiles felt teeth against his lips and fuck yes.

When he came up for air, Stiles was sitting on the kitchen table, legs locked around Derek, who had one hand on his back and one hand flat against the table like it was the only thing holding him up.

"Um," Stiles said. "Hi."

Derek's pale eyes flicked from his mouth to his eyes and back again. "Hi."

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," Stiles admitted.  

"Me too," Derek said.

"It's about damn time," Dad called from the living room. "Will one of you turn on the TV in here before you do that again?"

Derek's eyes went huge, and Stiles dropped his head to Derek's shoulder and laughed helplessly. "Sorry, Dad!"

"Sorry, Sheriff," Derek said.

Dad muttered something Stiles couldn't catch, but Derek's ears turned bright pink.

"What did he say?" Stiles demanded.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

Stiles considered pushing, but hell, he was in a good mood. He'd let it slide. For now. "So, uh..." He let his hands fall from Derek's hair back to his shoulders. "Do you want to stay for Christmas?"

Derek smiled softly, and it made his heart flop. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

"Good," Stiles said. "Because, uh...that might be awhile. A long while. An always kind of while."

Most of his pack didn't understand his obsession. There were days he felt like he could be entirely content to just sit in the stacks forever without ever seeing another person. Then the longing would start and he'd drag himself home and cuddle up to whomever was still awake. By now the smell of old paper and stale air had become apart of him. On the rare occasions he felt lonely, truly lonely, he liked to think there was a match out there for him. Someone who smelt like ink, someone who'd want to live in his little world of books with him.

Lost in a very exaggerated story by a troll's handmaiden Derek didn't hear anyone come into the library. Upstairs there was only one full time librarian, an old human woman named Vivian. But today she had two student helpers from the high school. Usually Vivian kept curious wanderers away from the entrance to the basement. Due to the sensitive nature of the books, both in material and age, you needed special permission to get access. Derek was the only librarian actually allowed in the basement full time.

"Stop." Derek tipped his head to listen. The footsteps halted on the stairs. He left his chair, carefully marking his spot in the book and closing it. The closer he got to the stairs, the more confused he became. The smell of salt water clogged the air, carrying with it a faint hint of exhaust. "This is the restricted section."

"Okay dude, I'm waiting."

Derek huffs. He's not in the mood to deal with teenagers and their blatant disrespect for books. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No?" The boy outside the door shuffles. "I wanted to talk to the book guy. The head librarian guy."

"That would be me. I'm and Archival Librarian."

"Cool beans man." The guy bent at the waist, bringing his face into view at the top of the door. It also conveniently brought his hands in front of his very naked groin.

"Sir!" Derek sucked in a deep breath and rushed to open the security door. He fumbled in front of the young man, unsure if he should be offering help or trying to call the police. "Clothes."

"Oh yeah." The young man scratches the back of his head and chuckles. This shows off miles of new skin, including a shiny patch of scales winding their way across his pelvis. The way he shook his head caught the light on the few scales scattered across his cheek and jawbone. "Clothes are a big deal up here."

"Up here? How did you even--" Derek stopped himself and began unbuttoning his cardigan. He quickly slides it off of his shoulders and hurries up to meet the boy. Nudity among werewolves is a non-issue and Derek has seen his fair share of bare, strange flesh but this is his place of work. He throws his cardigan across the boy's shoulder's, ignoring his confused look. "Please, put this on." Derek steps past him to block his naked skin from the other library patrons.

"I'll all buttoned up, I think."

Derek takes a cautious look over his shoulder to see that the boy is indeed buttoned up. He turns, still blocking as much as possible. "Why were you naked? How did you get inside naked?"

"There was no one at the door? And I got a ride. My friend has a van."

"A van?"

The boy grins. "Yeah dude, a big van. Or a small bus. Bug? I don't know. I laid down while he drove."

Derek takes a deep breath and crosses his arms. This is the type of meeting that makes him want to go back to his books. "What was so important that you needed to come to the library naked?"

"Oh yeah dude," the boy claps his hands together once then fans them out while wiggling his fingers, "I'm here for you. To talk to you."

"Me?"

"Yeah man, you're the Head Librarian."

"Archivist."

"Yeah that, and I want you to archive something for me."

Derek sighs. Although he wants to send this boy away, it wouldn't be right. He's man enough to admit that this boy is very attractive and obviously not all there. Turning him away could get him hurt. "Right this way." Derek slowly heads up the stairs, keeping an ear on the other patrons. At the landing he catches Vivian's eye and nods his head towards the private study rooms. The boy hovers close to him, a breath away from hooking his chin over his shoulder.

With a hand at the small of his back, Derek guides the boy to the nearest private room and gets him settled. "What's your name?"

"Stiles."

"Stiles?"

"Yeah man." The boy, Stiles, bobs his head and starts drumming his fingers across the tabletop. "I'm Stiles and you're Hale. A Hale? A wolf anyways."

He tips his head in acknowledgement. Rather than sit, he stands across the table with his arms crossed. "I'm Derek Hale. You still haven't told me what you want."

"I did dude. I want you to archive something for me. I was talking and figured out you're the guy to go to for special books and stuff. I want you to make a book or help me make a book for your special collection." Stiles folds his arms across the table top and smiles up at him. "You guys have this Warsaw Mermaid story all wrong okay and my Babica can't get around on land like she use to. So I thought I'd do the legwork and get this all sorted out you know? Like, I use to read a lot of stuff about humans that was way wrong but I was able to find a lot of stuff to sort out the lies you know. I wasn't able to find a lot about my people. Not right stuff anyways."

"A Merfolk? I--", Derek's mouth drops open in astonishment and hurries to seat himself across from Stiles. "I don't know where to start. Is Merfolk right? Merperson?"

"Either I guess? I don't know. My pod doesn't really care. I think it's a personal preference though."

"That's...that's great. Really, let me go get my laptop. I'll be right back, please stay."

"Sure dude."

Derek was a little overwhelmed. Merfolk weren't known to be forthcoming. They were one of the few creatures who maintained their original language and script, untouched by time. It was mostly due to their isolation. Merfolk works were written with magic deep underwater along rocks. The words looked bio-luminescent and refused to show up clearly for photo's. Well, for the few that had been taken anyways. Learning their spoken language was impossible because of how closely it mimicked whale song.

There were different breeds of Merfolk too. The farther down in the depths they lived, the less humanoid they looked. Moving from the more ideal cinema version most people are familiar with to black skinned, bio-luminescent, figures with spiked backs and frail fin like hands. It was like comparing a kelpie to a horse. Stiles was very rare indeed if he was what he said he was. Merfolk with the ability to walk on land were few and far between. Derek never thought he'd be presented with the opportunity to make his own offering to the collection.

He collected his laptop from behind the counter and told Vivian he had an important visitor. The student helpers on staff would be more than enough to get her through the rest of the day. When he got back to the study room Stiles was standing again, running his long pale fingers across the spines of the books left behind by careless patrons. "I'm back." He holds his laptop aloft for a second before crossing to the table to set it up.

Stiles spins away from the books and bobs his head. "There's some cool stuff here. I miss paper books man. You Topsiders are switching to power up books right? Digital copies?"

"Some people. As long as libraries exist we'll maintain paper copies. They're important." For a second Stiles stared at him, with almost a look of shock. The moment passed quickly and he plopped down into the seat across from Derek.

"That's cool man. I can work with paper stuff but those little slate things?"

"Tablets."

"Yeah, those. Can't do it man. I ruined two of Scott's. He's the guy who drove me up. We met when he crashed a surf board into my forehead. Cool dude. Not a good breather though."

"That's...", Derek cleared his throat, "unfortunate." He trailed off awkwardly, unable to bring himself to demand actual information. He desperately wanted to know anything of worth Stiles would tell him but he didn't want to offend by demanding answers. "The Warsaw Mermaid?"

Stiles sucked in a breath and let it out with a laugh. "Oh yeah, the Warsaw Mermaid. So Babica is super pissed about this okay. My pod is originally from Poland. We still migrate there sometimes when the water feels right. Anyways, it's this huge thing to her that the Warsaw Mermaid isn't actually a mermaid. She was a Chimera technically. She had some Siren in her. But way less than some other pods do. So, yeah I was hoping you could help me write some of this stuff down because it's really important to my Babica that Topsiders stop calling her a mermaid."

"Do you not want to be called mermaids at all? And what is the Warsaw Mermaid?" Derek feels a little out of his depth and the slightest bit ashamed that he has no idea what Stiles is talking about. During college he'd only glanced over water mythicals. He hadn't wanted to become frustrated with the lack of substantial information and kept away from it.

Stiles slumped a little in his seat, letting out a puff of breath. Derek could practically smell the disappointment coming off of him. "Uh, mermaid is okay I guess. I don't know. But the Warsaw Mermaid is this legend in Poland about a mermaid who fell in love with a sailor and stayed in Warsaw to protect the town after he died. I thought maybe you'd be familiar with it."

"No, but I'd love to hear more. I'll copy it down and the corrections if you'd like. The legend and your Babica's story." Derek straightened up, tilting the lid down on his computer to get a fuller look at Stiles. "It's important, whatever you have to say, whatever your Babica had to say. We don't know a lot about your people. The basement I was in, it's full of books, full of stories. Most of them are the only copies in the world. And they only exist because someone took the time to write them down. There's centuries worth of information down there about our pasts and what helped shaped our society.

"People take for granted a lot of information because its been there for as long as they could remember. But it wasn't always like that and right now Merfolk are still a big mystery and--" Stiles shot across the desk and covered Derek's mouth with his hand. It smelt like salt and something else. Derek could almost put his finger on it.

"Okay wolf man, I'm sold." Stiles smirked at him and relaxed back in his seat. The faded black cardigan bunched around his shoulders, popping the collar out and giving Derek a glimpse of another wayward scale. It glinted in the light of the little desk lamp next to them. Stiles seemed to notice his wandering eye and scratched at the edge of his scale, self conscious. "Yeah, I've never been great at shaking them?"

"You can remove them all?"

"Well I can't. My mother could will them all away once she was dry. I still can't and I've been making land trips since I was five or so. Babica has the same problem." Stiles rubs across his chest more firmly, his fingers dipping under the neckline of the cardigan over his scales.

"I use to get my teeth stuck." Derek isn't sure why he offers the information. During his preteen years Derek's teeth problem had been the absolute delight of his sister's lives. For very different reasons. Laura teased him over it mercilessly because he own shift had come as easily as breathing. Cora had found it cute, often times demanding that he growl at her or read her stories to hear the lisp. "My sister still laughs about it sometimes."

Despite the small rush of embarrassment, Derek was glad he shared. The nervousness seemed to melt off of Stiles, bringing the wide smile back to his face. "Do you have a big family? Wolves have packs right?"

"I have a large family, two sisters and one brother. But I have lots of cousins and aunts and uncles. We're pack because we're family but you don't have to be family to be pack. A bite creates a pack bond. But so can closeness. Relationships and friendships can create pack bonds." While Derek talks Stiles begins leaning in close, obviously eager to hear more. "I can take you to meet them if you'd like. After you tell me about Warsaw."

"Yeah man, I'd like that. Mostly we learn about humans. There's not a lot of stuff to read down there about other kinds of Topsiders." Stiles leans back a little in his chair, as if to give himself some room, and starts his story. "So this Chimera named Radomila met a sailor in the Baltic Straight. Babica says sailors use to take their boats back and forth looking for merfolk. They thought we'd sleep with them I think. Babica says it was a big pain in the ass and that the pirates were way more polite, mostly because they were scared. But pirates respected the sea and treated merfolk like royalty or something. There was this one story about a pirate hat and a jar of hair..." Stiles cleared his throat.

"Um, anyways, Radomila saw this sailor rowing through the straight on a life boat and lured him to some rocks. She was going to eat him but something was wrong about his smell. She figured she needed to sniff on him some more to make sure she wouldn't get sick. And they got to talking and fell in love I guess. Then he goes off to war and dies and she stayed and waited for him."

Derek nodded and typed as Stiles spoke, copying word for word. His explanation wasn't much in the way of description. It was more of an anecdote than a story but if he could get Stiles to agree they could embellish it. Maybe commission some illustrations. "Was that--?"

"Oh man, no, no, there's like an actual story. Babica use to tell it to me all the time. I was just trying to get it out first." Stiles smacks his hands on the edge of the table, beating out a little rhythm. He smiled awkwardly at Derek, rolling his lips in a little. "This was just sort of an impulse you know? Scott was at the beach and we'd talked about this before. And he mentioned this guy who kept legends and stuff at the library, you. And he said we should just go for it and yeah. I'm here."

Derek runs his fingers softly over the keys of his laptop, considering his reply. He doesn't want to assume that because Stiles is a Merperson he'll just suddenly disappear into the waves, but he also doesn't want to assume Stiles will hang around for however long it will take to get the information he wants. "Do you...have somewhere to stay?" He looks up at Stiles discreetly. Taking Stiles home with him would be inviting him quite literally into a wolves den. But he did have somewhere else the boy could stay. For as long as he needed.

"Oh, I uh, hadn't thought that far." Stiles chuckles and smacks out a quick beat on the table.

"I have a place." He looks Stiles directly in the face now, willing his usual scowl to be something more approachable. "A loft I use for work. You'd have privacy."

"Does it have a bath?"

"It's more like a giant metal bucket, but yes."

"Dude I'll take it. It'd suck to ride back and forth every day." The admission that he'd intended to come back every day softened Derek a little. He was sure it had to do with the things he'd learn; with the contribution he'd be able to make. The fact that he found Stiles not wholly unattractive was an afterthought, mostly.

* * *

The walk to the apartment is slow. Mostly because Derek keeps pulling Stiles to the side to keep him hidden from prying eyes. While Stiles is the same height, he lacks bulk. Which means the cardigan is just baggy enough to cover his groin, but barely.

"Do you walk everywhere? Most Topsiders have cars right?"

"I like to walk. But I do have a car. The fresh air is just nice." Beside him Stiles hums in agreement. They'd spoken a little more about Stiles' grandmother back at the library, and about some of the things she wanted corrected. He found out that Stiles liked curly fries and black coffee. And that he met Scott when the boy accidentally peed on him as a child. "How does Scott know me?" Derek puts his hand against the small of Stiles' back and guides him to the side of his building. He kicks aside some broken glass and urges him safely around it.

"Oh uh, something with work. He works with a Druid. Who's also a vet. He said that guy mentioned you."

Derek furrows his brow. "Deaton?" He watches as Stiles shrugs. "He's an emissary."

"If you say so." Stiles snorts and hurries up the stairs to press his nose into the frosted glass in the hallway. The view is nothing interesting really, it's not even the highest point of the building. But Stiles had been enraptured by a lot of small things along the way. Instead of trying to pull him away Derek simply passes him and heads up to his loft. The building is empty at the moment. The top floor belongs to him but his siblings come and use the other floors occasionally for parities.

He slides open his door and takes a quick look over everything. There's still a blanket draped over the couch from the last time he fell asleep there. The bed he never managed to drag upstairs is neatly made. There's books scattered all across the coffee table and kitchen counter, organised to the train of thought he'd been on when he'd put them down. "Cool digs." Stiles practically sprints past him in a wave of salty air. Derek has to quickly turn his head to avoid seeing his butt creep out from under the cardigan as he bends to look at the coffee table. "Can I read these or do I need a card?"

Derek clears his throat and strides towards the couch to clean up a little. "You can read them. Anything you'd like."

"Dude, sweet." He plucks a book off the table and spins around Derek to plop down on the couch. The cardigan does absolutely nothing to cover his groin now that it's trapped against the small of his back. For a second Derek gets lost looking at the coppery green scales snaking across his thighs. Stiles pays him no mind, already lost in the book.

"Well, there's towels in the bathroom. I'll bring you down some sweats. You can order anything you'd like from here." Derek picks up a handful of take out menus from the side table and carefully tucks them into a neat stack. "They have my card on file."

"Are you...", Stiles has put the book aside. He tucks himself up on the couch and twists to look at Derek. "I thought you'd stay. I don't talk to a lot of Topsiders."

"Right, we're as much a mystery to you right?" Derek tries to tramp down the disappointment that Stiles isn't necessarily interested in him. It's fine. They've only known each other for a day. It's hard to hang onto the sting when Stiles smiles softly at him and pats the space on the couch next to him.

"I'll tell you about my scales if you show me your wolf face." It turns out Stiles' father is human but he's not sure who it is. It's easier for Merfolk with human blood to gain their legs but it comes with the trade off of being slower swimmers, something about their internal bone structure. Stiles rattles it off in great detail that Derek can't always follow. Stiles seems equally enthralled to learn about where Derek's eyebrows go and how good his eyesight is. They talk for so long Derek has to cook them omelets because nothing is open.

The days stretch on and Stiles stays in the loft. Derek starts driving to work and home so the trips are quicker. He wants to squeeze every moment out of the day so he can spend it with Stiles. The Warsaw Mermaid story has been almost entirely forgotten at this point. Occasionally Stiles will bring it up but he'll ultimately get lost on tangents and then they're talking about the differences between Chinese and Japanese folklore. Stiles is endlessly captivated by 'Topsider' knowledge. It feels like he's read nearly every book in the loft in a week.

His smell is starting to sink into the furniture, in the worn wood under the industrial windows, into the threadbare sheets, into his favorite corner of the couch. It's starting to feel more like home than the pack house. Derek's just finished work and he's rushing straight to the loft. His parents have decided to stop being nosy about the whole thing.

"Stiles, I'm back." Derek drapes his bag and cardigan over a side table and heads further into the loft. Stiles is upstairs shuffling around. He toes off his shoes and heads over to the couch, sitting just as Stiles comes down the stairs.

"Hey Dude." Stiles looks like he's just woken up, despite the fact that there's no bed upstairs. He's still wearing Derek's clothes, when he bothers at all. In the past week Derek has been able to memorise each and every scale. Stiles wads up the sleeve of Derek's beige knit pullover and rubs it across his face. "You're back early."

"We had a lot of student workers today."

Stiles slumps down onto the couch, easily tucking himself into Derek's side like it's natural. He seems to like tops just fine, but pants are a battle only conceded to when going out to eat. He says they feel too constricting. "I was thinking about going out."

"It's a little early for dinner."

"No, I meant to a store. Thrift store maybe, so they're soft." Stiles stretches out his legs and spreads his toes. "If I'm going to wear clothes I want them broken in." Derek stills underneath of him. This is really the first indication that Stiles may want to stay at least semi-permanently. Until now Derek has just been living day to day, hoping Stiles is still here when he comes in.

"You want to get clothes?"

"Yeah, I like your stuff but maybe I could get something baggy. Some jackets or flannels or something." He tips his head up to get a better look at Derek's face. When Derek remains silent Stiles begins to doubt himself. He tugs away just a fraction, unwilling to really part with him. "Unless...you don't want me to stay?"

"No." Derek grabs Stiles' arm as he tries to pull away. "No, I meant yes. Yes I want you to stay." He lets go of Stiles' arm and tries to turn towards him without pulling away too much. He ends up with Stiles balancing himself with a hand on his knee. Derek tries not to let the warmth distract him. "I...I love books. I love my job at the library. I love that I don't have to deal with a lot of people." Before pressing on Derek puts his hand over Stiles' to keep him from pulling away. It's hard to get out what he wants to say because he's always just been that way and let people think what they want.

"When you came to the library I thought we'd talk once and you'd leave. And I was fine with that. But instead of leaving you came home with me. I've talked more with you this week than I did in my entire senior year of college." He starts rubbing his thumb across the skin of Stiles' hand. He can't look at his face right now so he's focusing on the zip of the pullover. He can just see the edge of a scale poking out and it's keeping him focused. "I'd like to keep talking with you. And having dinner with you. I'd like...I like having you around. I don't know how long Merpeople live. I don't know what their feelings are, what your feelings are, about being with other Supernaturals. But I'd like to try it. I'd like to try...with you. If you'll stay."

Derek takes a deep breath and drops his gaze down to their hands. He's not sure that he'll get to see again so he tries to commit it to memory.

"Derek?" Stiles gently pulls his hand free. But before Derek can mourn its loss Stiles is bringing his hands up to cup his jaw. "Merpeople are pretty selfish creatures. We tend to just take what we want." While he speaks he inches closer until he's practically whispering into Derek's mouth. There's a second where neither of them move. Derek feels like he can't breathe for how elated he is. Then Stiles pushes forward. He's awkward, never having done it before. He probably digs his fingers to much into Derek's face and he doesn't know if he can move his knees without damaging something sensitive.

But Derek doesn't seem to mind. He arms snake out around Stiles' waist and tugs him in. He pulls his mouth to the side and starts rubbing his stubble across Stiles' cheek. The difference between scale and skin is odd, nothing Derek ever thought he'd feel. He tucks his face to Stiles' cheek, kissing across the skin and scales across his cheek down to his neck. Stiles' fingers tighten around his middle as he makes a choking noise. Derek takes it as a sign to slow down. He keeps Stiles tucked against him, with his own nose buried deep in his neck. He lets himself linger there, inhaling the heavy salt scent and something else.

Underneath that and the musty smell of his own pullover Derek smells ink. It's faint and tangy, different than the inks that surround him at work. But it feels right, smells right. Like Stiles was suppose to find him. Derek pulls away, moving until he can press his forehead to Stiles'. "Werewolves are selfish about their lovers. Very exclusive. Are you sure you want to do this?"

After all it was Stiles who’d devised the plan that the pack attend the same or nearby colleges.  It was Stiles who’d helped coach Scott through his mock UCLA interview prep sessions. Lydia in turn had helped him craft his personal statement for Berkeley.  It was a good plan.  Stiles rationalized to himself that safety in numbers was smart and Scott and Lydia were tethered to beacon Hills in a way that he understood—because Stiles wasn’t keen on leave ng his dad behind.  Polus a part of Stiles—the part forever scared by the Nogitsune and forever entrenched in the darkness because of the Nemeton—wasn’t sure he deserved much beyond the bare minimum in terms of happiness—Stiles wasn’t sure he deserved much more than that.  

That’s why Stiles can’t comprehend the letter in his hands.  A letter accompanied by an offer of a partial academic scholarship.  Stiles knows he didn’t apply top NYU, he may run on little sleep and nothing more than red bull most days, but he’d remember something as big as applying to NYU.

Stiles hears the front door open and his dad yell “dinner” and so Stiles stuffs the NYU letter away under his bed.

“You better not have animal style fries stashed away in that order,” he yells as he takes the steps downstairs two at a time.

“Oh hell, whatever happened to respecting your elders?” John Stilinski muttered as Stiles neared the table.

Smirking, “just trying to help you reach your elderly years pops,” Stiles retorted back before he dug into his bacon cheeseburger and fries.

*************

Stiles had done a good job of forgetting the NYU letter because apparently trolls were a thing.  Despite the ABC movie marketing of trolls Stiles could attest that trolls were in fact neither small nor cute; they were rather a brute animal that apparently were enamored with flashy things.  So between chasing down trolls for the past month every night from dusk until just about daybreak Stiles did what any exhausted teenager would do when confronted with a sleep deficit after defeating the trolls—he alternated between marathoning video game sessions with Scott and sneaking in fits of sleep between bouts of stuffing his face with curly fries and chips.  However with the troll thoroughly dealt with and the supernatural underbelly of Beacon Hills laying low through the holidays (knock on wood) Stiles couldn’t run from the NYU letter any longer. Or rather a certain strawberry redhead wasn’t going to let him he would find out.

***

Stiles grabbed the tin of cookies he’d made earlier along with a thermos of coffee he’d filled before he barreled toward his cobalt blue jeep.  It’d become something of a Christmas tradition for Stiles to bring his dad cookies and coffee every Christmas since he was old enough to be left alone.

His dad worked every Christmas and Stiles is certain its better this way.  Every day without his mom was torture for him and his dad but the holidays were and extra burden.  His mom used to love the holidays going so far as to drag out the holiday ornaments and festive recipes the day after thanksgiving.  Every year his mom was alive each holiday season was filled with watching his mom bake, watching her decorate the tree and every year she’d put him on her shoulders so he could reach the very top to put the star on and Stiles also remember that each holiday season was full of watching cheesy holiday movies with his mom and dad.

Stiles’ dad had tried the first few years after his mom passed to make the holidays festive and full as they had been when his mom had been alive but it just wasn’t the same.

So, once Stiles was old enough he remembers him and his dad came to an agreement that his dad would work every Christmas so those on the force who had families could celebrate with their loved ones and every Christmas Stiles would make his moms famous sugar cookies and deliver them to John while he was still working.  Before Stiles had gotten his license that meant that Melissa had to drive him and even when he did get his license sometimes Scott had tagged along stull. But with this being the last Christmas before they both headed out to college Scott and Stiles had agreed to do the annual cookie

“Don’t eat all of these in one sitting,” Stiles remarked as he handed over the thermos and cookie tin to his father.

“Hey never forget that I’m the adult here,” John retorted.

Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes, “bakers make the rules pops.”

Both Stilinski men lapsed into a silence then which was filled with John occasionally grabbing and eating a cookie Stiles had brought while he caught up on some end of the year paperwork.  With each passing minute the weight of the NYU letter grew heavier in Stiles; jacket pocket. For all the vaunted talking Stiles had perfected over the years he’d mysteriously was ever careful to not reveal anything of substance.  Stiles had mostly taken up the habit of talking a mile a minute to try and fill the nooks and crannies his mom had left behind.  The silence and absence of his mother’s laugh and voice had felt suffocating to Stiles in the days immediately following his moms death so Stiles endeavored to fill that silence with whatever he could—useless trivia, trivial musings, and whatever came to his minds forefront would spill out of his mouth.

Stiles had gotten good at filling the vacuum of dead air with meaningless words but whenever he needed to say anything of substance or weight he often found that the words would dry up in his throat even before he’d open his mouth to speak.

So, because Stiles couldn’t form the right words to tell his dad about NYU, about how Lydia had sent in his application, and about how the dream he’d always talked about could become a reality even after all his massive screw ups of the past few years Stiles merely grabbed the letter an d flung it at his dad.

“Stiles…” John began.

“What kind of school gives me, someone who once wrote about the history of male circumscion, as an answer on an economics final, a partial academic scholarship” Stiles interrupted his father to say.

“A school…” John began again before once again being cut off midsentence by Stiles.

Stiles shot up out of his chair and began pacing around his dads office, “I had a plan. A good plan.”

“Sometimes things..” John once again tried to make it through one uninterrupted sentence only to be denied.

“I mean who does Lydia think she is? She doesn’t show practically any interest in me for over 17 years of my life and then she goes behind my back and applies me to NYU?” Who does that?”

“Someone who cares,” John breathed out.

“I can’t go.” Stiles says finally, decisively.

“Your mother would want you to go,” John breathed out shallowly, almost as though saying it any louder would have broken some cosmic balance.  And in a way it would have because part of the reason why the John and Stiles relationship worked so well was because they’d come to an unspoken agreement that all mentioned of Claudia would be minimal.  It simply was too big a wound to get over if the wound wasn’t able to be caulked over and the wound would never be able to be caulked over if the pair had continued to openly talk about her every day.  

At the mention of his mom Stiles felt the wind be knocked out of him and he plopped back into the chair opposite his dad’s desk.

“I’m going,” Stiles managed to strangle out of his throat a minute later before he nervously began to bite his nail.

John swallowed past a lump in his throat before saying, “you’re going.”

The Stilinski men lapsed into a charged, heavy silence after that.

“Fathers of NYU bound sons deserve animal style fries,” John said a little while later after he’d finished all the paperwork he’d been working on before Stiles had arrived.

“Don’t think for one second I’m letting your diet go to shit just because I’ll be halfway across the country,” Stiles shot back which earned him a hearty laugh from John and a “oh hell.”

***

Once winter break had finished the race towards the end of senior year felt at times, too fast to Stiles.

In between supernatural bouts of activity, prom, filling out FAFSA documents, and marathon gaming sessions with Scott graduation and the summer before his freshman year of college had snuck up on him.

Before he knew it he was picking up his maroon graduation gown along with his honor cords (that’s right Stiles may not have been Lydia Martin levels of smart but he had a smart bone or two in his body).

Stiles found the whole walking across the stage at graduation to be a surreal moment because a part of him wasn’t ever quite sure that he’d make kit there but somehow he did.

The final summer before college was spent much like every other summer before that for Stiles.  The summer days were chalk full of gaming sessions with Scott, supernatural baddies that were hell bent on making the collective packs life a living hell, and late night sessions at the station with his dad.

However, the summer was also filled with new things like Stiles letting Lydia drag him around the mall for hours on end to help him pick out a college wardrobe (because in her words she couldn’t let him loose in new York with his pathetic plaid as his only defense), late night cooking with his dad because for the first time in a while his dad wasn’t going to have him around to do all the cooking and Stiles was serious he didn’t invest all this hard work into getting his dads health back on track only to have him undo it as soon as he was gone.

The end of the summer creeped up on Stiles and before he was ready he was packing up his jeep for the ride to New York and sitting on Scott’s porch at ass o’clock in the morning saying goodbye to his best friend.

“I’m happy for you dude,” Scott said as he sat down on his front porch steps next to Stiles.

“I can’t believe I let Lydia talk me into this,” Stiles remarked as he wiped sleep out of his eyes.

“Your too good for this town,” Scott said white stretching his legs out in front of him.

Stiles let out a small huff before he responded, “we all deserve better.”

Scott shrugged adding “probably so but you’ve needed to get away for awhile.”

“I’m always a call away dude. And seriously your mom better keep an eye on my dad while I’m away.”

Scott leaned over and bumped his side against Stiles’ “don’t go getting into any supernatural messes cause Lydia won’t be there to save you.”

“Pfft, as if I’m the one who has a penchant for getting into trouble,” Stiles said letting a small smirk grace across his face.

Stiles and Scott shared a laugh before Stiles meandered over to his jeep and shared one last hug with Scott before making his way through the back roads of Beacon Hills and toward the city lines.

Stiles exhaled as he crossed over the city lines and he knows the darkness around his heart would always be there but the darkness felt a little lighter than before.

Stiles was sure that was some figment of his imagination but it was a welcome feeling nonetheless.

***

Most days Stiles thought New York was the best thing that ever happened to him.  He loved how the city was always thrumming with energy, it reminded him of his pre ADHD medication days, he loved hoe he could constantly find a new coffee shop full of oversized chairs and mismatched colored coffee tables.  He loved how even though he didn’t know anyone there is still felt like home all the same.

Within days of starting at NYU Stiles had scoped out various shops and delis and staked his claim to different vendor trucks and so he settled in nicely into some sort of routine. Like every Tuesday he and some of his friends would meet up and study at McKenna’s—a colorful bakery whose manager couldn’t help but fall for Stiles’ neediness from day one and who would now whenever Stiles was there try to fill him up with coffee and banana nut cookies because in her words he’s simply “one large gust of wind away from being blown away,” and Stiles feels like the manager would actually miss him if he stopped coming in.

That was a new feeling. It was a warm and welcome feeling though.

Then there was Casablanca, a seedy dive bar, which was a frequent stop for Stiles if only because the bar owner never checks id’s. Casablanca us a dimly lit, city smelling bar that Stiles favors a lot when he can’t sleep because of his ongoing Nogitsune filled dreams that overtake his nightly sleeping habits still from time to time. And its easier for Stiles to get drunk of last in the sterile warmth of the backroom with any guy who found his twinksih good looks endearing.  Because yea apparently Stiles is gay, or maybe bi, he hasn’t figured it out yet.  But unlike Beacon Hills where Stiles had felt suffocated by his virgin status and uncertainness regarding his sexuality New York felt liberating.  It felt okay that he couldn’t define his sexuality yet—for the first time Stiles felt as though he had time to explore, to figure it all out and when he’d finally come to that realization it felt like he’d finally reached the surface and was able to take a deep breath after drowning beneath the surface for what felt like forever,.

So yea NYU and New York were treating Stiles well.  He’d made a close knit group of friends, he wasn’t drowning in school the way he thought he’d be.  Stiles felt grounded at NYU in a way he’d never felt in Beacon Hills despite the fact that he was metaphorically tethered to a magical tree stump.

Sure, there were time where he’d see something funny and turn to Scott to mention it only to remember that he wasn’t there anymore. And too there were other times where Stiles would struggle with reading writers like Marx and turn to Lydia to help him through a tough passage or paper only to realize a second too late that she wasn’t there to help him like that anymore.

But for every moment like that he has other tiny, little moments that vindicate Lydia’s push to get him out there and those little moments amounted to a lot of small victories in helping him feel moor grounded, more in the moment than he’d ever felt before.

Because of course Lydia was right.

***

Stiles had just come off a week of almost no sleep because of back to back papers for his psych and soc classes so he decided that a visit to Casablanca was in order, as a way to celebrate getting through another week.

“One Bud Light please,” Stiles said as he greeted Tim, the bar owner.

“Coming right up Stiles,” Tom said as Stiles watched him take the capo off the beer before passing it to him a minute later.

Stiles had taken a swig of his beer before he felt a presence at his back.

“You aren’t 21.”

“And you’re still McCreepy wolf I see,” Stiles muttered before he reached his hand back to feel for the telltale signs of a leather jacket and when his hands found purchase on the well-worn leather he grabbed a fistful of it and pulled Derek closer to the table. He literally pulled Derek out of darkness just now and if that wasn’t a metaphor for their entire weirdly dysfunctional yet touching relationship Stiles didn’t know what would have been a better metaphor,.

“What are you doing here Stiles?” Derek asked in a whine like it almost pained him to be in the same space as Stiles.

“They don’t card and sometimes I need to let off some steam,” Stiles said as he shrugged and pointed to the backroom area.

“Why New York?” Derek asked changing the subject while taking the bottle out of Stiles’ hands to take a long swig of beer himself.

“I didn’t know you came back here if that’s what you’re asking.” And Stiles wasn’t lying; he didn’t know what had happened to Derek after Mexico.  By the time Stiles and the rest of the pack had settled back into Beacon Hills Derek had already packed up his loft, and left again.  And even though Stiles had wanted to search for him he had also figured that if anyone deserved an pout of Beacon Hills it was Derek.  And even if Stiles had been hurt by the lack of a proper goodbye from Derek once again because Stiles thought after the Nogitsune thing the pair had maybe had the chance for something to happen between them but even knowing and feeling all that Stiles still understood. Stiles watched Derek scowl, “I felt you when you crossed into New York, I tried to ignore it but the longer you stayed and the more placed you visited the harder it was.”

Stiles felt his eyes widen at that “why didn’t you come scowl at me sooner then Mr. Leather McCreeper?”

Derek rolled his eyes taking a final swig of his beer because I don’t care remember,” before he was gone and Stiles was left with any empty beer bottle but a warm feeling in his stomach that had nothing at all to do with the alcohol in his blood stream.

And if when Stiles finally made kit back to his dorm room and masturbated to the image of Derek’s strong lined body and his name was on his lips that was no one’s business but his own thank you very much.

***

After the first chance meeting at Casablanca Stiles found himself hyper aware of whoever was around him and he found himself longing to run back into Derek.

One day while he was at Cassie’s bakery Stiles got his chance.

“So do you live around here, Stiles asked as he slid across the table from Derek with a coffee and scone of his own.

Stiles watched Derek tense up for a minute and he wondered if maybe seeking Derek out was a bad idea if maybe the thing at Casablanca had been a fluke and something Derek wasn’t interested in having more off.

“You don’t have a monopoly finding off the beaten trail treasures in New York,” Derek responded back.

“I thought all the pops of color would scare off monochrome wolf is all,” Stiles said as he smiled around his coffee cup.

“The manager knew Laura, this was her spot not mine,” Derek respond back crisply.

Stiles almost choked on his bite of his scone before he picked up the front page of the New York Times quite content to let the charged silence linger between him and Derek.

When Stiles looked up next as he was reaching for another section of the Times he was unsurprised to find Derek gone.

Things went on like that for the next few weeks. When Stiles had downtime he’d meander into different favorite places of his in the hopes of seeing Derek again.  More often than not Derek wouldn’t be there but sometimes he’d run into Derek and they’d share a heavy silence or exchange a quick greeting or two in between sips of coffee.

It should have felt weird to Stiles but it was oddly comforting, like trying to piece together an old jigsaw puzzle.

***

Then, one week out of the blue towards the end of his first fall semester at NYU Stiles came back to his dorm room to find Derek stretched out by his door.

“I don’t even want to know how you got in here,” Stiles said as he came closer to his dorm.

“College students will do anything for coffee,” Derek said wrinkling his nose in a way that Stiles absolutely didn’t find endearing. Nope. Nope. Nope, nothing to see here Stiles thought to himself,

“It’s our only form of sustaence,” Stiles laughed out as he opened his dorm room and letting Derek into his room first before shutting the door.

“How’d you end up with a single?” Derek asked as he took in the sparsely decorated room littered with bunched up notebook paper and coffee cups.

“Nightmares,” Stiles said no longer ashamed of the dreams that would leave himself creaming himself away.  The nightmares didn’t come as often as they used to and they usually only came after Stiles had been awake for too long or when he’d consumed too much red bull on too little sleep.”

“So what are me?” Stiles asked Derek after the pair had lapsed into a silence.

Derek took his shoes off and jacket before he shrugged “I’m not ready yet for much.”

Stiles shook his head before he leaned back against his bed.

“I can wait,” Stiles said simply before taking Derek’s hand and laying the two down on his bed before flipping on the television.

And Stiles for the first time had time. He had time to continue to grow, to continue to explore, time to make room for someone else in his life that wasn’t Scott or his dad. Had time to continue to learn how to continue to learn to live with charged silences.