#acollectionofsterek

“You’re barely standing, even though there has been ample time for you to heal since we drove off the Hunters chasing you. Do you need any assistance purging your systems from whatever it was that is keeping you from healing?”

In response to his question, he gets a pair of incredulous stares pointed at him and uneasy rumblings from the rest of his pack. Granted, he is offering aid to unknown entities – one of which had already attacked one of them (then again, it was Peter, so she got a bit of a pass on that) – but something in his gut told him that these two needed his protection.

Needed him.

“No, we don’t need anything taken out… that’s part of the funny part…” The girl makes some sort of noise, a signal for her pair to stop stalling because the next thing Derek knows is that he’s now looking to a pair of red eyes – a slightly different shade than his own – and a pair of sharp fangs grinning at him.

“You’re vampires.”

His statement causes another rumble to travel through his pack, even as the woman glares at him and snaps, “Yes, and you’re all werewolves. Now that we’ve established our supernatural affiliations, can we get to the part where you tell us whether you’re going to rip our heads off or not?”

The male’s soft, “Lydia…” is almost lost to the answering snarls her demand stirs up, Cora being suspiciously silent behind her, and it takes Derek growling out a short, “Enough!” to get everyone to calm down.

“You have yet to tell me why you were being chased by Hunters. That will be the deciding factor on whether or not there will be any head ripping.”

There’s a snort behind him, probably from Erica, even as the male shakes his head and meets Derek’s gaze, teeth gone back to their human shape.

“It’s like you said, Alpha. We’re vampires. They didn’t need another reason.”

Derek frowns, eyes catching the way that the man in front of him seems to be swaying a little. “The Hunters in these parts have a Code-”

The female – Lydia – huffs at that, her white-knuckled grip on her companion the only thing that seems to be keeping her upright. “Yes, a Code that says to torture and maim all supernaturals, no matter if they haven’t done anything wrong, the disgusting, worthless-”

This time, it’s Scott that cuts her off, with an angry growl and a move like he’s going to attack her before Derek cuts him off with a harsh snap of his teeth. It doesn’t stop Lydia from crouching into a defensive stance, amber eyes glowing and fangs dropped as she snarls back, though.

Unfortunately, this has the side effect of her pair losing whatever it was that was keeping him upright, something that he makes known with a muttered, “Oh shit.” as he pitches forward.

“Stiles!”

Lydia makes to catch him, but her weakness makes itself known in the way that she stumbles and is too slow to halt her pair’s descent.

Derek, however, is not.

He isn’t even really thinking as he reaches out and catches Stiles – trying to ignore the part of him that is grateful the strange word that Lydia muttered when he showed up had been a name and not a curse - ending up with his arms around the man’s shoulders and Stiles’ face pressed into his neck.

There is a sudden inhalation from almost the entirety of those in the clearing and then a swift, shuddering silence.

Stiles doesn’t seem to notice how tense it has become around him, or the fact that his fingers have clawed into Derek’s back almost as soon as he caught him. All he seems to be interested in rubbing his nose along the column of the neck in front of him and whispering, “You… you smell really good…”

Derek chances a quick look at Lydia, his grip reflexively tightening when he sees the despair in her eyes and the way she looks as if she wants to rip Stiles from Derek’s grasp. It’s a little surprising to also see that she has a hand gripped in Cora’s coat, but he doubts either of them are really in a state to notice right now…

“Stiles-”

“It’s been ages, hasn’t it, Lydia?” Stiles’ words are muffled, pressed into Derek’s skin with little licks and open-mouthed kisses, something that would be much more intimate in a different situation. “They used to tease us, offering an arm or a cut palm, just to see us writhe and scream…”

“This is another trick, Stiles.” Lydia’s voice is firm, and Derek would be pissed at what she’s insinuating if he couldn’t feel the graze of fangs against his neck at the next pass that Stiles takes. “You do this, and we’re both dead.”

“But he smells so good, Lyds. Like… like…”

“Please.” Derek startles a little when it becomes apparent that Lydia is talking to him now. “He was captured for longer than I was, he was protecting me, he doesn’t… please.”

It takes a moment to realize what she’s asking, but when he does, Derek has to fight off a shudder that he tells himself is revulsion, not anything else.

“I am not a meal to be handed out-”

“No, you don’t understand what this is at all!” Lydia’s gaze is furious, and it soothes something in Derek that this isn’t something to be taken lightly, or that Stiles was reacting like this because Derek just reminded him of a particularly juicy steak. “Think for a moment. Think if you had been cut off from the moon for days, months, even! Think of how you would feel to go from a darkened, bricked up dungeon room and then suddenly be thrown into a wide-open forest with a clear sky! What would you do?!?”

Derek swallows as Stiles’ actions are thrown into terrifying clarity for him, but he still pushes the man’s face away from his neck despite his protests.

That spot is too intimate, too much after a single meeting. He can’t allow that now, but he still needs to figure out who these two really are and what happened that drove them onto his land.

And if what they were saying about the Hunters was true, well…

It’s been a while since Derek himself really hunted anything.

Derek had pushed Stiles’ face away from him by pressing his hand against it, given how the other man had yet to release him, and he’s not sure which of them he surprises more when he says, “Bite me.” at the first tentative touch of Stiles’ tongue to his palm.

There is a sharp hiss somewhere as Stiles freezes, no doubt reminded of the times that he spoke of, of how this was a constant game with the Hunters that had them, but Derek hopes that it is different enough that he doesn’t refuse… although, a part of him is screaming that Stiles should refuse, that what he’s doing is crazy, that they don’t even know these people…

Derek mentally tells that part of himself to take a hike as Stiles finally releases him, only to grab ahold of Derek’s hand like he’s afraid Derek is going to rip it away from him and bring it up to his lips.

Just before he’s about to bite down, Stiles stops himself, body starting to tremble as he mutters, “Don’t hurt her. If... if this is a trick, it’s my fault. You- you can’t hurt her…”

Lydia makes a pained noise and tries to move forward again, only to completely lose her balance and practically collapse onto Cora’s form, his sister making a slight woof of discomfort before shifting her weight so that she’s completely supporting the other girl.

Taking a quick look around the clearing, Derek can see that most of his pack is still on the defensive, but not looking like they’re about to just up and attack the two of them anymore… Although Peter is managing to convey how he thinks that this is a stupid idea, even in wolf form.

Derek decides to just ignore him for now.

Shifting so that Stiles is practically cradled in his arms, Derek tries to ignore the conflicting feelings that this is evoking in him as he whispers, “No one is going to hurt either of you. This isn’t a trick. You’re safe, I promise.”

Stiles looks up at him at that, eyes a swirling mixture of gold and ember as he seems to search Derek’s face for something – a lie, the truth, something that could give him a clue one way or the other – and Derek tries to stay as still as he can as the minutes tick by.

And that’s if these are the ones that follow the rules, the Code... The fact that they were imprisoned and tortured despite having done nothing wrong doesn’t really fill Stiles with hope, though. They’ll probably just drive right past the border with nary a care in the world, finished with the little ‘hunt’ they decided on since everything else was so boring now...

Lydia slips, almost drops, and Stiles pulls himself from the morbid turn that his thoughts have taken to steady and support her. It also helps him get his head on straight; he can’t let himself fall into despair now. He needs to help her, strengthen and assist her.

His blood-sister and last bit of family he has left.

Just a few more miles, just a few more...

A sudden howl cuts through the night, making Stiles chuckle darkly at the thought that if the Hunters don't get them, they'll be too weak to keep from being torn apart from feral dogs.

"Stiles!" Lydia hisses, letting him know that his thoughts have pulled him away for too long. "Stiles, listen."

Another howl floats through the air and Stiles makes to ask what, exactly, Lydia wanted him to hear when the sudden silence answers that question for him:

The Hunters have stopped.

Laughing, moving, even the light that was highlighting where Stiles and Lydia were going is gone.

Like it never was to begin with...

Lydia's hands are like talons in his arm now, her breathing harsh and sharp in his ear as one howl suddenly transforms into two, to three, to a symphony...

Only to cease, an unnatural quiet falling over the woods as the creatures that were making the howls step forward to reveal themselves.

Wolves. Big, beautiful, majestic wolves. With a shine to their eyes that let Stiles know these are just simple beasts...

They slip from the trees like shadows, floating over the ground in a way that Stiles remembers and envies, even as he tries not to give any of them his back... A feat that requires quite a bit of skill as their number seems to multiply each time he turns around.

Fuck.

After a while, one of them apparently decides that it doesn’t want to wait for whatever signal that they’re all waiting for and darts for Lydia, teeth bared in a false mockery of a smile.

Stiles barely has time to move, but Lydia has one last bit of strength in her and claws across the wolf’s snout before it even comes close, making it hit the ground with a yelp.

The rest of the wolves make rumbling noises at this, whether they are laughing at the wolf or gearing up to follow it’s lead, Stiles doesn’t know; he’s too busy watching as Lydia looks at the blood on her fingertips consideringly, stick one in her mouth to suck the blood off before making a face and spitting it out.

Stiles is once more in awe of her, both at the insult and the power of will it took to do that. Even now, he fights the urge to lick up the traces of viscera she’s wiping off in the snow...

His attention is captured by a low rumble echoing through the clearing; this, apparently, is the signal the wolves were waiting for, as they all tense up as soon as they hear it and one last form emerges from the treeline.

It’s another wolf, of course, a midnight black that almost swallows him up in the darkness. If not for their advanced eyesight, Stiles was sure that they wouldn’t see it, and can only stare at it prowling past the other wolves like a king in a court.

A pair of glowing red eyes a moment later shows that this is these wolves’ king. Their Alpha, at least.

Stiles tries not to react when, between one step and the other, the wolf transforms into a man with ebony hair as dark as his fur and the same lean body, steam seems to rise from his body with every step he takes.

The sharp “Stiles!” that Lydia hisses in his ear tells him that he wasn’t very successful and he also mentally shakes his head sharply in an effort to get his thoughts in order. Now really isn’t the best time to be appreciative of the other man’s form...

A man who is either uncaring or unconcerned with the cold as he comes to a stop before them and snaps, “I am Derek Hale, Alpha of these lands. Who are you and why have you brought Hunters to my door?”

Stiles swallows hard, fighting down the need to feed for a little while longer as he tries on his most winning smile.

Something about either the message or the tone must have startled Stiles, because he blinked and gave a bemused smile in return. “You’ve changed,” Stiles observed, dark eyes moving rapidly as he seemed to be taking in all of the little differences in Derek’s appearance, just as Derek had with him.

“Time does that to people,” agreed Derek with a slight nod. “You here with Scott?” He motioned around at the rest of the lobby, where werewolves and emissaries were signing in and milling about.

A shadow came and went across Stiles’ face in the blink of an eye, then one side of his lips was tugging up in something not quite a smile. “I’m not part of a pack right now, actually.”

“Oh.” Derek wasn’t sure how to process that. He hadn’t really kept up with the happenings in Beacon Hills, so didn’t know when such a division occurred or what it was over. “So then why are you…”

That drew a small snort of a laugh from Stiles, and he winked. Derek’s stomach flipped, and a warmth started to bloom in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “I’m a pack-less emissary. So, I go to a lot of these things. Partly because there are fantastic panels on magic and emissary stuff, but also because, hey, you never know. I might just find a pack I really click with.”

Derek squinted and gave a playfully teasing smile. “Can you even be an emissary without a pack?”

“Fine, asshole, I’m a pack-less druid.” Despite the insult, Stiles was grinning, his whole face looking brighter for it. “What about you? Looking for an alpha? Or are you here with yours?”

Flashing his red eyes, Derek felt his smile grow.

“Huh,” breathed Stiles, grin melting into something softer, almost reverent. “Time really does change things.” Then he licked his lips and his expression cleared to something more alert and focused. “So, things are going well for you, I take it?”

Thinking of his little pack and simple, happy life, Derek gave a nod. “Yeah. We have sort of the opposite problem you have, though. No emissary. We do have a human who can at least handle some of the things the werewolves can’t, but…she doesn’t have a spark.”

Stiles bit his lip, then slowly ran his tongue along it, something else that hadn’t changed about him. “You want to go grab a coffee or something? The panels don’t start for another few hours.”

The warmth in his chest spread a little and Derek found himself nodding. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

So that’s how they found themselves tucked into a corner table at the hotel’s cafe, sipping shitty coffee and playing a game of catch-up that should feel more awkward than it was. Derek told Stiles about the small pack he and Cora formed in upstate New York, bringing in a few other strays like themselves and making something like a family. Stiles told him a little about college, a lot about traveling around the country, and nothing about Beacon Hills.

“God,” Stiles said, interrupting himself partway through a story about apprenticing with an aging emissary in Kansas. “Sorry, I just never thought I’d see you again. I can hardly believe this is actually happening.”

“You could have called or texted, if you needed me.” Derek gave a little shrug, a bashful duck of his head. “My number’s still the same.”

Letting out a startled huff of a laugh, Stiles leaned back in his chair. “Seriously? Oh man, I nearly did probably a million times. But I told myself you’d probably changed phones by then, that you’d cut all contact.”

That confused Derek and he felt his brows draw together as he leaned forward a little. “What? Why would I?”

Stiles shrugged. “Because you wanted to put Beacon Hills and all of its horrors behind you? Because you were moving on? Because that’s exactly what I did when I left?” His mouth clicked shut after the slip of a reveal, and Stiles’ eyes dropped to his empty coffee mug. “Why would you want to have anything to do with anyone from that place ever again?” whispered Stiles, though Derek wondered if it was fully directed at him.

“It’s the place I needed to escape from, not the people.” Derek thought about all of the nights when his thumb hovered over Stiles’ contact in his phone, but he never tapped it. What would he even have said? Today I saw a baseball bat at the store and thought of you?

“Then I’m sorry I never called,” Stiles confessed, meeting Derek’s eyes. “Here.” Then he was pulling out his phone and passing it across the table. “I lost your info after I switched carriers.”

The plastic was warm, indicative of being stored somewhere close to Stiles’ body, and Derek tried not to think too much about that as he typed his own number in. Just in case, he also added his address. “Call or text anytime,” he said, passing the phone back. “I mean it. And if you’re ever in the area, let me know.”

There was something a little sad and a lot wistful about Stiles’ smile then. “Will do.”

They didn’t see much of each other for the rest of the conference, both going to different panels and only occasionally passing each other in the halls. Derek tried not to think about how each time made his heart do a little stutter, and a stupid smile always took over his face. It was just the excitement of seeing an old friend. That was all.

The conference hadn’t even ended yet, when the first text came.

Have a safe trip home. It was great seeing you again.

Derek stared at those words for a long time before finally typing in his reply.

Great seeing you, too. Come by and visit sometime. My door is always open.

That seems dangerous. You should probably get locks.

It was good to see he was still a little shit.

My door is always open to YOU.

Giving me a key already? This relationship is moving faster than I thought it would.

How could a joke leave him feeling so off-kilter, his heart pounding like he was being chased. It wasn’t fair, thought Derek. From the day they met, Stiles had been like a perpetual itch Derek just couldn’t reach. A constant in his thoughts, a distraction in his presence, an ally on which he could always rely, an anchor when he… But Stiles had been young, and he deserved more than Derek could have given him. Stiles wasn’t supposed to sweep back into his life and remind him of everything Derek couldn’t have, what Derek wasn’t worthy to even strive for.

You had a key before. Why break tradition?

Maybe if he joked back—though it was only half a joke—then Stiles wouldn’t know what his words had done to him. While it was true Derek was doing much better than he had been, thanks to the help of therapy and a supportive pack, he still didn’t think he was what Stiles would want. Still thought Stiles deserved something better.

It was a long time before he got a response from Stiles, and then it was only a photo of a giant to-go mug of gas station coffee.

Fueling up for the road!

-*-*-*-

Six months passed, and rarely a day went by without a text. They became the little highlights of Derek’s day, even though they were usually just random photos of things Stiles saw and thought looked neat. It still meant Stiles was thinking of him, wanted to share that moment with him. Derek always responded, wanting to ensure Stiles knew the thought was appreciated.

So we didn’t talk about significant others.

At eleven-fifteen on a Wednesday night, Derek found himself sitting in his living room and staring at his phone with a sense of dread. He slowly set his book aside so he could focus his full attention on his phone, and carefully typed out his response.

We did not. Why?

In the short amount of time it took for Stiles to respond, Derek’s mind supplied all sorts of possibilities. Maybe Stiles was having relationship troubles and wanted some advice. Maybe Stiles just met someone. Maybe Stiles was about to invite Derek to his wedding.

Just curious. We’ve been texting a lot without really saying anything, and there’s still a lot I don’t know about the new you.

Nothing new about me. But you’re welcome to ask anything.

So…?????

So?

Does the Big Bad Alpha have a partner in crime? What would you call it? A mate?

Derek snorted.

No to all of that.

Wait, seriously??? I’d have thought someone would have locked that down by now. Wait, is it because you have a shitty romantic history?

Fuck, that was dumb of me.

Feel free to tell me to fuck off. I’m so sorry.

No, it’s fine. And you’re partly right. Mostly things just haven’t worked out, the few times I’ve tried dating.

Oh. Why? Did they suck? Or, well, not suck well enough? ;)

A heat came to Derek’s cheeks and he cleared his suddenly dry throat.

I have to trust them to really let them get close, and that trust is hard to come by. Most don’t want to put in the time and energy it takes to make something work.

Wow they really did suck. That’s shitty, man, sorry.

What about you?

He almost didn’t ask, stomach twisting at the potential answers.

Right like that’s even a question. Not much has changed since high school in that department. Well, I mean, college was a little better, but… When you travel around a lot like I do, it’s hard to find someone who wants you for more than a one night stand. And that’s never really been my thing.

That’s a shame.

Shit, wait, that came out wrong.

I mean about people not wanting more, not about you not liking one night stands.

Because I don’t like those either.

I just think it’s ridiculous that no one can see what they could have by being with you, and that’s a shame. You deserve better.

There was no response for a very long time, and Derek worried he’d said something wrong. Maybe overstepped. Maybe he was too obvious, and he had scared Stiles away.

What could they have?

Nearly ten minutes had gone by before Stiles sent that message, and Derek couldn’t even make sense of it.

What?

You said they couldn’t see what they could have by being with me. What could they have?

Drawing in a shaking breath, Derek wondered how honest he should be.

They could have someone amazing. Someone loyal and brave and strong. I mean, you’re kind of an asshole, but that’s actually part of the charm, I think.

Another five minutes went by, his heart pounding in his ears.

I think your memory’s faulty. Not about the asshole part, but the rest…

He sat up in his chair, feeling indignant on Stiles’ behalf.

You were always there when I or anyone else needed you. Even when you didn’t even like me, you saved me. You did that for others, too. You never gave up, always tried to figure everything out. You were the best of us.

There was no response. Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Derek gave up staring at the screen and decided to just go to bed and try to sleep. If he had fucked everything up, he’d try to figure out a way to fix it in the morning.

Just as he lay down, his phone pinged to indicate a new text.

I wish you hadn’t left. Or that I’d gone with you.

Derek didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know what that meant.

It would have been nice to have you with me. To know someone had my back.

You had Cora.

Not the same. And you had Scott.

Not the same.

Not even close.

I needed you.

Something in Derek’s chest twisted, and his eyes stung.

You know where to find me, if you ever need me again.

Stiles didn’t text a response, and Derek eventually fell asleep still holding his phone.

He didn’t receive anything else from Stiles the next day, and wondered if he should text something. An apology, maybe? For what, though, he wasn’t sure. Maybe for leaving Stiles there, where something horrible evidently took place. Derek wished he knew a way to set things right, but he didn’t even know where Stiles was, let alone what he could do for the human.

What’s your favorite treat?

The text came while Derek was helping his beta Louisa make dinner for the pack. She took one look at his face while he read the text, and smirked. “That the boy you know? The one you said you ran into at the conference?” Her dark eyes were gleaming with mischief, and Derek bet she was planning to tell everyone about this. It was a rare thing for their alpha to get texts from someone outside of the pack.

“It’s Stiles, yeah.” Derek’s hand hovered over the screen, but then he shook his head and pocketed the phone. He could reply later. Right now, he was helping with dinner.

Louisa clucked her tongue and shook her head. “You should answer him.”

“But-”

“No buts. Go on, now. I won’t need your help again for another twenty minutes.” She shooed him with a flick of a dish towel and a laugh.

Reluctantly Derek obeyed, ducking out of the kitchen and retrieving his phone.

What do you mean?

Like do you like chocolate? Pretzels? Apples? What do you eat when you want a nice treat for yourself?

All of those things are nice. But I only really like chocolate with mint in it.

No ok you aren’t getting this. If you could have any treat in the world, what would it be?

Key lime pie.

Wait seriously?

Yes. Either that or cherry.

You’re always just full of surprises, aren’t you.

Heat flooded his cheeks again, and he chided himself for reacting like a kid to all of these texts. Though hadn’t that always been the case when it came to Stiles…

What about you? What do you like?

I’m easy.

I mean when it comes to food. We already established I’m not…yeah.

But I’d say chocolate cake. Like the richest, most overwhelming kind of chocolate cake.

Derek’s nose wrinkled in disgust even while a smile forced itself onto his lips.

I can’t stand that kind of cake.

More for me. :)

Speaking of food, I kind of have to get back to work. Helping make dinner for the whole pack tonight.

As much as Derek would love to stand there and chat with Stiles all night, he knew he couldn’t. Though at least this boded well, and meant that Stiles might start texting him regularly again.

You cook, too? Fuck. Stop being so perfect.

I’m kidding. Don’t stop.

Ok yeah go cook. Talk to you later.

Perfect. No one had called Derek that before. And he knew Stiles was joking, but…god, he wished he wasn’t. He wished he was good enough for someone like Stiles to think he’s perfect.

-*-*-*-

A few days passed with their texts more or less back to their normal frequency and content. Then one morning Derek opened his door on his way out for a jog, and saw a battered, grey SUV pull into his driveway. Hunters usually drove black SUVs, but Derek felt himself tense all the same. Until the driver’s side door opened and Stiles hopped down with more grace than he had exiting that old Jeep of his.

That warmth started spreading through Derek’s chest again, and he took two, slow steps out onto his porch. “Stiles?”

Stiles grinned and gave a salute, then looked like he was just remembering something and dashed around to the back of his vehicle. “I know it’s rude to just show up like this, so I brought a present to make up for it!”

“You didn’t need to do that. I told you, you’re always welcome here.”

“I know, I know. Still.” Hands carefully balancing pale blue box, Stiles trotted up the porch steps to stand in front of Derek. “Here.”

It was key lime pie. One side was smushed a little, probably from shifting around while Stiles drove, but the rest of it was deliciously beautiful. Derek could smell it through the box, and he took a big whiff of the tangy citrus scent. Stiles’ grin somehow grew wider at the action.

“Come inside,” Derek offered, nodding his head back towards the still-open door.

As soon as they were in his kitchen, the pie safely on the counter, Derek was hooking a finger in the front of Stiles’ belt and reeling him in for a kiss. The lips beneath his were slack with shock at first, and then they practically devoured him. Derek let out a small, startled sound as he felt his back suddenly pressed hard against the counter. But then Stiles’ hands were there, gripping Derek’s lower back, pulling him in closer to Stiles and away from the counter’s edge.

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispered against the side of Derek’s face, during a brief pause in their kissing. “You really like key lime pie.”

Derek nearly choked on his snort, and had to lean back and away from Stiles so he could cough and laugh. When he refocused, he saw Stiles’ eyes watching him in something like wonder. “It’s not the pie,” Derek assured.

“So you meant those things you said. About how great you thought I was.”

“Think you are,” corrected Derek. “Know you are.”

He heard Stiles’ heart give an excited skip, watched as Stiles’ tongue ran across his kiss-wet lips. “You, too,” said Stiles. “You’re amazing. Loyal, brave, strong. You’re all those things, too.”

Closing his eyes before Stiles could see them watering, Derek leaned in to give Stiles a slow, gentle kiss. Then he rested his forehead against Stiles’, their noses rubbing together. “You know…my pack’s in need of an emissary.”

Stiles’ grin was blurry from so close, but still gorgeous. “That right?”

“Mm-hmmm. You happen to know any emissary that needs a pack?”