“Five minutes,” Scott said before hanging up.

Stiles tossed his phone on to his bed, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat as he looked at the creature.

The creature looked back at him, his glowing red eyes full of curiosity not rage. They tilted their head slightly, studying Stiles.

“Did you break my window?” Stiles asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

The creature didn’t reply. Their eyes drifted from Stiles to the arm they cradled against their chest.

Stiles stepped forward, careful not to step in the glass.

“Are you hurt?” Stiles asked.

The creature looked up at him, pausing for a moment before moving his arm away from his chest. He held it out, the silver moonlight gleaming as it caught the shards of glass embedded in his arm and illuminated the streams of blood that coursed down his arm.

Stiles winced, swallowing against the bile that rose into his throat.

“Okay,” he said quietly, talking slowly and accentuating his words. “If you come inside and promise not to hurt me, I can help you.”

The creature shuffled forward across the bough.

It was almost human in its build, aside from the jagged claws, thick fur on its arms and torso. Their ears were drawn to a point and the structure of their face seemed human but altered; harsh features, fangs, heavy brow bones that made their eyes seem sunken, and thick sideburns that ran along their jaw. Their body was built, firm muscles beneath tan skin. Faint scars covered their arms, back and torso.

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered encouragingly. “I won’t hurt you.”

The creature froze as the rumble of an engine drew near, retreating back into the shadows as the car pulled up in front of the house.

Stiles let out a frustrated sigh.

“Stiles,” Scott called out from downstairs as he made his way up to Stiles’ room. “This had better be good.”

Scott stepped into the doorway, freezing as his eyes fell on the broken window and the shattered glass that was scattered across the floor.

“What happened?” Scott asked.

“Something broke my window.”

“Have you called your dad?” Scott asked, taking a step closer. “Did you report this?”

“No,” Stiles answered. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how to explain this,” Stiles said, nodding towards the tree.

Scott stepped over to Stiles’ side, looking out the window at the creature in the tree.

“What the fuck?” Scott whispered.

“I don’t know,” Stiles whispered. “But he’s hurt.”

“He?” Scott asked. “How do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

“He’s naked and packing,” Stiles answered.

Scott levelled Stiles with an exasperated look. “What do we do?”

“You’re the one with veterinary training,” Stiles said.

“I’ll go get the First Aid kit,” Scott said. He paused, looking down at the glass. “And a broom. See if you can get him inside.”

Stiles waited until Scott was out of the room before turning back to the creature. He set his baseball bat down, letting it lean against his bed as he took another step closer to the window.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “We can help you. You just need to come inside.”

The creature tilted his head slightly, watching Stiles with curiosity and scepticism.

“You’re bleeding,” Stiles pointed out, accentuating his words. “We can help you.”

The creature looked down at its arm, the blood streaming across his skin. He turned back to Stiles, his brow furrowing as he seemed to think it over.

He shuffled down the branch towards the window.

“Wait,” Stiles said.

He grabbed a sweatshirt from where he’d tossed it on the floor, wrapping it around his fist as he stepped over to the window and punched out the last of the glass. He cleared away the last fo the glass and unfurled the sweatshirt, laying it over the window to protect the creature from any broken glass.

He grabbed a blanket off the bed and used it to clear away the glass on the floor.

“There we go,” he said, taking a step back from the window.

The creature edged closer to the window, reaching out and pressing his palm against the window sill as if to test it. He cautiously crawled forward, clambering into Stiles’ room.

“There we are,” Stiles said.

He looked around.

“Why don’t you sit on the bed?” Stiles suggested, gesturing towards the bed.

The creature looked from Stiles to the bed.

“It’s safe,” Stiles promised, shuffling over to the edge of his bed. He sat down and patted the spot next to him. “See?”

The creature stepped around him, climbing up onto the bed and crouching on the mattress.

“There you go,” Stiles said encouragingly.

The creature looked at Stiles curiously, slowly leaning forward. I brought its face close to Stiles.

“Please don’t bite me,” Stiles said, pulling away from the creature.

The creature backed up, a look of sadness passing over his face as he glanced away from Stiles.

“I’m turning on the light,” Scott said as he stepped into the doorway. He flicked on the switch.

The creature flinched, wincing as the harsh light burnt his eyes. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the light.

Scott grabbed Stiles’ desk chair and pulled it over to the side of the bed, setting down the First Aid kit as he looked at the creature’s arm.

“You weren’t kidding,” Scott mused. “That looks bad.”

Scott looked up at the creature, trying to hide his fear as he held out a hand.

“Can I see your arm?” he asked.

The creature looked from Scott to Stiles.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said reassuringly. “You can trust him.”

The creature shuffled forward, holding out his bleeding arm.

Scott looked it over.

“I need to get the glass out,” he told the creature. “It may hurt a bit.”

The creature didn’t respond.

Scott cautiously reached for one of the larger shards. He pulled at.

The creature pulled their arm back. They lunged forward, growling and baring their fangs at Scott.

Scott reared back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stiles said, reaching in between them. “It’s alright. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The creature settled, sitting back on the bed and holding their arm out to Scott.

Scott reached forward again, pulling a shard of glass from the creature’s arm.

The creature winced, but didn’t pull away.

“Do you understand us?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked at the creature.

The creature just stared back at him.

“Do you have a name?” Stiles asked.

The creature didn’t reply.

“Buddy?” Stiles guessed, watching the creature’s reactions. “Spot? Rocky? Dexter? Ziggy? Fluffy?”

The creature let out a low growl.

“Maybe he has a human name?” Scott suggested.

“Toby?” Stiles guessed. “Charlie? Noah? Oliver? Eric?”

The creature sat upright, looking at Stiles attentively.

“Eric?” Stiles repeated.

The creature dropped his head.

“Okay, not Eric. But it sounds like Eric?” Stiles surmised. “Derek?”

The creature looked up at him, his glowing red eyes shocked.

“Derek,” Stiles repeated.

The creature didn’t look away.

“Okay, we have a name,” Stiles said, a triumphant smile turning up the corners of his lips.

“If he has a human name, do you think he was once human?” Scott asked.

“What does that make him now, a mutant? Cursed? A werewolf?”  

“I don’t know,” Scott replied, focusing on stitching the gashes in the creature’s arm.

He cleared away the last of the blood that streamed down Derek’s forearm before wrapping a bandage around his arm and pinning it in place.

He sat back, looking at Stiles. “He came here. He tried to get in through your bedroom window—not a door or any other window. He’s calm around you and listens to you. It has to mean something.”

“You think he came here for me?” Stiles asked, glancing between Scott and Derek.

“Maybe he is cursed and only true love’s kiss will turn him back,” Scott said teasingly.

Stiles levelled him with an exasperated look.

“There’s one way to find out,” Scott said. “And I’m not kissing him.”

Stiles looked at Derek, the creature raising his brow in return as if to challenge him. He let out a heavy sigh, glancing back at Scott quickly.

“Whether this works or not, we never talk about this again?”

Scott nodded.

Stiles leant forward, bringing his lips to the corner of Derek’s mouth in a tender, chaste kiss.

He sat back, watching as Derek’s features slowly morphed; his claws retracted to nails, his sideburns thinning out to a soft beard that cast a shadow across his jaw. The red glow of his eyes faded as his wide-set eyes returned to their natural hue, the colour of his irises shifted in the light; from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused.

His face was familiar; a few years older than the last time he’d seen him, but he’d remember him anywhere.

Derek Hale.

“Holy shit,” Stiles uttered, unable to look away from Derek.

“It actually worked,” Scott said, stunned.

Derek held his hands out before him, turning them over as he looked at them. A smile turned up the corners of his mouth as glanced up at Stiles—a smile without fangs.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, the deep sound of his voice shocking Stiles. He looked down at himself again, glancing up quickly as his cheeks flushed bright red. “Could I, uh.. Could I borrow some clothes?”

“Huh?” Stiles shook himself from his trance, remembering Derek was sitting in front of him—naked. “Oh, right.”

He clambered off his bed, digging through his drawers as he pulled out a pair of pants and one of his dad’s old shirts—one that was too big for him but might just fit Derek.

“I’m gonna go,” Scott ventured, packing up the First Aid kit and returning the chair to Stiles’ desk before leaving the room. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Scott,” Derek called after him.

Scott paused in the doorway, turning back to Derek.

“Thank you.”

Scott offered him a friendly smile before leaving.

“I’m just going to face this way,” Stiles said, turning his back to Derek.

He heart the rustling of fabric as Derek got dressed.

“I’m decent,” he said after a while.

Stiles turned around, looking down at the glass on his bedroom floor.

“Stay there,” he said. “I’ll clean this up.”

He grabbed the broom from where it leant against the wall in the hallway—Scott had brought it up when he went to get the First Aid kit. He swept up the glass, shaking out the blanket and sweatshirt before tossing them in the wash basket.

“I’ll replace the window,” Derek said, looking at Stiles apologetically.

Stiles finished cleaning up.

He turned to look at Derek, his mouth moving around works that never made it to his lips.

Finally, he was able to string together a question. “How long were you—?”

“Feral?” Derek finished. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“How did it happen?” Stiles asked.

“It wasn’t a curse if that’s what you’re wondering,” Derek answered. “You were right in guessing werewolf, though.”

Derek let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the wall.

“It’s hard to explain, but werewolves have anchors—a person, memory or emotion that keeps you grounded and your human side in control. My anchor used to me my family, but…” His voice trailed off.

“The fire,” Stiles said, piecing things together.

Derek bowed his head. “After I lost them, I was left without an anchor and I could feel my control over my power slip. I don’t know when, but I lost control.”

“What’s different now?” Stiles asked.

“Now I have an anchor,” Derek said, looking up at Stiles.

A wave of realisation crashed over Stiles, his eyes flying open wide.

“Don’t worry, it’s not some creepy bonding thing,” Derek said, a hint of an amused smile turning up the corner of his lips. “It’s a memory. From years ago.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion.

“When I was younger, I was out with my mum and I got lost. Somehow I made my way to the police station and your dad was able to call my mum. But, all the while, I was terrified. You sat with me and talked to. You made me feel safe. And when my mum showed up, you—”

“I kissed you goodbye,” Stiles finished, a smile played across his lips as he remembered.

“That day I learnt I wasn’t alone,” Derek explained. “That’s what I needed to remember.”

“You’re never alone, Derek,” Stiles said softly. “You never were, and you never will be.”

Derek looped up at Stiles, the man’s gaze sending Stiles’ stomach aflutter.

“Get some sleep,” Stiles said, stepping towards the door.

Derek’s brow furrowed as he looked at Stiles sceptically. “In your bed?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Stiles volunteered. “And in the morning, you’re fixing that window.”

Derek let out a low chuckle. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight, Derek,” Stiles replied, switching off the light.