#pre sterek

He’s not sure when he picked it up. Sure, he cooked for him and his dad during high school and maybe even before then. Mom’s death had left more holes than they’d had patches to mend them with. But it wasn’t really until after high school when they’d all moved into a house for university (dorms were awful and they’re all sworn to secrecy to never speak of the broken bunk bed incident) that Stiles ever really got into cooking at all.

It went from something needed for survival to something Stiles could do to provide for the wolves. And yeah, maybe it reminded him of summer afternoons in the kitchen with his mother, putting in way too many chocolate chips into the cookies. He’d always insisted on making his ‘secret recipe’ which was chocolate chip cookies with regular, white and butterscotch chips in them.

His mother would always chuckle and say he’d ruin his dinner. But she’d always let him do it anyways.

Somewhere between making food at 2am for packmates who have been too worried about studying to eat, and breakups that required some secret recipe cookies… it became something much more. Cooking became therapy. Stiles could just push and push the dough until it was a hapless lump and then pound it out again.

So this is how he copes. When things get bad and even denial can’t stop his thoughts from terrorizing him: Stiles bakes. He bakes and he cooks and he dirties all the dishes and sometimes just can’t seem to stop, lost in a trance of it all. There was a memorable time, a year ago now, when his father had been shot and Stiles had baked so many things that not only did they have muffins for the entire station and the the nurses taking care of his dad, but the pack too. And Deaton’s office. And Lydia’s work.

So now, when isaac walks into Stiles and Scott’s apartment and sees Stiles, shirtless and rolling out dough at four AM, he panics.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I came home to him like this five hours ago. He hasn’t said a word.”

“I’m calling Derek.” Isaac says, noting the dark shadows under Scott’s eyes. He knows that he's has a long day, full of surgeries at the vet, and Isaac is already dragging him to the bedroom while he dials.

It’s early in the morning, and they can’t really leave Stiles alone when he’s like this, the longer it goes on the more likely he is to doing something reckless.

“I gotta-“ Scott complains but it doesn’t take much for Isaac to bully him into undressing and climbing onto the bed. The blonde sits on the mattress, one hand stroking Scott’s hair while he waits for Derek to pick up.

“Isaac? What’s wrong?” Derek’s voice is raspy with sleep.

“Stiles is baking. And Scott has been trying to get to him for a while.”

“Didn’t Scott have a double shift today?”

“Yeah, well— yesterday now.”

“How bad is it?” Isaac scents the air, glancing down at an already sleeping Scott. “Cookies by the smells of it.”

“I’ll be right there.” Isaac hangs up slowly, taking his time in tucking Scott in. He keeps an ear out for Stiles, but out of need to keep his pack safe, Isaac reluctantly pulls himself away from Scott to go check on him.

“Stiles?” No response. Isaac sighs heavily. He’s tired as well. He had a night shift, and it’s the only reason he’s awake now, because he sleeps during the day most of the time. The man doesn’t so much as acknowledge him. “Hey. It’s time for bed.” He says softly. He comes as close as he dares, giving Stiles ample room to turn around and almost hit him with the cookie sheet in his hands.

Stiles hands are white at the knuckles from gripping it so hard, his brows are knit tight and his jaw is set. His scent is so messed up with the cloying musk of anxiety that everything else about him is swallowed whole by it. Isaac can’t tell what’s wrong, and it makes his own instinct whine at it.

“Stiles.” He calls again. In defeat Isaac slumps into Scott’s spot on the couch until Derek comes in.

Isaac can sense the moment the alpha has pulled up to the building, and he's half dozed off before Derek even comes into the apartment.

“Go to bed, Isaac.” Derek says softly, rubbing a hand over Isaac’s neck. The blonde man is down the hall with Scott, already sleeping by the time Derek is shrugged out of his coat. He slips off his shoes, as is Stiles’ policy around the apartment (no one ever really follows it though).

Stiles is currently staring down at the fifth sheet of cookies. These ones are different, double chocolate instead of the regular chocolate chip. He’s gripping the metal hard. There’s no way he didn’t hear Derek come in. They both know this. But he keeps his back to Derek, just as he did Scott and Isaac. Because looking at them, trying to say what happened… it’ll break the dam.

Derek leans on the kitchen island, the countertop beside the oven is already full, as is the stovetop itself. He crosses his arms and gives Stiles all the time he needs. There’s nowhere else to put that tray except for where he’s blocking.

“Stiles.” He rumbles softly, eyes flashing red. They’ve done this so many times that it’s almost textbook by now. Derek watches the way the man’s shoulders pull tight, how his scent gets heavier with sweat.

Stiles turns, jaw tight and eyes cast down at his cookies. He moves around Derek, setting down the tray loudly.

Derek doesn’t say anything else. He carefully ensnares Stiles in a loose hug. One that even a human child could squirm out of. Stiles doesn’t pull away though, just stands still in the loop of Derek’s hold.

“Hey.” He says softly, and waits Stiles out. Derek only looks away long enough to make sure that nothing in the oven will burn. Eventually Stiles steps closer. Like there’s magnet in his chest pulling him into Derek.

He doesn’t say anything, but then again he doesn’t have to. Instead Stiles lets himself be reeled in, now that he’s made the nonverbal okay with his step forward, he lets Derek’s arms swallow him. They don’t suffocate, but they press like iron bands around him. Secure, safe.

In this place, he’s safe. He’s fine. Nothing can get him, not even the grief that’s drowning him.

Derek presses his nose into Stiles’s hair, then his ear and down to his neck. “What happened?” He asks so quietly that it’s barely verbal.

Stiles lets Derek scent him, can feel the tenseness in his alpha when he manages to dig out the grief under all of the anxiety. Stiles drops his forehead on Derek’s shoulder.

He breathes in deeply, lets the smell of Derek’s aftershave ground him. It’s a subtle soap and lavender mix. Stiles knows because he made it for him, something that wouldn’t affect their sensitive wolf noses.

He remembers his mentor, she was an old woman and he’d never thought he’d see anyone but his dad as a parental figure. But she filled a void in him he’d never known he’d had.

“You have a grand gift. If that silly ‘Deaton’ doesn’t see it, then that’s his loss. A spark like yours is rare.” She’d said after their first meeting. In the past three years he’d learned more from her than any book legend or spell could.

She lived out in the middle of nowhere, but she ran a shop near UCLA for tourists to support herself. He’d only wandered in out of curiosity. Stiles remembers like it was yesterday, not three and a half years ago.

She stood tall, and had a walking stick that she’d used to smack Stiles with more than once. He’d never thought he’d miss the feeling of bruises on his sides. They had the same humor, dryer than the desert, though she was. She’s always have her hair in a knot of braids. Sometimes stiles would wonder if she ever took them out or if she’d just put them in one day and never took them out for the next decade.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is more of a feeling than a sound from where he’s pressed into the alphas chest. The wolf nudges his jaw with his nose.

“Maggie is gone.” He manages to whisper.

It feels like Stiles is an ocean in that moment and Derek can do nothing but let the wave of grief pull him asunder and throw him into its depths. He can hardly breathe, feels like his heart has been ripped out and thrown into the ocean with the rest of him.

Magnolia Aimes was a… well Derek was never sure what she was exactly, only that she was one of the most amazing woman he’d ever met. She was the kindest person, selfless and she’d tell you like it was, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She was Stiles’ mentor for all of this spark stuff that Derek didn’t really understand, not enough to teach Stiles learn anything of value.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, he knows better than anyone that it doesn’t help but it’s also the only thing he can think to say.

Stiles’ breath rushes out of him and he slumps into Derek. He doesn’t reply, just presses further into Derek’s chest. His cheeks are unabashedly wet, fingers digging tight into Derek’s shirt as if the alpha would move away now.

“I--”

“I know.” Derek says. He holds one hand on the back of Stiles’ head, the other rubbing his back. “Let it out, it’s alright.”

In the quiet of the kitchen, Stiles breaks. He shatters his pieces in Derek’s arms and embeds  himself into the alpha’s skin. They stand there for a long time, crying and hiccoughing until the air is too heavy to draw in evenly and their eyes are dry.

“Is there anything we need to do, for her?” Derek asks softly when he deems it safe. Stiles nods, pulling away and turning around so his back is to Derek. His shoulders move with every heavy breath he takes, trying to calm himself.

“I’ll have to make arrangements.” He says.

“We need to make arrangements.” Derek amends.

Stiles looks over his shoulder with a small smile. “We will. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Derek agrees. “Right now you should sleep.”

“Are you staying?”

Derek looks at the cookies and muffins and other baked goods taking up every conceivable place in the small kitchen. He smiles a little, looking back up to Stiles. He finds it funny how Stiles still thinks Derek could ever say no to him.

“If you want me to.” He says. Stiles swallows slowly, dropping his eyes back to his hands that clasp each other nervously. “Do you want me to stay, Stiles?” Derek asks.

“I--” He looks back up to Derek like he’s searching for something. He must find what he’s looking for, because Stiles gives him one of his rare, small and genuine smiles. “Yeah.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

Stiles leads him to his bedroom, as if Derek didn’t already know where it was. He enters it with familiarity, trailing his fingers over the door before closing it behind them. Stiles hasn’t moved into the room farther than the door.

Derek moves around him, to the dresser and pulling out the sweats he knows are in the bottom left drawer. He pulls off his shirt, and gets ready for bed. Stiles stays by the door, eyes fogged with memories.

“C’mon, bedtime.” Derek says softly, drawing back Stiles to the present. He pulls off Stiles’ clothes and helps him into the sweat pants he’d pulled. Then he’s leading Stiles to bed, tucking him in one side and crawling into the other.

“She was like the grandmother I never had.” He says just before Derek nodded off. Derek hums softly, drawing small shapes on Stiles’ shoulder blade while the spark talks. He’s laid on Derek’s chest, one hand over the alpha’s heart and the other dropped around his waist. “I didn’t realize there was a hole there until she filled it. Maggie was… She was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“Only one?” Derek asks, smiling a little.

“Shut up.” Stiles mutters, smiling into Derek’s shoulder a little. The smile dies quick though. “She made me realize I wasn’t helpless.”

“You’ve never been helpless.”

Stiles hums something but doesn't reply. He doesn’t have to though, because Derek can feel more than hear how his heart jumps.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be as good as she was at those mirror paintings she would make. The ones where you scry the place and then freeze it to the glass? I was going to make her one for her birthday…” He says softly.

“I remember. She gave me one last year on Halloween.” Derek says, thinking back to the beautiful scenery. It looked like she’d just snapped a picture with the world’s highest quality camera, a mountain range with a pack of wolves creeping up the edges in the moonlight. It was a gorgeous piece, and was hanging in the living room back at the loft.

“I bet she has hundreds of them in that old house. I don’t know what we’re going to do with them now.”

“Did she have any family?”

“No, or if she did she never spoke about them. Her parents died when she was young.” He sighs heavily and Derek presses his face against Stiles’ hair. Stiles hums loudly, cuddling closer. “You’re like a space heater.”

Derek chuckles, trailing his fingers over one of the small tattoos on Stiles back. They hum faintly with magic, he can feel the small vibrations with his fingertips. Stiles presses into the fingers, closing his eyes.

“You like it though.”

“I do.” Stiles agrees, pressing his icy feet against Derek’s legs. “I like it very much.”

“Sleep.” Derek says, pressing one last smile into Stiles’ hair. In the morning (afternoon, as it’s nearly five or six by now) they will have to start the sadly familiar steps to figuring out what to do with Maggie’s body and contact the Elder Council about her passing. Derek knows it won’t be easy on any of the pack, they all loved her in their own small ways.