#sbworks

Regardless, Derek has spent a long time looking at his words and thinking about his soulmate. But it’s his younger sister’s soulmark that helps Derek grow, that helps him find the career that he happily dedicated his life to.

Or rather, it’s her lack of one.

Everyone knows the statistics of the people who never get a soulmark, or of those who get one much later in life. It’s lead to tons of research, outpourings of support groups, and an anti-soulmark rhetoric that questions the validity of the marks themselves. But Derek hadn’t really considered the implications of being unmarked until Cora becomes one of those statistics and he sees firsthand how her self worth diminishes as her skin stays bare. In an effort to help support his sister, he takes his passion for art and finds a different kind of canvas.

And he loves it. He loves giving people tattoos, painting their bodies with images and words that they choose for themselves. It speaks to him the same way that his own mark does, with a sense of rightness that he can’t deny. When Cora graduates, she joins Derek and two of his closest friends at his shop as his piercing expert. Together they make the tattoo parlor, Unmarked, flourish, and each of them with it.

Cora covers her arms and legs in artwork until she stops feeling less than for not having a soulmark and starts feeling powerful being herself. Isaac’s hands, unsteady from years of abuse, become controlled and confident, and he covers his scars with colors that he isn’t ashamed to show off. Erica tattoos the word ‘beautiful’ across her knuckles and embodies it, learning to love herself and who she has become. And Derek is happy. He has a shop that means more than just tattoos, a strong group of unwavering friends, and a sleeve of artwork that was drawn up and done by the people that he loves the most.

Even so, none of his tattoos mean quite as much as the two words written in his soulmate’s scrawl.

———-

Derek sets his sketch book to the side when the door of the shop is tugged open. Two college-aged kids stumble in out of the rain.

The shorter of the boys shoots Derek an apologetic look, before wiping his feet and approaching the counter. “Sorry about getting the floor wet,” the boy says when he reaches the counter.

Derek is grateful for the apology and for the fact that they didn’t just duck into the shop as a means of escape from the summer storm. When he smiles up at him from where he is sitting, the smile is genuine. “No worries. What can I help you with today?”

The response elicits a bright smile from the man, who introduces himself as ‘Scott’ and then launches into a detailed description of the tattoo that he’s been wanting to get done since he graduated high school. The design is simple enough, not anything that Derek’s too worried about, and when Scott starts explaining the significance behind the tattoo, Derek should be paying attention. Normally hearing people talk about why they want something permanently etched on their skin, whether it’s something that holds a lot of personal meaning for them or because they think it’s ‘just something pretty,’ is his favorite part of a consultation. But he keeps getting distracted by Scott’s companion.

With a lithe body and bright eyes, the other boy is all energy. He lingers on the edge of the room, looking at the tattoos displayed in frames along the wall. With unconscious abandon, the boy moves from frame to frame, running his fingers over the glass and examining each piece of art with interest. At an image of a tiger, he bears his teeth. At one drawing of a small bluebird, he coos.

Derek can’t keep his eyes off of him, and he doesn’t want to. There’s something about him that’s captivating, and Derek can’t decide if his electric movement makes him annoyed or aroused. All the same, his attention is caught.

It’s Erica’s laugher from the back room that finally breaks his captivation. He clears his throat, interrupting Scott’s explanation, and asks, “Do you want something too, or are you just going to keep touching everything?”

The energy in the room freezes as both boys turn to look at Derek with mouths open wide. Licking at his lips, the boy breathes out, “Marry Me,” in a voice full of wonder.

Derek’s muscles lock. Erica is still laughing at whatever Isaac is telling her, but he can’t hear them anymore. His whole world has narrowed down to whiskey eyes, pale skin, and bitten pink lips.

“I-.” The boy licks his lips again, before laughing in a way that sounds almost hysterical. “Oh shit, that’s what your mark says?” His cheeks color as he rubs the back of his head. “I spent a long time trying to come up with something wonderful to tell my soulmate when I met them, but I guess my lack of filter ruined my plans. Of course I would propose to my soulmate as soon as we met.” His fingers curl around locks of his hair and he tugs at them harder than he probably should.

Derek smiles in a gentle way. “Hey, I think it’s perfect.”

Scott beams at him, and his soulmate stumbles closer to the counter. Composing himself, Derek reaches out one hand and states, “My name is Derek.”

The man smiles wider and takes his hand. “I’m Stiles.” His hand is warm.

———

Erica laughs forever when she finds out what Stiles’ mark says. She states that it suits Derek, demanding something from his soulmate before they’ve even met. Isaac keeps his amusement to himself, though he relays all of the information to Derek’s sisters through text, so really he isn’t any better.

Finally, Derek leaves Scott in their hands to go over his tattoo, and takes Stiles to the coffee shop across the street. For as much time that Derek spent imagining what his soulmate would be like, he never really came close to the truth. Stiles is so much more, more impassioned, more energetic, and so bright. He laughs freely, leads the conversation when the words get stuck in Derek’s throat, and Derek thinks that he’s beautiful. A part of him had been worried that they wouldn’t get along, that Derek would end up with someone who just didn’t fit, but the conversation flows easy. It gives Derek a rush he hasn’t felt in a long time.

It feels like no time has passed when Scott walks up to their table with a big smile and bright eyes. “Hey guys, I’m all done at the shop.”

Stiles blinks up at him as if coming out of a daze. “Hey. Did the consultation go okay?”

His smile widens. “Dude, the tattoo is done. Isaac had a free slot, and seeing as you were tied up here, I figured I might as well get it done.”

Derek jolts. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing, let alone the bandage wrapped around Scott’s bicep. When he checks the time, he curses. What felt like fifteen minutes with Stiles was actually almost two hours. And Derek has appointments of his own to get done.

Scott sees his expression and laughs. “Erica bet you would look like that. She told the girl that came in for her appointment that you found your soulmate as an excuse for your tardiness, but told me to let you know that you better get your ass over there.”

He sighs. As much as he doesn’t want to leave Stiles alone, he has work to do. It makes him feel a little better when he glances at his soulmate and sees how upset he looks at the prospect of having to say goodbye.

But then Stiles seems to steel himself. “What time do you get off?”

Derek’s answering grin is huge. “I have two appointments today, then I’m all yours.”

“I like the way that sounds,” Stiles mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for Derek to make out the words. The statement makes Derek feel brave.

He takes Stiles’ hand across the table. “You wanna hang out at the shop until I’m done? It might not be the most fun but-,” he trails off. It seems presumptuous to finish his thought. Then he thinks about the words on his chest and decides to go all the way. “But I’ll be there.”

Stiles is on his feet and pulling at Derek’s arm before he has a chance to find his bearings. “Well what are we waiting for then?”

Scott rolls his eyes at his friend’s exuberance and takes a step back. “You guys have fun. I need to head out, If you need anything Stiles, give me a call.”

Stiles waves him away without sparing him a glance. As they exit the cafe, his grip on Derek’s hand tightens. He stops before they get to the tattoo parlor though, drawing closer to Derek’s chest. “Before we go in, can I just-? It might be too soon, but I want-. Just-.”

He makes a complicated noise, then surges forward, slotting their lips together. Despite the frantic way Stiles brought them together, the kiss is gentle awe, a question and an answer at once. Derek groans into it, unable to help himself, and tugs Stiles closer, curling his arms around his waist to keep them pressed chest to chest. When Stiles laughs into the kiss, Derek’s heart soars.

“Mm,” Stiles says when they pull apart. His gaze is hazy and glazed over. It makes Derek preen.

“Come on.” Folding their hands together, he leads Stiles back into his shop. Erica is perched at the front desk, talking to a young woman lounging on the couch. Both women grin up at Derek when he walks in, delightful mischief making their eyes bright. In turn, Derek rolls his eyes at them. “Stiles is going to wait for me here at the shop, if that’s okay.”

Erica’s smile widens. “Don’t worry Der, I’ll keep Stiles company while you work.”

The girl on the couch snorts and gets to her feet. “I think Derek wants to keep this one, Erica, not scar him for life.” She lays her hand on Derek’s shoulder and grins in a way that’s sharper than the blonde’s smirk. “I’ll keep him company, Derek.”

He groans, and makes the introduction. “Stiles, this is my younger sister, Cora, who will in no way try and intimidate or threaten you while I work.” He raises one eyebrow in his sister’s direction.

Stiles laughs, a bright sound that breaks the stand off the siblings were engaged in. They both turn to him with confused expressions. He leans in and kisses Derek’s cheek before pulling his hand away and stepping behind Cora. “Don’t worry, Der.” The adoption of Derek’s nickname makes him shiver. “I’m sure everything here is going to be fine.” His eyes gleam, smile turning sly. “Maybe your sister can fill me in on some of your embarrassing childhood stories.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but seeing the way that Cora brightens makes something warm curl in his chest. As wonderful as it was finding Stiles and getting to know his soulmate, there was a part of Derek that was worried about how Cora would react. But he supposes it would make sense that Stiles would get along with her; after all, he wouldn’t be Derek’s soulmate if they ended up hating each other.

“Nicky is in the back with Isaac. Go get your work done, Derek. Stiles will still be here when you’re done, I promise.”

He nods, gives Stiles a lingering look, and then he heads to the back. Nicky, one of his regulars, grins up at him when he comes in, and coos at his flushed cheeks. He flips her off, hiding a grin when she breaks into laughter, and starts gathering everything to get her piece done.

Isaac hangs out in the back with them for a while before heading to the front. Derek can hear everyone laughing, can tell that they’re getting along well, and it makes him feel warm and content. Every so often, Nicky shoots him a fond look and a bright smile, which he rolls his eyes at, but there’s a warmth in his chest that won’t go away.

He thinks about the pain that accompanied the mark’s craving, how despite the tears that he endured, how his mom reassured him that it would be worth it. He thinks about the guilt he felt trying to deal with the fact that he had a mark when his younger sister didn’t, and how it took years of therapy for him to overcome that guilt and look forward to having a soulmate again. He thinks about how now, even though he has only just met Stiles and even though they still have a long way to go before they know each other completely, how he can’t imagine not having him there at his side. He looks forward to finding everything about the younger man out, looks forward to being able to stand at his side as they grow older. And it’s scary, but going back into the front of the shop, watching how at home Stiles seems with Derek’s friends, Derek isn’t scared. Mostly he’s just excited about what more he’ll find.

As Nicky leaves the shop, Cora rises and presses against Derek’s side where he’s standing watching as Stiles recounts a story about how he met Scott when they were in kindergarten. The expression on her face is softer than he’s used to, but he simply loops an arm around her shoulders without commenting on it.

Stiles glances over at them, smiles wide, and continues his story while everyone listens on. After a drawn out moment, Cora jabs her brother’s side. “He’s a good one,” she mutters under her breath, barely loud enough for Derek to hear her.

Derek smiles softly in response, feeling much too domestic. “Yeah, I think so too.”

“I’m happy that you’ve found him.”

When a pregnant omega had shown up half dead on Deaton’s doorstep the vet had done everything he could to save her and the child she was carrying. He’d only been half successful and even then it had been close. The baby was early and if she wasn’t a werewolf cub the chances of her making it would have been lower than Derek likes to contemplate. Still, she pulled through and today she is officially three weeks old and weighs a whole five pounds.

Werewolf or not, Derek is constantly terrified he’ll break her. Honestly, he’s been terrified since Deaton put her in his arms two days ago. Maybe even since he looked down at that sweet little face for the first time and told Deaton not to reach out to any other packs to find a place for her. She was an orphaned cub in his territory and despite his fear something slotted into place in his chest when he’d said, “I’ll take her.”

Of course he has no idea what he’s doing and has spent every available second of the last couple weeks memorizing how to take care of your baby books and getting the nursery in order. The pack has been unbelievably supportive. Isaac and Boyd took care of painting the room and assembling all the furniture while Erica and Lydia gleefully took his credit card to purchase a truly staggering amount of baby clothes and necessities. Scott has been working with his Mom and the Sheriff to get all her paperwork in order. Kira and Allison have happily offered to babysit anytime he needs a break, and all of them have been in and out just to help out ever since he brought her home.

Then there’s Stiles…

Sitles who sat beside her incubator at the vet clinic for hours every day reading Batman comics or text on ancient runes or the newspaper to her because Deaton said it would help for her to know someone was there. That she wasn’t alone. Stiles who presses his nose into the downy red mop on her head and just breathes her in. Scenting her so she’ll know she belongs. Stiles who tucks her into the crook of his arm and sings to her so softly when he rocks her to sleep. Who is the only person who has coaxed a smile from her.

Stiles who is currently slouched in the rocking chair in the corner with a tiny stream of drool on his chin. Derek can’t help the tiny snort he lets out and Stiles immediately flails, eyes shooting directly to Maggie’s crib before he spots Derek next to the window.

“Is she ok?” Stiles whispers, wiping his face and stretching as he gets out of the chair and comes towards them.

Derek glances down at her, his daughter, and his heart threatens to burst. “Yeah,” he answers just as quietly. “She’s been a little fussy, but that’s to be expected.” It’s her first full moon, and while Deaton assures them she won’t actually be able to shift until she’s a bit older or even flash her eyes while she’s still so weak, she can still feel it’s pull.

Stiles reaches his side and touches his index finger to one of Maggie’s little hands where she’s struggled them loose of her blanket. Instantly, she takes it into her grip and Stiles grins. “She’s getting stronger everyday.”

Derek smiles and just can’t tear his gaze away from those tiny little fingers wrapped around Stiles’ larger one. “She is. She’ll be ready to spend the full moon out with the rest of us in no time.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, she’ll mostly stay with you,” Derek flushes, realizing he’s just assuming Stiles would want to stay with her on full moons and quickly stammers out, “...or Allison or Lydia. If one of you is coming out with us that is.” He clears his throat and looks out at the moon. It’s a clear night and he can see almost as well as if it were high noon. He watches the wolves of their pack darting amongst the trees. Probably playing tag while they wait for the moon to reach it’s zenith.

“You hear that little wolf? You get to hang out with me while your dad goes running with your aunts and uncles. I’ll teach you the proper way to roast marshmallows. None of that lightly toasted nonsense your Aunt Lydia is always going on about.” Stiles glances up and seems startled to find Derek’s eyes on him. Like he’d been so engrossed talking to Maggie that he’d forgotten Derek was there. Dark shadows fan out across his cheeks when he drops his eyes again to Maggie’s face then to the window. “Is it almost time?”

“Yeah. We should probably head down.” Stiles moves before Derek’s even finished talking to pick up the the littlest pair of coveralls and jacket on the planet. Together they get all of Maggie’s limbs where they’re supposed to go and once she’s all bundled she looks nearly three times her size.

“Oh wait,” Stiles says before turning to pull something out of the backpack he’d tossed next to the closet when he’d arrived earlier. “I..uh, got her a first full moon gift.” In his hands is an adorable little lavender beanie with a cartoon wolf embroidered on the front. “I hope that’s ok.”

“Of course it’s ok, even though you didn’t have to.” Derek says as he takes the cap from Stiles’s fidgeting hands and slips it on Maggie’s head.

“Well, it’s a big deal isn’t it? Baby’s first full moon? Having a new cub in the pack?” Stiles reaches out and smooths the material over Maggie’s head. “I mean, I know I’m not a wolf or,” his voice cracks, “...you know, her parent, but I still want her to be happy. To know...to know that she’s loved.”

Derek’s gaze snaps up just in time to see Stiles flush, but the younger man doesn’t drop his eyes. He just stares steadily back at Derek with his hand still softly cupping the top of Maggie’s head. Derek already knows that he, himself, loves Maggie. He thinks he’s loved her from the moment Deaton led him back through the clinic and he’d walked over to her incubator. The weak scent of cub thick in the room as she’d struggled just to survive. He’d reached inside and placed his hand on her round little belly, offering her an alpha’s scent and comfort, and she’d opened her eyes. He’s been a goner ever since. He just didn’t expect anyone else to fall as hard as he had.

Apparently, he’d been wrong and really he should have realized. Stiles has been ever present and fiercely protective from the second he laid eyes on her. It has become apparent in the years they’ve known each other that while Stiles is cautious to love, once he chooses to love someone there’s no one more loyal. Derek is abruptly, overwhelmingly grateful that Maggie has him in her corner.

He reaches out the arm not cradling Maggie and grips Stiles’s shoulder. “She knows.”

Stiles nods and Derek can see his adam’s apple bob. “We should get out there or we’ll miss it.” Stiles says taking a step back and glancing to the window.

Derek turns to the door, but then stops and looks back to Stiles. “You want to carry her down?”

The answering smile is blinding as Stiles steps forward and gathers the now sleeping cub from Derek. There’s a moment when Derek’s arm is pressed against Stiles’s chest as they transfer her over and he looks up to find Stiles staring back at him. They both freeze, faces scant inches apart. Derek glances down then back up and says softly. “You know, she’s incredibly lucky to have you.”

A small, private smile pulls at the corners of Stiles’s mouth. “You’re going to be a great dad, Derek.” HIs gaze is intense where it’s meeting Derek’s and the warmth blossoming over his skin isn’t just from Stiles’s arm pressing into his stomach from under Maggie’s bottom or the heat radiating from the cub herself.

Maggie shifts and grunts and they both jerk their gazes back to her with little huffs of laughter. Derek disentangles his arm leaving their cub resting against Stiles’s chest. He turns and makes it all the way down the staircase when the thought stops him dead in his tracks.

Their cub.

He’d just thought of Maggie as if she belonged to both of them. Derek and Stiles. Like they’ll be raising her together. Something molten unfurls in his belly, pulls at his insides and he has to reach out and grasp the bannister to keep from stumbling. He turns to see Stiles still about halfway up the stairs, Maggie clasped securely in his arms. He’s rearranged her so that she’s upright with her head tucked under his chin with one strong forearm snug under her bottom and his other hand pressed against her back. He’s whispering to her about all the things she’ll get to see outside and how her pack can’t wait to scent her and welcome her. How she’ll always be protected and loved because he and her daddy will always love her and would never let anything happen to her.

Stiles stops just a couple steps above him and asks, “You ok, man? You kinda look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Stiles.” The word comes out raw and so weighted he’s surprised it doesn’t bear him down to the floor.

Somehow, Stiles seems to understand, even though Derek barely does, and takes the last two steps giving Derek that soft little smile again and taking his hand from Maggie’s back to pat Derek’s chest as he walks by.

Once Derek collects himself and reaches the porch, he finds Stiles standing at the bottom of the steps still cradling Maggie with all the pack surrounding them, each taking turns to run their hands against the back of Maggie’s head down to the tiny bit of neck left exposed between her cap and jacket.

After each of them have taken a turn, Stiles lowers his face to the side of her head and presses the lightest of kisses against her cheek whispering, “I love you my little wolf.”

Derek’s heartbeat triples. When Stiles lifts his gaze to Derek, the alpha moves in close and wraps one arm around Stiles’s waist pulling him close and running his other hand over Maggie from the top of her head down to one tiny foot. He looks Stiles in the eye, but he can still see the half shocked, half smug expressions of the pack around them. He tilts his head, resting his forehead against Stiles’s temple, and quietly asks, “You’re sure?”  

Stiles simply turns his head and presses a warm, chaste kiss against Derek’s mouth.

Derek grins into it before he drops his head back and howls. The betas join in before the last echoes fade and then they’re all jumping and whooping with joy.

“Derek!” Stiles says and jabs an excited elbow into his ribs.

Derek looks down to see little golden beta orbs gazing at him. Maggie’s eyes are open wide and she’s making a little grunting “uh-uh” sound and squirming against Stiles’s chest. He lets his eyes bleed alpha red and scoops her up, carefully cradling her head, and presses his face to hers while a pleased rumble boils up out of his chest.  

“This is your pack, Margaret Laura Stilinski-Hale and we’re so happy to have you.” Derek tells her. She coos at him and he presses kisses all over her face before passing her to Scott who is dancing around beside him like he’ll die if he doesn’t get to hold her soon. As soon as she’s in Scott’s arms the others converge on them and Derek takes a step back to where Stiles is wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

“Okay?” Derek asks him as he pulls him close and buries his face in the side of Stiles’s throat like he’s ached to do for ages.

The man’s body freezes again. This time he stops and examines Stiles closely for a drawn out moment that makes the younger man squirm before his muscles unclench. “I’m sorry too. For getting so mad. I assume that you’re not from around here, so it would make sense that you see no threat from the storm.” The man swipes at his face and tries to explain. “The freezing water may feel refreshing at first, but all too quickly the cold can seep into your bones. I’ve watched too many people be taken by illnesses brought on from the rain, warriors much larger than yourself who didn’t think that a little water could do them much harm.”

Stiles’ mind reels with the new information. He always knew that it was ill advised to spend a lot of time in the rain, but he was never allowed to play in it. He had just been happy for the opportunity, not considering the consequences in the slightest. His dad would be so upset with him.

One thing sticks in his mind, and he looks up at the man in surprise. “Wait, you said you watched many warriors fall? You’re a soldier?” If this man is a soldier, even if he isn’t part of the guard Elite, Stiles’ identity and mission in town is compromised. He takes a small step back towards the door, almost willing to risk the rain if it means escape, but the man’s mouth just quirks into a smile, one that is anything but friendly.

“Not anymore. It’s been many years since anyone has called me that.”

Stiles feels himself relax. Though there is still a slight risk of exposure, he has not given any indication that he knows who Stiles is. Perhaps if he did, the man would be more reluctant to yell at him. He wants to ask more questions about the stranger’s involvement in the King’s military, but he can see how tense he’s becoming waiting for Stiles’ response, so he lets it go. “Well thank you, for looking out for me when you could have left me alone to the storm’s fate. It’s true, this is the first time that I’ve come to the city, and unfortunately I’m not aware of all of its risks.”

This smile is softer, more genuine. “My name is Derek. I own this shop.”

“You’re a blacksmith?” Stiles’ attention is caught. He steps closer eagerly, excited by this news. “That’s amazing! I’ve never met a blacksmith before! Obviously, I’ve read books about the craft, but I’ve never known someone who is actually skilled in it. Do you work while it’s raining? Can I watch?” He blinks. “Oh, and my name is Stiles.”

Derek’s eyebrows are raised in surprise. Stiles feels his cheeks heat. “Sorry. I-uh. I tend to get a little over-excited sometimes.” He thinks about all the people who have avoided him because of it, because they were overwhelmed with the pace that his brain worked sometimes. Thank goodness for Scott, who never walked away from one of his tangents, letting Stiles work out whatever he was thinking verbally without backlash. Sure, sometimes Scott would just tune him out, but at least he never walked away.

Derek shakes in head, still looking surprised, but then a smile teases the corner of his lips. “No, I won’t work during the storm. But, I’d be willing to answer some of your questions, if you’d like.” Stiles nods his head quickly, excited for the opportunity. The smile widens. “Come on then, let’s get somewhere warmer to wait out the rain.”

Stiles scrambles after him without stopping to consider whether or not it’s a good idea. He’s used to having to over analyze everyone’s intentions, but there’s something about Derek and the way that he carries himself that puts Stiles’ guard down. Scott would smack him upside the head if he knew, but Scott also thinks that he’s reckless, so he’s used to it.

Derek leads him through a door at the back of the shop that opens on a modest living area. He gestures for him to have a seat, then moves to tend the fire without a word. Settling into a spot at the table, Stiles watches him bustle around the area with interest.

He can’t help but feel lucky being allowed to watch. Growing up, he never had much time to watch people do their jobs. Sure, he made a habit of hanging around the kitchen with the staff there, learning about how and why they did things a certain way, but it’s different with Derek. He moves with relaxed ease through the small area, mindless of the turmoil raging outside and of Stiles’ watchful gaze. As he stokes the flames, his hands are sure and steady, each movement deliberate but also soft in a way where Stiles expected something harsh. Stiles is captivated by the confidence he portrays in such a simple task.

Derek glances at Stiles from over his shoulder. “You hungry?”

He thinks about the question for a moment before shaking his head. Sure, he can feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach, but he doesn’t want to impose anymore than he already has. Derek narrows his eyes and stares at him for a moment before ladling something out of the large pot handing over the fire into two bowls. As he moves back to the table, he picks up a loaf of bread, then passes one of the bowls to Stiles.

“I said I wasn’t hungry,” he mutters, inhaling the smell of the stew deeply.

Derek settles into the seat across from him. “You were lying.” He meets his gaze briefly, holding his attention. “I was a soldier, remember. Now, eat up.”

Although the stew isn’t what Stiles is used to, it’s delicious. He shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth feeling greedy, but Derek doesn’t seem to mind. He gets done before Derek, but lets him finish his food before bombarding him with questions. As promised, Derek answers every one without complaint, pouring them both a cup of tea when it becomes obvious that Stiles is only getting started.

Sometime during their discussion, the rain stops. Stiles notices it immediately, sending his companion a concerned look. He doesn’t want to be kicked out now that the storm is over. The conversation has turned from questions about blacksmithing, to general discussion about the town and the life Derek lives, and Stiles doesn’t want to stop it. At his concerned glance, Derek just smiles slightly, pours himself some more tea, and settles in to continue their conversation.

And Stiles is so pleased. Derek gives him his undivided attention, which is something the he isn’t used to. Even in the castle, it’s hard for people not to get annoyed with his incessant jabbering. His teachers want to encourage his questions, but even they become overwhelmed by his curiosity. Scott too has learned to drone out Stiles’ rants. But Derek doesn’t tap out. He doesn’t yell at him for talking too much, or kick him out of the shop. Instead he listens closely, patiently explains his answers, and then listens more when they make Stiles go off on another tangent. When Stiles manages to make Derek laugh for the first time, he preens at the accomplisment.

What finally interrupts their discussion is the door of the shop being opened and a masculine voice calling out, “Derek? You here?”

The open expression on the older man’s face closes up as he calls out, “In the back.” Derek sends Stiles a apologetic look, at which Stiles shrugs.

Moments later, a large black man enters the room. He eyes Stiles suspiciously, before shrugging and setting down into one of the empty chairs.

“The fields survived the storm,” the man reports, reaching over and tearing off a piece of the bread without asking. “I wasn’t sure that they were going too, but they did. Every single one.”

Derek’s face relaxes again. “That’s good. You’ll have enough wheat to sell then?”

The man smiles brightly. “More than enough. I’ve just finalized the paperwork for the shop too, so it’s actually mine.” His laughter is boisterous. “Can you believe it’s finally going to happen?”

He laughs, slapping the stranger on the back. “Erica is one lucky lady, my friend. You will make a fine husband, Boyd.”

“I think I’m the lucky one, Derek. She’s-. You know that I’ve been in love with her for a long time.”

“I know. And I know you wanted to wait until you had enough money to take over the bakery, even though she would have married you before then.”

The man, Boyd, laughs again. “Yes, I know. But I wanted to be able to provide a good life for her. Now I can.”

Derek claps him on the back again, then turns and introduces Stiles, who was starting to feel out of place. He’s still considering how he can excuse himself when Boyd offers him a tight handshake and a bright smile. “It’s good to meet you, Stiles. Anyone who can get passed Derek’s gruff shell is good in my books.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he offers Stiles a warm smile and the prince wants nothing more than to stay at his side.

It’s that thought that has him up and moving. “I should get going,” he mutters, trying to will his blush away. “Thank you for letting me wait out the storm with you, Derek. And for not throwing me out when I asked all those questions. And, uh. Congratulations, Boyd. It sounds like you have a lot to celebrate.”

When he makes a move to leave, Derek rises and follows him into the shop. “I’m not kicking you out you know” he tells him. “Just because Boyd is here, that doesn’t mean that you have to go.”

Stiles smiles, meeting the older man’s gaze. “Yeah, I know. But my brother is probably freaking out because he can’t find me. Besides, you should celebrate with your friend.”

Derek raises one of his hands to rub at the scruff on his jaw. “If you’re still curious about what I do, you can stop by tomorrow morning when I’m working and see for yourself everything I told you.”

A bright smile tugs at his lips. “I’ll be here.”

Even with the promise of tomorrow, Stiles doesn’t want to leave. He’s sure that he imagines Derek standing at the shop’s window, watching him walk away.

———

Scott freaks out when he gets back to the inn. He had been about ready to go to the Guard when Stiles turned up.

“Stiles! You can’t just disappear like that, especially when I can’t go out and look for you.” His hair is messed up, evidence that he had been nervously tugging at the locks for hours. “We should go back to the castle.”

The prince glares at his friend. “We’re not going back, Scott. I know that I worried you, but I was promised a week out here, and that’s what I’m going to get. Soon enough everyone will know who I am and I won’t have this type of freedom anymore. You promised we would attend the summer festival.”

Scott groans, trying to get him to see reason. “Yes, but that was before-.”

Stiles throws up his hands. “Before what? I already apologized for worrying you, but it couldn’t be helped. Derek wasn’t about to let me out in the rain, and besides, I thought you would be happy I was taking care of myself for once.”

“It’s not about the rain!” He tugs at the shirt Stiles has clenched in his hands. “This is reckless! We hardly know anything about this place and how dangerous it is. A random person let you into their home because the rain could turn deadly, something we had no idea about, and then you and I were separated for several hours. What if something had happened to you!”

Stiles clamps his jaw tight and stands up straighter. “Scott, I am not going back to the castle. I understand that you’re freaked out, but I am not going back. There are too many things that I want to do this week, things that I will do, so stop trying to convince me otherwise. We’ll just have to be more careful about getting separated.” He can tell that Scott wants to argue, but he bites back his comments.

“Fine. But if you go missing like that for hours again, I will go to the guard, I swear.”

Stiles shrugs, smiling brightly. “Fine, if it will make you feel better.” Now that Scott is actively trying to get him to pack everything up, Stiles finishes changing into his bedclothes, then falls onto the mattress. He smiles up at the ceiling. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the blacksmith’s shop first thing.”

Scott groans, but Stiles ignores him and closes his eyes.

———-

The market square is bustling with people when Stiles and Scott stumble outside in the morning, but Stiles knows where he’s going and he leads his best friend through them with confidence. Scott hadn’t seemed too pleased by the prospect of spending their morning watching a blacksmith work, but Stiles isn’t taking his lack of interest as a deterrent as he winds through the streets.

When they arrive, there is a small crowd gathering at the front of his shop despite the blistering heat. Several young women, each of them dressed in garb nicer than a trip to the blacksmith requires, cluster around the table where Derek is bent over and working. Stiles pushes past them, ignoring the dirty looks they shoot his way, in order to get a better view.

As if sensing him in the audience, Derek glances away from his work, scanning the crowd until his eyes catch on Stiles. His lips twitch, almost unnoticeable, with a hint of a smile. In response, Stiles feels himself beam.

It’s captivating, watching Derek put into practice what he had been explaining to Stiles the day before. Being able to recognize the process is exciting in a way that goes over Scott’s head, and it makes Stiles want to stand there all day. It doesn’t help that the strength in Derek’s arms, which had only been hinted at before, is on full display as he works, and that every so often Derek will look up and smile upon finding Stiles rooted in the same spot.

After about an hour of standing in the early morning heat, Scott leaves Stiles’ side (with clear instructions to stay put) in order to find them breakfast. Stiles hardly notices him leaving though. Sometime later, Derek puts his work aside to take orders and conduct business. Stiles watches as several people step forward to pickup completed orders, ranging from a collection of horseshoes, an elaborate lighting fixture, and (for a soldier’s order), one large broadsword which Stiles can is a piece of true craftsmanship.

Soon enough, there is a lull in people approaching Derek. He uses that time to move to Stiles’ side. “You shouldn’t stand in the sun too long,” he begins. “Your skin is already turning pink.”

Stiles flushes at the comment, already aware how the color will stand out against his pale skin. “Well if I burn, it’s your fault,” he states in response, enjoying the way that Derek’s lips curl up.

“I never said you had to come and stand in the sun for hours watching me do buisness. You’ve done that on your own.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Please, you knew as well as I did that I was going to show up today.”

Derek tilts his head, perhaps in agreement, and then mutters, “Well if you’re going to stand out here and continue watching me, at least move over here.” Curling one warm hand around Stiles’ bicep, Derek tugs him over to a little grove alongside his shop. The space is shaded, with a large barrel that acts as a perch.

All too aware of Derek’s grip on his arm, Stiles jokes, “What is it with you protecting me from the weather?”

Extraordinarily, the tips of Derek’s ears blush red. “Shut up and sit down,” he says in response, dropping his hand and turning away. “I have some repairs to finish before the next rush.”

Stiles reaches out unconsciously, gently pressing his fingers against Derek’s back. “Thank you.”

It’s a simple enough statement, but Derek smiles softly at it as though it were a gift. When he takes his station back at his bench, Scott falls onto the barrel at Stiles side.

There is an uncomfortable pause, and then Stiles asks, “how much of that did you see?”

Scott shakes his head. “All of it. Stiles-.”

“I know.” And, really, he does. “Scott, I know.”

All that Scott does in response is sigh, too deep, and pass him a thick slice of bread, settling in beside his friend to watch Derek work.

———

“Have you ever been to a festive before?” The question startles Stiles out of his daze. When he turns, Erica smiles over at him with a predatory expression. Stiles had had the great pleasure of meeting Boyd’s fiancé the day he went to watch Derek work. She had come by to tell Derek that Boyd had (finally) proposed, and seemed to recognize Stiles instantly. Ignoring Derek and the purpose of the visit entirely, she had pulled herself up to sit beside Stiles and Scott, and talked with them until Stiles couldn’t deny their friendship. Not that he would. As fiery as she is, Stiles bonded with her quickly, goading her until she gave up stories about Derek in his younger years. Derek, aware of the stories that they were sharing, shook his head at them and joked that their friendship would be bad for his health. Scott had watched each exchange with a frown that kept deepening.

Stiles understands. He knew that he was in trouble when he left Derek’s shop that first day, knew that it would only get worse if he spent more time with the older man. He didn’t need Scott to remind him of his station, or to point out that he was falling quickly into a deep hole of captivation that would rival the feelings he had for a certain redhead many years ago. But being around Derek, getting to know Boyd, becoming friends with Erica and her brother Isaac, it all meant more to Stiles than he had expected it would. And now, here he is on the last night outside the castle, trying to find a way to be excited about finally seeing the summer festival that he’s been dreaming about for years. Instead he’s caught in thoughts of saying goodbye.

Erica jabs his side and answers her own question with a sharp smile. “Obviously you haven’t. Normally festivals are times to be happy, but you look like you’ve lost something precious you’ll never get back.”

He tries to force a smile for her, but all he can think about is how soon their friendship will be over. “Scott and I will be leaving after the festival,” he explains. When looking at her open expression becomes too much for him, he looks back into the crowd. In the city square, people are dancing merrily under strings of lanterns, a jubilant celebration of the summer solstice and everything to come. Drink flows freely, conversations of business have been put on hold for the night as everyone takes the time to have fun. Truly, it is a glorious sight. “I don’t want to leave.”

She steps close enough to him that she can hook her chin over his shoulder and relax into his back. The casual touches that the people in the village exchange had startled Stiles at first. For several years, the only person comfortable enough to lean into him casually has been Scott. But all of the new friends that he’s made have been so open with it.

Of course, they don’t know who he really is, so Stiles guesses that their comfort makes sense.

“So don’t go.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You have no apprenticeships to go back to, and there’s plenty of opportunity here to take advantage of.”

“I wish it was that simple.” She pulls back and steps in front of him so that he can’t avoid her gaze.

“You’re young, Stiles. Figuring out how to make your own way comes with growing up. I think you’re just making it too complicated. I mean, look at Scott. He seems to be having a good time, not worried about what tomorrow will bring.” Sure enough, Scott is out on the dance floor, twirling a pretty girl named Kira around with a smile like the sun. “If you’re so worried about tomorrow, stop thinking about it and enjoy tonight. If this is your last night here for a while, don’t you want to make it count for something?” Her smile gets sharper and she reaches out to shove him. Not expecting it, he stumbles back into a warm body. Erica winks at him and then shimmies off to find her fiancé.

He’s not surprised when he turns around and sees Derek standing behind him, but he is surprised by how soft the older man looks. Although it was easy for Stiles to get under Derek’s shell after the day they spent together waiting out the rain, he has never looked so warm. Stiles can’t help how his whole body relaxes under Derek’s palms.

“Was she giving you a hard time,” he asks, helping Stiles steady himself.

His response is a snort. “When is she not.”

The smile that flits over Derek’s lips is all warmth. “Yeah, she’’s good for that. It just means that she likes you.”

His heart pangs. He has to turn away. “Yeah.”

Gently, Derek reaches out and touches his elbow, a question. Stiles shrugs and repeats what he had told Erica. “I don’t want to leave.”

The grip he has tightens almost uncomfortably. Stiles can’t look at him, doesn’t want to know if he looks indifferent at the prospect of Stiles leaving, or upset that he’ll be gone. Stiles can’t decide which would make him feel worse.

Instead they stand side by side for a while, watching the merriment that continues on around them without a care.

“You should join them,” Derek says finally, inclining his head at the dancers. Stiles can see Erica’s mess of blond hair, Boyd’s unburdened look of adoration, Scott’s mouth open with laughter. It makes him feel warm, seeing the people that he cares about look so free. Just like that, he unhinges his worry, allowing himself to consider everything that Erica had said. Even though he has to leave in the morning, he still has tonight for memories. After all, when he leaves and returns to the castle, everything changes. Eventually, the friends that he’s made with figure out who he is and that he was lying to them. Derek will know that he was a fraud.

But for tonight, he wants to be selfish.

His hand blindly seeks for Derek’s, and then he turns and answers his questioning gaze with a bright smile. “Come on then. You can teach me this dance.”

Derek scoffs, but allows himself to be dragged forward. They pass Isaac on their way to the dancers, and he cheers for them with a sharp grin. Stiles rolls his eyes at him but doesn’t stop tugging Derek forward until they’re pressed closed together in the center of the square.

The steps of the dance are easy to pick up. It helps that Stiles has already been schooled in the art of dance, enough to know how to follow the rhythm with his body. Other dancers welcome the new pair with bright smiles, not batting an eye that they are both men, and Stiles revels in being able to act so carefree. For one dance, he twirls Erica around, and for another, Scott jokingly takes his hand, but Stiles always comes back to Derek. And it’s so easy, falling in line with him, allowing warm hands to clutch at his hips without worrying about whether or not the action is proper, enjoying the way that he’s allowed to curl his body close to Derek’s as they move in time.

It’s the most fun that Stiles has had in much too long, made better by every unbidden laugh that escapes Derek’s lips before he can bite it back. A part of him knows that he’s risking too much of himself, that he should step back and politely tell Derek goodbye so that leaving will be easier. But when Derek pulls him away from the dancers and the brightly lit square, presses him back against the nearest building, and covers him with his body, Stiles lets himself fall.

Kissing has always been one of Stiles’ favorite things to do, though he has not had too much experience himself. There is something so intimate about sharing breath with another person, allowing oneself to open under them and delight in the closeness.

Kissing Derek is something else though, like nothing Stiles has ever experienced. It’s like being consumed and welcoming the consumption. Stiles presses in against Derek’s body almost desperately, brings his hands up to clutch at his hair, and holds on tight. In turn, Derek’s grip on his hips is strong enough to leave bruises. There is the faint taste of spiced wine on his tongue and a hint of the honeyed tart that they shared earlier, and Stiles chases the taste until Derek pulls back, panting and blurry eyed.

Immediately he buries his face into the curve of Stiles neck while he takes gulping breaths. Stiles relaxes his grip, but keeps his hands buried in his companion’s hair, carding his fingers through the locks.

Eventually, Derek presses a kiss against the tendons in Stiles’ neck, and steps back. He keeps his eyes downcast when he apologizes. “I’m sorry, for-.” Stopping to clear his throat, he briefly meets Stiles bewildered gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles feels the apology like a splash of cold water. He reaches for Derek before he has a chance to run away completely. “No, what? What are you apologizing for?”

He watches as Derek swallows. “I just-. It wasn’t proper of me to kiss you like that. I didn’t even ask if you wanted to before-.”

Stiles laughs, albeit a little hysterically, and pulls Derek closer. “Trust me, I wasn’t complaining.”

They fall together almost helplessly, with kisses just as sharp as the ones before, and just as desperate.

When Derek pulls back again, Stiles silently commends his strength for being able to pull away, all the while cursing him for allowing any space to separate them. This time though, he doesn’t move very far.

“Stiles,” he says his name like it weighs so much. “You leave tomorrow.”

It makes Stiles sigh deeply. He pulls his body away from Derek’s, cursing the distance but allowing it all the same. Something hollow pangs in his chest. He ignores it. “I know. You’re right.”

Derek growls, running one hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain, oblivious to the fact that he’s making Stiles’ feel worse, not better. He looks like he wants to close the distance between them, but hold himself back. “But I can’t be with you, and then lose you. It isn’t fair.”

None of this is fair, Stiles wants to say. He wants to whine, curse the world for allowing him to find a connection only to be forced to cut it off without allowing the exploration of their possibility. It most definitely isn’t fair that Derek doesn’t even really know the person that he wants to kiss.

Where is seemed like a harmless game before, masquerading as a commoner to see the festival, now it just makes Stiles feel dirty. “I should go.”

Derek makes a hurt sound and tries to reach for him, but Stiles evades. “I don’t want you to,” he says, clutching empty hands.

Stiles just shakes his head, trying to bury the sadness choking him. “I don’t have a choice.” He shrugs one shoulder, trying to act like his stomach isn’t cutting itself to strips. “Besides, you said it yourself, it’s not fair to drag this out.”

Suddenly, Derek’s eyebrows rise up and he looks almost frantic. “Stiles, I-.”

“It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Derek Hale.” When Derek flinches back Stiles allows his voice to soften. And it isn’t fair to add it, not to either of them, but he’s already established his selfishness so he mutters, “Out of everyone here, I will miss you the most.”

He runs away before he has a chance to see Derek’s expression crumple. On his way back through the square, he runs straight into Erica and Boyd. The blond gives him a startled look which quickly becomes concerned.

“Stiles? But I thought-.”

“We saw you leave with Derek,” Boyd explains, glancing over his shoulder as if waiting for the man in question to show up.

“I’m glad I got to meet both of you,” he says. “I know that you will have a wonderful marriage.”

“Stiles.” Erica sounds alarmed.

He shakes his head at her and smiles sadly. “If you see Scott, will you please let him know I’ve gone back to our room. And tell your brother that I am pleased to call him a friend.” Gripping her hands tightly, Stiles kisses both of her cheeks. Turning to Boyd, he offers a handshake that turns into a tight hug.

“Take care of yourself,” Boyd tells him as he walks away. He forces a smile for both of them, then hurries through the crowd to get away.

——–

They meet up with the guard in the morning, early enough that the town is still asleep. Scott offers Stiles a sad smile as they begin their trip back to the castle, but keeps his mouth shut, giving Stiles time to himself. For most of the journey, the prince tries not to think about the people he’s leaving behind. It’s hard, when images of each one of them flicker in his mind’s eye like beacons, Derek most of all. It only took a week for them to find a place in his heart that he didn’t even know was empty. And Derek-.

He presses one hand against his chest as they ride through the gates. His father is standing with the guard, a smile pulling his lips up. “Did you have a nice time,” he greets, sounding fond.

Stiles nods, dismounting to stand beside the king. “Yes. Thank you for allowing me the freedom.”

John runs a hand through his son’s hair. “Good, I’m glad. Now, get changed. I’ll have Mia start breakfast.” He must see something in Stiles’ expression, because his smile falls. “Stiles? Did something happen?”

He fakes a laugh. “Not a thing.” John waves off his guard and leads Stiles inside.

“You know,” he begins as they walk. “You’re a lot like your mother. She was stubborn, and kind hearted, and just a little reckless. And, like you, I could always tell when she was lying. When Stiles looks back at his father, surprised that he brought up the late queen, the king’s eyes are glistening with amusement. “If you don’t want to tell me, then that’s fine. But don’t think you’re getting away with the lie. I know you better than that.”

Moments like this, Stiles is grateful for his father. John may be king, and he may take those duties seriously, but he is so dedicated to being a good father. Instead of pushing Stiles onto his tutors and neglecting him, their relationship has always been a strong one.

It’s what makes Stiles open his mouth and state, “I met some people while I was in town, and even though I was only there just over a week, they mean a lot to me. Leaving them behind was hard.”

John’s mouth pinches down in a frown. “Did you tell them who you are?” Stiles shakes his head. “I see.” There’s a drawn out pause, during which Stiles grows reckless with waiting. Instead his father’s mouth quirks up the slightest bit. “There was someone in particular you met, wasn’t there?”

Stiles startles back. “You can’t possibly read me that well,” he grumbles, ignoring the way that his father’s delighted laughter makes him flush.

“Son, I know you better than you do. And trust me when I tell you, you may have your mother’s mischievous and curious nature, but I recognize that lovelorn look from long days watching myself in the mirror, fretting over whether or not I was good enough for the woman I loved.” He pats his son’s back, continuing the walk down the corridor. “Who are they?” Stiles’ response is a grumble. “You could tell them the truth you know. Someone of your station is guaranteed your throne no matter who you fall in love with, and all your mother and I ever wanted was for you to be be able to find love on your own.”

“It’s only been one week,” he exclaims, his heart racing at the prospect of what John is saying. “I hardly know him, and definitely not enough to offer him the place at my side.”

The king doesn’t seem surprised by the male pronoun. Instead he just laughs and gives his son a side-eyed look. “There’s no rush for marriage, you know that. I was merely pointing out that it is okay for you to like someone who isn’t of noble blood. And liking them doesn’t have to mean anything more than getting to know more about them.” He pulls them to a stop again outside of his chambers. “Stiles, your friends will find out who you are. Your coronation is coming up, and it is an inevitability. That doesn’t have to change the connections that you’ve made. Invite them personally to attend the events. Give them a chance to get to know the royal you as well as the person buried underneath.”

He turns to go, but before Stiles can walk away, John adds, “And remember, you haven’t yet invited anyone to accompany you to the coronation ball. Perhaps your someone would like the opportunity.”

The walk back to his rooms seems to take forever. A jumbled mess of the words his father said dance around in his head, each vying for attention. As soon as he’s cleaned up, instead of heading directly down to the dining room, he heads down to the barracks and calls for an audience with one of his favorite soldiers.

Jordan Parrish, only a few years Stiles’ elder, is a hard worker that is loyal to a fault. But he treats Stiles like a person and not just a prince, which Stiles appreciates.

“You want me to go get a new sword made?” The question is full of amusement.

Stiles scoffs at it. “I didn’t say you, necessarily. I just happened to notice this blacksmith while I was in town. His work was beautiful. One of the soldiers in Cordin’s command had a broadsword made, and it was impressive enough that I thought I would recommend the shop to you. And then, if you feel so inclined, you might share the information with the others.”

Jordan laughs, throwing the rag the had been cleaning his hands on over one shoulder. “You know, when I was younger, I trained alongside many people, but there was this one man that I was friends with. He was a good soldier, steady and dedicated. Quickly he rose in ranks, but he never forgot about the friend he had made before he got noticed by the others, and he helped me foster myself in this role instead of seeing it as a competition and tossing me to one side.”

He swallows, already seeming to know where this is going. “What happened to him?”

“He got tired of death, tired of burying his friends. When his older sister got pregnant with her firstborn, he handed in his resignation and moved into town. He’s a blacksmith now, working humbly, enjoying the change of pace.” His smile is slow. “But perhaps you already know that.”

Huffing, Stiles wrings his hands. “I just want to make sure that he does well.”

Jordan laughs again. “My Prince, Derek does well enough. He is happy with what he has. But, if it will please you, I will mention his business to some of the others. I know that many of them are in need of new weaponry.” His smile becomes something softer, more fond. “You know, amongst the soldiers, Derek is a legend. They know him as the Wolf, a nickname that he got when we were still young. To them he is a ruthless commander who never hesitates or backs away from a fight. The reality of it is that Derek is just a man. He is nothing to be afraid of. I will tell them about his shop.”

Stiles feels himself flush, thanks Jordan for his time, and then heads back inside. Despite the hunger making his stomach growl in protest, he has one more thing to do before he can eat.

“I would like this to be delivered to Vernon Boyd, owner of the Loaf bakery in the city.”

Greenberg looks away from the wrapped gift in surprise. “Your Highness, this is a gift befitting a monarch. You would like me to-.”

“Deliver it to Vernon Boyd. He just got engaged to an amazing woman, and I want to make sure that they are congratulated accordingly.”

Flapping like a fish, Greenberg watches Stiles as if trying to decide whether or not he is joking. When Stiles keeps his expression steely and serious, he nods and makes note. “I will see that it is done today, Your Highness.”

Expression breaking into one of pleasure, Stiles reaches out and casually pats Greenberg’s on the back, ignoring his wide-eyed look of surprise. “Thank you. There is one more thing. There is no need to let them know where this gift is coming from.”

“I-. Are you sure?”

“Indeed. There is a note wrapped in the parcel. It will explain everything.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Feeling pleased, Stiles finally allows himself breakfast. It isn’t exactly what Stiles wants, but it is enough for now.

———–

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Stiles grumbles as they approach the town.

Scott, riding at his side, laughs. “Stiles, it’s fine. You’re overthinking it.”

“What if they’re mad and never want to see me again.”

“Then you will leave and not return, but Stiles, it’s not going to happen. I don’t know if you met the same people that I did, but they didn’t seem like the type to care about royalty.”

Tugging uselessly on one of his sleeves, Stiles scowls. The feeling of returning to town in his fancier clothes and wearing his father’s crest seems like too much. “They might care that the friend they made is actually the crown prince.”

Pulling his horse to a halt, Scott dismounts. His smile is bright. “Let’s go find out.”

Stiles joins him on the ground. Butterflies roll in his stomach at the sight of the bakery. Like Derek’s shop, there is a house attached to it. Through the window he can just see Erica’s hair. “Wish me luck,” he mutters, taking the first step.

Scott, who will be going to visit Kira instead, grins bright. “Tell them hello for me.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, pulls one ivory envelope from the satchel on his horse, and moves to the house. When he knocks, Boyd is the one to answer. He stares at stiles for a long moment without saying anything, taking in the wealth of his appearance. Then he grins.

“We were just sitting down for dinner,” he announces around his smile. “Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

Stiles exhales, feeling shaky, and nods. “I would like that.”

When he is invited inside, Erica hurries to his side for a hug. She holds onto him for a long moment, before pulling back and smacking him alongside the head. “You have some nerve,” she mutters around a smile of her own. “When your gift showed up, Boyd and I nearly passed out in shock.”

“You knew it was from me?” He had signed the note with his official name, not the one that they know him by.

Boyd chuckles and puts another plate on the table. “As soon as the new friend we had made, one of the only people to know about our engagement, leaves, we received an expressive package from a prince, who would have no way of knowing we even existed unless he had been masquerading in town in order to attend the summer festival. You can say that it was easy to put the pieces together.”

“It helped that, all of a sudden, Derek’s shop was being invaded by members of the guard Elite, stating that they had been referred there by a friend.”

Stiles rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. He had thought he was being subtle. “You’re not mad? I lied to you.”

Erica scoops a pile of potatoes on his plate. “You didn’t lie to us, not really. You just forgot to mention that you were the crown prince. But you befriended us honestly, gave us a part of yourself I’m sure that others do not get the chance to see. And then when you went back to your station, you didn’t forget and ignore us because we weren’t rich.”

The weight on his chest lightens. “So if I gave you official invitations to my coronation-.” He trails off, enjoying the way that Erica squeals in delight and Boyd break into laughter.

“Of course we’ll go! We’d be honored!”

Stiles laughs with them and takes a seat, the conversation turning from what all the coronation entails to other topics, light and casual and the same as if he had never left. After they finish eating, the nerves come back though. Erica picks up on it.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

He shuffles uncomfortably by the front door. “I-. I have to go see Derek now.”

Her smile softens. “Oh. That makes sense.”

Boyd reaches out and grips his shoulder. “If it helps, he misses you a lot. Gods know why, all you did was jabber at him all the time.”

It helps. The three of them laugh as they see him off, Erica giving him one last hug before he goes. “It will be okay,” she whispers in his ear. As he winds through the streets, he hopes that she’s right.

Instead of going to his front door, Stiles goes to the shop. He knocks hard, hoping it’s enough to draw Derek out. Luckily, it is.

When he opens his mouth, face pulled into a scowl, Stiles gets to watch him freeze in surprise. He’s just as beautiful as Stiles remembers.

“Stiles.” His name is a breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Well. Um, I thought I should apologize for sending all of those soldiers here. Apparently, if Erica is to be believed, you’re being invaded by them. And uh, I wanted you to do well, not to overwhelm you, so I’m sorry.” He’s rambling. “And I’m sorry for not telling you who I was. When I came to town, it was to have a chance to be a normal person before I was crowned, but then I met you and everyone else, and you all accepted me for everything that I was without question. That had never happened before, and I loved it. And you-. Oh, it was so easy to fall for you. Scott was worried, because he knew what I was feeling and that we would be leaving, and he had a right to be concerned. And when you kissed me, it felt like falling in the best way, and leaving you was so hard, but I did.” Derek is starting to look overwhelmed and more than a little concerned, but Stiles barrels on. He has to. Otherwise, he’ll run away without getting the chance to fully explain.

“Then my dad mentioned that he just wanted me to be happy, no matter what, and it got me thinking, very selfishly, about how happy I was with you. That night at the festival was the best one that I’ve ever had, even though I was sad about leaving, and even though it was cut short. But it was good because you were with me, seeing me as I am, and it made me think that maybe I was too hasty in running away. But I was afraid of telling you the truth, afraid that you would feel betrayed and that you wouldn’t want me anymore. My dad said that I could never know that if I didn’t try, so I guess this is me trying.”

When Derek stares at him, open mouthed, Stiles thrusts the invitation against his chest, ignoring the way that his hands are shaking. “This is an invitation to the coronation in a few weeks. I was going to ask you to come as my date, but thought maybe this would be better for you. Erica and Boyd agreed to go, so you can always go with them. Or! Or you don’t have to come at all, obviously. I’m not making you do anything.”

He backs up a few steps, trying not to stumble on his weak knees. “Okay, well I think I’ll go. Thank you, Derek. Uh, have a good night.”

Turning around, he makes to flee. A hand on his wrist drags him back. He’s turned around, pulled against a hard chest, and is being kissed before he can understand what’s happening. When his brain catches up, his hands are already buried in Derek’s hair, pulling at the locks, trying to get closer.

He keeps making low keening noises as Derek grips his hips. When they pull back for air, Derek’s eyes are bright. He doesn’t let Stiles go.

“I’m not upset with you,” he whispers into Stiles’ mouth, kissing him again before continuing. “When you left that night, all I could think about was what I was letting slip through my fingers. And I did. I let you go, afraid of getting too deep and then losing you to distance. When Erica and Boyd figured out who you really were, at first I was thankful that you were gone. I thought that knowing you were royal would make everything easier. It would mean we never would have worked anyway. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how much I wanted you, how much I wanted to be with you.”

He rubs one hand across Stiles’ cheek, smiling softly. “And now you’re here, offering something I didn’t think I could have. And I still want to be with you.”

Stiles lunges up to press their lips together again, greedy with the feeling of being so close. Derek tugs him backwards, into his shop and further, into his room. Stiles allows himself to be led, feeling dizzy and wanted and warm.

When Derek presses him down on the bed, blanketing him with his body, Stiles holds onto him tight.

The frenzy relaxes into something more intimate, the kisses less biting but deeper. Stiles body is a pool of warmth, mendable clay under Derek’s hands. At one point, Derek tries to pull back, tries to quell the fire burning them up. But Stiles doesn’t let him get far, reassures him that everything is okay, pulls him back into the fire.

They rock together, and Stiles feel so complete, so grounded. As morning begins to break they curl up on Derek’s bed, sweat slick and satisfied. Stiles feels so much hope it threatens to break him open. And when Derek smiles gently at him and breaks into awed laughter, Stiles allows himself to relax into sleep.

———-

Stiles is dressed in the finest clothes he owns, an outfit designed specifically for this moment. He feels suffocated by the finery. On one side of him, his dad stands proud. On his other side, Derek is a comforting presence, dressed in an expensive suit. He looks beautiful, and if Stiles wasn’t so terrified, he would be distracted with thoughts of getting him out of the suit. Instead, he’s too concerned with everything he’s about to do.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is warm. “You’re shaking. You need to calm down.”

“Aren’t you nervous at all,” he hisses in response, tugging at his sleeves. Beyond that curtain, everyone waits in anticipation for their prince, ready to welcome him, ready to look at him for guidance.

Derek smiles easy. “I have you, prince or not. That’s enough for me.”

That makes his body lock up. Since they started working at Allison’s families’ rehabilitation center for the supernatural, they’ve had a variety of feral creatures come in in need of help. But they’ve never brought an alpha to the facility before. In fact, they haven’t even come into contact with an alpha since Scott and Jackson were changed in high school. That alpha was beyond help, and for the safety of the people around, Allison’s father had to put her down. Chris took them in afterwards, helped teach them control along with the local emissaries, and then put them to work at his agency, helping creatures from all over. Stiles, who had his own Spark of magick awaken at an early age, loves being able to help others. And he loves working at the center.

But even so, the prospect of seeing another feral alpha makes his skin crawl uncomfortably. Scott’s grip tightens. “You don’t have to go, Stiles. Someone else can do his initial screening, see if he’s beyond help.”

That resolves his effort. “No, I’ll do it.” Even though everyone that works at the rehabilitation center has been trained to work beyond their bias, alphas are rare and there are enough horror stories of them that it would be too easy for someone else to pass judgement without giving this alpha a chance. Stiles is always the first choice for dangerous creatures because he can keep calm under pressure and get accurate readings on their conditions. “Let’s go.”

Scott looks unsure, but he doesn’t question his friend’s decision. Instead he clamps his jaw tight and leads the way to the holding cells, the ones that they use for the feral creatures. Stiles can hear the growling before the doors are even pulled open.

Lydia and Allison are huddled close together, staring into the only occupied cell. Lydia looks up at the sound of their approach. Her eyes are dark. “It doesn’t look good,” she says in lieu of greeting.

Stiles lets the comment roll away and peers past the plexiglass door. The werewolf is huddled in one of the corners, fangs on full display, eyes gleaming red where they once were blue. “Oh shit.”

Scott catches his elbow again. “Dude, you really don’t have to do this, someone else can-.”

“Do you know who it is you’ve caught,” Stiles breathes, mind racing with what the werewolf’s feral presence could mean for the people at the agency.

That stops Scott short. “You know him or something?’

Lydia snorts, a harsh sound. “You really are a terrible werewolf, Scott. Do you not pay attention to anything important in the supernatural world? That’s Derek Hale.”

Scott might not have been able to recognize the half-shifted werewolf, but he knows the name. Everyone, supernatural or not, knows about the Hales. He echos Stiles’ sentiment, “Oh shit.”

Allison, who has remained silent during their conversation, sighs deeply. “Someone needs to contact Mrs. Hale, let her know that we have her son.”

Stiles winces. He’d much rather be stuck in a cell with the feral werewolf than be the one making that phone call to one of the most powerful figures in the United States. Before Stiles was born, young Talia Hale was at the forefront of the media, fighting for equality for supernatural creatures of all kinds. As the alpha of one of the biggest werewolf packs in the United States, Talia was a force to be reckoned with, and when supernatural right activists came out victorious, she graciously accepted the role as their representative in the United States government. Stiles definitely doesn’t want to make that call. Luckily, that’s not his job.

He rubs his hands together. “Okay, well, while one of you takes care of that, I have a werewolf to try and calm down.”

Lydia steps forward and places a gentle hand on his arm. She’s hardly ever soft with him, so it gives him pause. “Stiles, maybe you should wait until his mom gets here. He’s gone a lot farther than most of the feral wolves we bring in. It might be better for her to handle him.”

He frowns at her concern. “Lyds, I understand where you’re coming from, but look at him.” Everyone turns to do just that. “Who knows how much worse this can get by the time she gets out here. Who knows how much farther he can go before-.” He trails off, not wanting to add that if it got much farther than he might not be able to turn back.

Her eyes narrow at him, then turn back to examine Derek, who bristles at the attention. She sighs deeply. “Fine, but be careful. Maybe one us of should stay here. Or we should bring in one of the other mages to help you out.”

He’s shaking her head before she can finish making the suggestion. “No, the more people that are around, the more nervous that he’ll be. I’ll be fine, Lydia. I’ve done this enough to know that I need to be cautious.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t argue. Instead she starts ushering everyone away. “Come on, we all have a lot of work to do, and Stiles needs to get started.”

Only Scott hesitates, looking at his best friend with wide and concerned eyes. Stiles waves him on. “I’ve got this, buddy. Don’t worry.”

He waits until he’s alone to turn back to the feral werewolf. Derek is glaring at him and growling threateningly. Stiles rubs his hands together, calls on his magick, and opens the cell door. Immediately, Derek dashes at the open space. Stiles calmly takes a step back, and crosses his arms. The werewolf hits the mountain ash barrier and is pushed to the back of the cell looking dazed. The growling cuts off and is replaced by a low whine. Stiles steps into the cell. The barrier moves in as he walks, tightening in a circle around the werewolf.

“Hello, Derek.” He kneels in front him, ignoring the growling which has started back with a vengeance. In response, the werewolf snaps his jaws. Stiles ignores the threat. “My name is Stiles. I don’t know how you got this way, but I’m going to try my hardest to help you, okay?” A soft purple haze appears around his hands as he focuses his magick to start the assessment. Derek makes a harsh sound at the sight and sinks back against the wall, tucking his face into his shoulder. It makes Stiles frown. Normally, the sight and smell of spell-work makes feral creatures uncomfortable, but he’s never seen a reaction so full of fear. And they’ve never willingly turned away from someone they see as a threat. A feral alpha especially wouldn’t leave themselves so vulnerable.

“Woah, hey. It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” Without considering how stupid he’s being, Stiles reaches one hand out and rubs it through Derek’s hair. The werewolf tenses under his hand, and turns to stare at him. His jaw is hanging open, fangs on full display, but he doesn’t move to bite him. Instead he just watches him with a sharp expression. His pupils are still huge, leaving only a ring of red around them, and he doesn’t appear to have any more control than he did before, but the curiosity is better than outright hostility.

“I just want to do a quick diagnosis to try and figure out how you got this way and how I can help fix it. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He reaches out with his other hand, crossing the barrier, and calls on his magick again. Derek whines and pulls back, even though he doesn’t have anywhere to go. Instead of moving away, Stiles focuses on getting his analysis. Lowering his guard, Stiles lets the magick take over. He’s swept into Derek’s consciousness, moves past his obvious fear and unease, and tries to find the source of what made Derek lose control and whether or not that control can be re established.

What he finds is a cloaking spell locked tight around Derek’s identity, which explains why Derek was so afraid of Stiles’ magick. Someone put a spell on Derek to make him feral, stripping him of his control and identity. It makes Stiles pull back with a frown. He runs his hand through Derek’s hair again, trying to calm him down. “Why would someone do this to you?” Not only is it illegal to use magick against someone like that, but it also doesn’t make sense that someone would want to make Derek feral. What could their purpose for that be?

He sighs, thinking about how he can break the spell. Before he can figure out what ingredients he needs, Derek moves. He wraps his hand around the wrist Stiles has buried in his hair, and tugs him forward, pulling him past the line of mountain ash and into his lap. Stiles curses at his own stupidity and closes his eyes when he feels Derek’s breath on his neck. But the werewolf doesn’t bite down like he expects. Instead, with a whine, be buries his nose against Stiles’ neck.

“Um, buddy? Derek?”

The werewolf whines again, and holds his captive tighter. “Okay, gentle with Stiles! Stiles is too human to withstand werewolf strength!” He looks up at the camera positioned in the corner of the cell. “A little help here,” he calls out to it, hoping someone is paying attention enough to show up before Derek gets hungry.

Actually, the werewolf seems calmer now. When Stiles turns to look at his face, he allows the movement. There is more awareness in his expression than there was before, despite the fact that he’s obviously still feral. A plan is forming in his head when Greenberg and Scott appear at the cell door.

Stiles raises his hands quickly to keep them at bay when Derek starts growling again. “Please don’t freak out. It may not look like it, but I have everything under control here. I just need you guys to bring me some ingredients for a spell.”

Scott looks at the claws tucked too close to his best friend’s abdomen before looking at him like he thinks Stiles has finally lost it. But before he can protest, Chris walks into view behind his employees, making Stiles wince.

“Hey, Boss. This-. Uh. Trust me, this looks worse than it actually is.”

The older man pinches the bridge of his nose. “How exactly did you end up in this situation, Stiles? You know better than to get too close to feral creatures, especially werewolves. They’re dangerous.”

“I know, but I needed to do his initial assessment and-.”

“Those can be done outside of a mountain ash barrier.” His eyes narrow as he sighs. “You take too many risks, and this isn’t the first time that I’ve told you that. You’re reckless and impulsive.”

Stiles snorts. He wants to point out that this isn’t exactly the right time for an employee audit. Besides, Chris should have known what he was getting when he hired Stiles. He’s always been reckless and impulsive. Patting at Derek’s arm to try and get the werewolf to quiet down, Stiles isn’t the only one surprised when it actually works. “Listen, I know that it looks bad, and I know I definitely got too close, but he’s not going to hurt me. Someone used a spell to make him feral, and I need some ingredients so that I can break it.”

That stops Chris’ rant. “What do you mean, someone did this to him?”

He shrugs as best he can in the werewolf’s hold. “I mean there’s a spell binding him in this form, an intricate one too. Trauma didn’t make Derek feral. Someone wanted him this way.”

“Shit,” he mutters. There’s a long moment where Chris considers the implications of what Stiles reported. Finally, with a sigh, he turns back to his employees. “Just-. Scott, gather whatever Stiles needs. Do whatever you can to get him out of this.” He points a finger at Stiles, looking stern. “But I’m sending Lydia in to help you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Derek pulls him closer and growls at Chris’ threat, making the older man step back. Stiles hides a smile against Derek’s arm. “Lydia can stay, that’s fine. I’ll do my best to help him.”

Finally, Chris sighs. “Yeah, I know you will. Just be careful. Greenberg, you come with me. There’s something we need to check.”

When they’re gone, Stiles grins up at Scott’s dumbstruck expression. “You ready, buddy?”

Scott shakes his head in disbelief. “How is it that you’re so calm right now? And how is it that Chris just lets you do whatever you want? You both are crazy!”

Stiles snaps his fingers, trying to get his best friend’s attention. “Dude, this is not the time for you to have a break down. I need you to get everything I ask, okay. And if you can’t find it, Lydia will know what I need. Now, are you ready?”

He doesn’t look happy about it, but Scott sighs and nods. Stiles rattles off everything he can think of that would help, then sends him on his way. He pats Derek’s arm again. “Don’t worry, dude. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get back to normal.”

Derek makes a low rumbling sound and buries his head back into the crook of Stiles’ neck. They’re still sitting that way when Lydia shows up, looking unamused. “Really, Stiles. I tell you to be careful and instead you go and get adopted by a feral werewolf?” She shakes her head. “Whatever, let’s just get this done. Are you going to stay there for the spell?”

“Yeah. I’m keeping Derek calm, and that’s important.”

She watches him for a long moment, but doesn’t protest. Instead, she gets to work setting up his elemental stones. Stiles’ doesn’t need to direct her for the setup; they’ve worked spells together enough times that she knows where everything goes. And her banshee energy purifies the environment as she moves around, connecting everything together. Stiles takes it all in, allowing the magick she weaves to wind through him. Derek keeps making low, distressed sounds, but he doesn’t get hostile again.

When everything is set up, she turns to look at him, an unspoken question in her gaze. Stiles nods, and watches as she breaks the mountain ash barrier. Her final step is to place a bowl full of water in front of the pair. Then she steps back.

Stiles closes his eyes and bows his head at the bowl. Derek rumbles uncomfortably, tightening his grip and panting into Stiles’ neck. The mage pushes his back against Derek’s chest for comfort, and bridges their energies. Diving into Derek’s unconscious is uncomfortable. It feels like a complete intrusion of his privacy, and he tries his best to skip past Derek’s memories to get to the spell binding his identity, but he still gets parts of an intense young love, an act of mercy, and a fight for survival before he finds what he’s looking for.

The spell is a deep red bind, ugly in comparison to Derek’s soft blue aura. It’s well crafted, the work of someone with years of experience. As he begins to unravel it, Stiles can feel Derek relax into him, making the connection easier. Stiles sends feelings of gratitude his way, then allows himself to get swept up in the magick.

He doesn’t know how long it takes, whether it’s minutes or hours. But finally, the red bind unwinds. It makes Stiles breathe easier, allows him to relax. He starts pulling away, drawing back from Derek’s consciousness. But a spot of brilliant gold catches his attention. And he knows he shouldn’t, knows better than to meddle more than he already has. But he can’t help but nudge it a little, give it some warmth and attention.

He’s snapped out of the spell when his body hits the cell floor. Returning to himself so suddenly makes him nauseous. He spends a few seconds dry heaving, his body shaking with the effort, before he registers how quiet it is in the room. Stiles looks at Lydia first. Her eyes are wide as she looks past him. He turns slowly to look at Derek, and his jaw drops.

“Well, shit.”

Instead of seeing Derek in his human or beta form, Stiles comes face to face with a large, black wolf. The wolf nudges his face against Stiles’ and whines.

“Lydia, how common is it for a werewolf to achieve a full shift?”

It takes her a moment to respond, though he already knows the answer. “The statistic is very low. It’s a rare occurrence for werewolves to achieve the shift. Aside from Talia Hale, only five other alphas across the world have reportedly reached this form.”

He keeps his eyes of the wolf. “And Derek was never one of these reported cases, was he?”

“No.” There’s a long pause. Then, “Stiles, what did you do?”

Finally, he turns to look at her, ignoring the instincts that scream at him for turning his back on the predator in the room. “Why do you think I did something?” She glares at him until he gives in. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t even know what it was. There was just this spot that was repressed, and it was so gold and bright that I thought giving it some energy would be beneficial.”

“Stiles! Do you know how irresponsible that it?” Lydia is understandably furious. “You can’t just dig around in someone’s head, especially without permission. You know how bad that is. It could get you fired and sued, or worse. Are you really that dumb?”

Derek barks, breaking the tension in the room. He positions his body between them, pressing his side against Stiles’ chest and watching Lydia in a less than friendly way. Stiles is baffled by the obvious act of protection.

She rubs her temples and lowers her voice. “I’m sorry. It’s just, sometimes you’re so reckless. One of us need to watch out for you, and since you obviously won’t, that means I need to.”

He sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened.”

Her eyes soften. “I know you didn’t mean to. I’ll stand with you, no matter what way this goes.” Gathering herself, she regains her control. “For now we have work to do. Chris is trying to track down someone that could put a spell like this on Derek. Obviously, that includes a huge range of mages and other types of magick users, but a crime has been committed so he’s trying his best to figure it out and he could use your help sorting through the group of mages. Allison has been in charge of contacting Mrs. Hale, who should be here in a few hours. Until then, we have to try and figure out a motive. It would have been helpful to have Derek’s input on what happened, but he’s a giant wolf now, so unless he can change back, he’s no help.”

They both watch Derek for a drawn out moment. When he remains in his wolf form, Stiles sighs and gets to his feet. “I’m not going to try and break this form. Not only have I done way too much already, but who knows if I’d even be able to help without unraveling his ability to shift into this form completely. Talia should be able to help him figure it out.”

Lydia nods in agreement. “There’s just one thing; what are we going to do with him until she gets here?”

Derek bristles at the questions and bumps back against Stiles knees. It makes the mage smile. “Well, he’s not feral anymore, so he’s not a threat to anyone in the agency. He can hang out at my desk until his mom gets here.”

She doesn’t argue. “Whatever. I have work to do. You can clean this up.” Before she leaves she adds, “I’ll tell Chris about what’s happened and let him know that Derek will be with you.”

He thanks her, watching as she struts away. Derek turns to look at him, a question in his gaze. “She’s always been like that,” Stiles reassures as he gathers his equipment. “Ever since we met in grade school, Lydia Martin has always been a force to reckon with. Come on, I’ll tell you the story of how we all ended up here, just so you’re clued in. Plus, you’re probably wondering just exactly where you ended up.” He leans down to look the wolf in his eyes before they leave. “I’m really sorry for this, Derek. I didn’t mean to meddle. I understand that it broke your privacy when I had no right, and I’m so sorry.”

The werewolf tilts his head in understanding and butts their noses together softly. Stiles takes it as understanding, and climbs back to his feet. “Alright, we have work to do, buddy. Let me give you a tour of this place.”

Derek walks alongside Stiles as they move around the agency, listening closely to his stories. The few people that they run into during the tour greet both of them, not questioning why Stiles is walking with a wolf companion. When the tour is finished, Stiles leads them back to his desk. There is a pile of documents waiting for him to sift through, and he starts immediately getting to work trying to narrow down the list of mages. Derek, though he remains stuck in his full wolf shift, proves to be a lot of help. He manages to, with the help of a large map, pinpoint where he was when the spell was cast, which helps them narrow down their search. However, they don’t really get anywhere. There are just too many mages to sort through, and no way to pick the right one amongst the group.

Instead of continuing to work in circles, Stiles starts filling out his report on Derek. He is relieved when the werewolf clambers to his feet, his tail wagging in excitement. Seconds later, Lydia appears by his desk. “Come on, Stiles. Mrs. Hale is here and she’s wants to see her son.”

Even though the wolf is obviously excited to be with his family again, he waits until Stiles is ready to go and then walks by his side instead of leaving him behind. It makes something warm curl in Stiles’ chest.

Talia Hale turns out to be an intimidating woman, not because she looks mean or scary. It’s just that her aura is all powerful control and confidence. Even standing beside Chris, she is obviously the one in charge. Derek bounds up to her, making a series of excited yips and wagging his tail. Talia brushes her fingers in the fur at his neck, and smiles. “I see you’ve managed a full shift, my son. You’ve had a very exciting few days.” She looks up, locking her powerful green gaze on Stiles. “Thank you for helping him, for removing the spell making him feral.” She smirks. “And thank you for keeping him company until I got here.”

Something about her knowing smile is unnerving. He clears his throat, barely managing to maintain eye contact. “Mrs. Hale, I was able to break the spell that was keeping Derek in a feral state, but instead of returning to a human form, he’s been stuck like this.” He considers holding back his involvement in the shift, but ends up admitting, “I may have accidentally pushed this shift as I was breaking the spell on him.” He lowers his eyes, carefully demonstrating a show of submission. “My apologies.” A cold nose bumps into his hand, but he ignores the nudge.

Derek doesn’t like being ignored. He barks, startling everyone in the room, and jumps up against Stiles’ chest so he can look him in the eye. Immediately, Stiles raises his hands up and buries them in his fur to help support the weight on his chest. His eyes are glowing bright red. Stiles can’t look away.

Talia’s bright laughter breaks the tension in the room. Derek hops off of Stiles, but presses against his side. Stiles can’t help but keep one hand curled in the wolf’s fur. Talia’s eyes are bright in amusement. “I see now. Please, don’t worry about Derek’s shift. I can help him control it.”

Chris clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the problem at hand. “Mrs. Hale, we would like to discuss this attack with you. We have been trying to narrow down who could have done this, but there are too many options.”

Stiles jumps in at the pause, effortlessly picking up his queue. “Sometimes, magick uses will leave a signature on the spell, a thread to pick up.”

Lydia takes the lead. “Think about it the same way that bombers will add some signature piece to the bombs they make. It helps to distinguish them and link their bombs together, but it doesn’t necessarily make it easier for them to be tracked. And with magick users, sometimes leaving a signature makes the spell stronger because it feeds off of the person crafting it.”

“When I was unraveling the spell, I couldn’t pick up on any signature. Not at first anyway. But just before it fell apart, there was a small one tying it together.” He holds out the paper where he drew the symbol. “Unfortunately, it didn’t help us find anything. Obviously signatures are often times very personal and secret; but this one was actually too vague to be helpful.”

Talia frowns as soon as she sees the drawing. She traces the spiral with a closed off expression, then sighs. “I know this mark. It represents revenge.” When she looks up, her eyes are bright red. “I know who’s behind this. And I know why they had the spell cast.”

Chris makes a sweeping gesture, inviting her to explain. “I’m sure that you’re all aware of the backlash supernatural creatures received as we fought for our rights. As the person at the forefront of the fight, I watched first hand as groups of protesters fought against us. After we won, these problems of hate and discrimination never went away, though they got better. However, there was one group particularity that refused to back down and stay quiet. They call themselves the Hunters, and this is their brand. When I was elected into my office, I received an anonymous phone call from one of their members, promising that one day everything in my world was going to crumble down, and that they personally would make sure that people saw me for the monster that I am.” Her expression is hard. “What better way to show the people that supernatural creatures are nothing more than monsters than to have the representative’s son go feral and kill someone.”

Derek whines and shrinks down to the floor. Talia kneels beside him, running her fingers through his coat. “Thank you for finding him before someone got hurt.”

Chris rubs at his face. If Talia is right, the problem their facing is much bigger than they anticipated. “Mrs. Hale, if you’re willing to work with us with might be able to expose this plot to the public so that it can’t be used again.”

“Of course, I will do anything you need.”

“Excellent.” Chris starts delegating tasks that needs to get done, excusing Stiles as he goes. The mage’s work is done. With one last look in Derek’s direction, Stiles exits the conference room and goes back to his desk. There are other projects that he’s working on that could use his attention, and even though a part of him wants to stay and help Derek and his mother in any way he can, there are other people more qualified to track information down.

Instead he focuses his energy on other things, quickly losing himself in the work. As he’s finishing up and getting ready to head home, someone taps on his desk, effectively breaking his concentration. Looking up, Stiles comes face to face with Derek Hale.

Stiles has seen quite a few pictures of Derek over the years, but seeing him in person is altogether different. Being able to watch firsthand as his lips quirk up into a smile and his eyes crinkle at the corners makes Stiles take a sharp breath. He’s beautiful, and Stiles is trying so hard to decide what color the other man’s eyes are that he misses the question directed at him.

It makes Derek laugh. Stiles’ cheeks color. “Oh, um. Hey. What did you say?”

The smile that Derek sends his way is full of warmth. “I asked if you were getting ready to leave?”

“Oh!” He straightens some of the files on his desk. “Yeah, this is about the time I head out. Um. Is there something that I can do to help with the case?”

Derek shakes his head. “No, everything is pretty much under control now. Lydia is working with my mom’s publicist to write the story, and once that’s done it’s just handling the responses that come with it. Trying to figure out where the threat and the spell came from directly will be taken care of later, with my mom’s team. Your agency has been a huge help.”

Stiles scratches the back of his head. “Oh, uh. That’s great to hear. I-.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I’m so sorry that I knowingly messed around in your head, and if you feel the need to take legal action, I totally understand.”

The expression on the werewolf’s face softens. “Stiles, I don’t want to take any legal action. I’m not even mad at you.” He bites his lip, looking shy suddenly. “Actually, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner.”

He blinks, confused. “I dig around in your head without your permission, and you want to take me to dinner? Why?”

“Well, first of all, you saved my life.” His nose wrinkles up in concentration. “It’s hard to describe what it feels like to be feral. It’s a complete loss of control, but more than that it’s forgetting that you ever had control in the first place. And everything is a threat. It’s one of the worst things that can happen to a wolf. But then you showed up and you weren’t afraid of me, uneasy sure, but not afraid. You helped me remember that I had a human form, and then you broke the spell. Then, as if that hadn’t been enough, you saw something bright within me and gave it life. I probably never would have reached a full shift if it wasn’t for your digging.”

Stiles feels himself flush at the awe and praise in Derek’s voice. “I-. I just wanted to help you.”

The smile Derek gives him is bright. “I know. That’s why I would like to take you to dinner.”

Just to make sure that he sees the whole picture, Stiles asks, “So you want to take me out as a thank you?”

A blush appears at the tips of Derek’s ears. “Not entirely. I-. You smell really nice, like home sort of, and I think you’re beautiful.” The words come out in a rush. “So, I guess what I’m asking is-. Will you let me take you to dinner, as a thank you and as a date?”