#sterekhuntermoon

“Did you know that each full moon has a different name?” Stiles asks, looking up from his computer at Derek who is sitting in a chair nearby reading a book.

Derek deigns to look at him from his book to give him a flat stare. “I’m a werewolf, Stiles. Of course I know that.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him. “Ok, Mr. Know-It-All, what’s the next full moon called?”

Derek looks up as if he has to calculate it and then finally answers, “The Hunter’s Moon.”

Thoroughly impressed, Stiles sits back in his seat and turns fully to face Derek. “So, do werewolves do anything special for that one? Or any of the other ones for that matter?”

With a sigh, Derek marks his place in his book and sets it down on the coffee table in front of him. “My family used to do a big dinner with games and things on most full moons. The significant ones, like Wolf Moon, Harvest Moon, and Hunter’s Moon, we’d do something a little different.”

He looks up, seeming to gauge Stiles’s interest on the matter, and finding him sitting forward and listening intently, Derek continues.

“For Wolf Moon, we would tell stories to the younger ones of the pack about legends of wolves, folktales of our kind, and then when it was time for them to go to sleep, the rest of us would transform and run and chase each other. I can’t quite remember what we did for the Harvest one, but I do remember there being so much food, more than normal.”

“And Hunter’s Moon?” Stiles prompts when Derek doesn’t continue, lost in his memories.

“I had been too young to participate in that one, but it involved the mates and potential mates of the pack. Laura said it was like a reversal for us. Instead of us being hunted, we would act as hunters, tracking down our prey, or for them their mate. Like I said, I’d been too young, so I never really saw it for myself.”

Stiles nods as a grin starts to form. “Would you want to try it now? You’re older…”

“Yeah, but I’d need someone else, a mate, and I don’t--” Derek cuts himself off when he notices Stiles blushing, eyes downcast. “Oh.” Derek swallows, realizing what Stiles is suggesting.

“Nevermind. Forget it. We’ll just order pizza or something, invite everyone over like normal; it’s fine.” Stiles leans forward to snap his laptop shut and start gathering his things to leave, standing to go.

Derek immediately gets up and stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait, I didn’t realize that… I’m sorry. I… I think it could be fun if you want to do it. We could?”

“I don’t want to force you to do it with me if you don’t--”

“No, Stiles. I do… want to… with you,” Derek gets out a hint of pink forming on his own cheeks.

Stiles grins. “Okay.”

~

He definitely should have worn different shoes. He knew he was going to be running, but Derek seems to be taking his sweet time teasing him and letting him escape and get further away. He knows Derek is just playing with him, and he’s grateful they decided to not invite the rest of the pack for this particular event. He doesn’t want to think about what they might say about him volunteering to be Derek’s prey--his mate.

Not that he’s thinking about much of anything at the moment. All he can concentrate on is his steps and how much closer the howls from Derek sound. He’s starting to lose speed, and he knows he can’t last much longer at the pace he’s been going. He stops only briefly to get his bearings, to know where in the preserve he is and where he’s heading. But it was a few precious moments too long because as soon as he gets his feet to start moving again, he can hear panting and the sounds of paws hitting the ground.

Derek is close, too close, and he must be tired of teasing Stiles because he is approaching fast, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to keep running or stop altogether. Either way, Derek is going to tackle him, and either way it will most likely be painful. He slows his pace but keeps running and braces himself for impact.

He’s on the ground, a heavy weight on his back, and when he lands on the ground on his stomach, he loses his breath but quickly takes in air to compensate. The weight lifts enough for him to roll over on to his back to stare up at a large black wolf with piercing blue eyes.

“You’re heavy, dude, you know that?” Stiles says, knowing full well that Derek can understand him even though he can’t reply. “Also, I’m glad you caught me. I was getting tired.”

Derek huffs and presses his snout into Stiles’s neck and nuzzles, sniffs, and licks his throat.

“You better not lick my face as a wolf, okay. That’s just gross.” Stiles is about to go on but the words get caught in his throat when he watches Derek transform back from a wolf into a human, still leaning over him on all fours.

“This better?” Derek says with a smirk.

“I…” Stiles starts but doesn’t finish, only able to nod because yes it is better. As much as he loves seeing Derek in his full wolf form, he loves seeing Derek as he normally is. “So, uh… what happens after you catch your mate?”

Derek shrugs a shoulder but leans down closer to Stiles, “I don’t know, but I’m sure I could improvise…”

Stiles visibly swallows. “Improvise? Like what?” His voice is high, like he’s nervous but also excited.

Smiling, Derek lowers himself more and hovers above Stiles, their lips almost touching. “Like this,” he whispers, and Stiles lets out a whimper before closing the space between them and sealing their mouths together.

A press of lips soon becomes more, with each of them opening their mouths for each other’s tongues. Stiles lifts his arms to wrap them around Derek’s back and shoulders, and then immediately pulls back to break the kiss.

“Oh my god, you’re naked, aren’t you?” Stiles breathes out.

Derek gives him a “Duh” look. “It’s not like I wear clothes as a wolf.”

“No, I know but… Derek, our first time is not happening outside on the ground.”

“Why not? That’s how they did it on the Hunter’s Moon.”

“What?! You just told me you didn’t know!”

Derek gives him a half-smile and a shrug. “I’m improvising.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves Derek off of him. “No. We are going back to your place where there’s a comfortable bed and necessary supplies.”

Derek huffs and stands, helping Stiles up as he pointedly does not look anywhere near Derek’s nude lower-half. “You’re no fun,” Derek says teasingly.

“Me? I’m no fun? I just let you chase me around the woods all night.”

Derek’s face grows serious, and he catches Stiles’s hand to turn him to face him. “Thank you for this.”

With a wide genuine smile, Stiles leans in and kisses Derek. “You’re welcome,” he says when he pulls back from the kiss. “Come on, lead me back to the car, Lassie.”

It’s a joke, but Derek transforms back into a wolf and takes off, refusing to wait for Stiles to catch on and start running. “I was kidding! Derek! Ugh fine! No dog jokes, I get it!” Stiles shouts, chasing after Derek in an interesting turn of events. He catches up eventually and the drive home and spend the rest of the Hunter’s Moon exactly how they want.

But he wasn’t a fairy. The man stretched and looked straight into Stiles’ eyes.

“Is there a reason you’re a pointing a weapon at me?” His voice was soft, in contrast with the scruff on his face and hairy chest and hairy everything.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles mumbled and lowered his rifle. The man waited, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t think there was another person out here, at this hour,” he said eventually.

Nodding, the man reached for his underwear. “Fair enough,” he said but he didn’t put on anything else. Instead, he sat on the shore and looked at the clear, starless sky.

“Aren’t you cold?” Stiles asked and walked over to him.

“No.” After a moment of deliberation, he added, “Maybe a little.”

“You should get dressed, unless you want to catch a cold.”

“Later.”

Stiles didn’t point out that he was also wet. Well, if the man wanted to catch his death, it wasn’t Stiles business to care. So, he sat close to him, but not too close. He figured, since they were the only two people there, there was no reason for them to sit far away from each other.

“Do you come here often?” Stiles asked when the silence became unbearable.

“You aren’t going to stay silent, are you?”

“Not really. Sorry.” It’s who he was. Incessant bubbling and unnecessary hand flailing. The only moments he was in complete control were when he was hunting. And, right now, he wasn’t.

The shadow of a smile under the man’s stubble was playful. “I like it here. It’s quiet.”

Stiles couldn’t help the snort that left his mouth. “It’s almost midnight. Of course, it’s quiet.”

“What’s your name?” the man asked unexpectedly.

“Stiles.”

“Stiles,” he repeated, almost tasting the sound it made.

“And yours?”

“Derek.” The man, Derek, didn’t offer to shake his hand. He just nodded in acknowledgement.

“So, Derek, aren’t you afraid being out in the dark at this hour?”

“Why should I be?” His tone was honest and curious.

“Because of the werewolf that’s killing the people in our village!” When Derek tensed, Stiles went on, “What? You haven’t heard?”

“I’ve heard,” Derek uttered the words with difficulty, his look getting colder.

“And yet you’re not afraid?”

“I’m not.”

He had to be crazy. “You’re crazy.”

Derek exhaled hard and then turned his eyes to the water. “I think it’s nonsense.”

“The werewolf?”

“Yes. Someone is on killing spree, but it’s not a mythical creature with fangs and claws.”

Stiles furrowed and looked at Derek perplexed. “If not the beast, then who?”

“Men can be beasts enough,” he said dryly. Oh.

“You think the villagers are killing each other?” That would be preposterous. There hadn’t been an unnatural death in their village for at least two decades. Not since his father became the mayor.

“Why not? People killing each other isn’t as shocking as you make it sound. They’ve been doing it forever.”

Stiles remained thoughtful at the words. Not that Derek wasn’t right. Not that there weren’t people in his village capable of murder. But what about the claws? The teeth? The howls?

“I saw it. I saw the werewolf tonight,” Stiles said in one breath, because this had to make sense to someone else, too.

Derek looked back at him, his look serious. “What did you see?”

“Two yellow eyes, and then I heard a howl.”

Derek kept looking at him and then he burst out laughing. A soft, soundless laughter that brightened his eyes and shook his shoulders.

“Are you mocking me?”

Shaking his head, he raised a hand. “No, sorry. It’s just— these forests are full with wolves. Real wolves. There are no monsters hidden in the shadows, Stiles.”

Stiles felt hurt, and maybe a little ridiculous. But he had heard the stories. And he’d heard the people talking about the beast they had seen.

“I know what I saw,” he said huffing, and he folded his hands on his chest. He wasn’t crazy.

Derek shrugged, his gazing turning to the lake, falling silent.

Stiles used  the time to check the man’s appearance. The moonlight falling on Derek’s face, took Stiles’ breath away and yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze from him. It was many minutes before either of them spoke again, but Stiles wasn’t the one to break the silence this time. “My mother liked this place.”

“She’s not with you anymore?” Stiles had heard the longing in Derek’s voice, and the choice of his words. They were the same words Stiles used when he talked about his own mother.

“No.”

“Did you use to come here together?” he asked, because he wasn’t going to say sorry for a woman he had never met to a man he just did. Derek wouldn’t appreciate it, and if Stiles knew anything, it was how fake a sorry sounded from the mouth of a stranger.

“The whole family. We used to stay all day, play in the water, picnic in the shore, and go back to our place after the sunset.” Stiles knew to use silence when it was needed, and this moment was one of them. He waited for Derek to continue. It was his story after all, even if Stiles’ didn’t like the way the sadness clouded his features. “They were good days,” he said eventually, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to touch this subject further. “What about you?”

“Me? I live with my father. My mother died some years ago. It hasn’t been easy but— But the village has been good to us, supportive and helpful.”

“Isn’t he going to worry over your whereabouts? It’s late.”

“You forget that I’m a hunter. I’m able to protect myself even after dark,” he said mockingly.

“I see,” Derek said smiling.

After that, time fled as they talked about matters of no importance, touching old wounds and soothing bruised spots; the ease between them growing, the intimacy reaching levels Stiles had never experienced before. They talked and talked, the feeling that they knew each other all their lives settling on Stiles’ chest.

“Why did you become a hunter?”

Stiles shrugged. “I wanted to keep the people that took care of me safe. And what about you? I haven’t seen you in the village before.”

“It’s because I don’t live in the village. I’m a carpenter.”

“Being a carpenter doesn’t forbid you to live in the village,” Stiles deadpanned.

“I know,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

“So you just don’t want to tell me where you live.”

“Maybe.”

Stiles pressed his lips together, praying for patience but saying nothing more. If Derek didn’t want to share, he wasn’t going to push.

“I think I’m going to leave now,” Stiles said after a while. Long silences and half words, Stiles knew when he wasn’t welcome. He got up and looked at the sitting figure who wasn’t sparing him a glance. “I’m glad I met you,” he said, with a pang of regret that surprised him.

“Stay,” Derek said softly.

Apparently, Stiles didn’t know when he wasn’t welcome.

But, still, he had to ask. “Why?”

And then, Derek stood up and came closer. So close, their lips almost touched and their chests moved in sync. “Because…” The only answer Stiles received was a kiss that started as a simple touch and grew bolder and bolder.

They made love on the shore, spread out on their shed clothes. It was nothing like Stiles had ever imagined, or felt. And it was everything he never knew he wanted. They fell asleep sated and satisfied in a tangle of limbs and endless skin and unspeakable warmth.

Stiles awoke just as the sun broke the night in the horizon. He buried his face deeper in his blanket and then breathed with it as it lulled him back to sleep.

Sometime later, he opened his eyes with a feeling of wrongness. The blanket. Breathing. There had been no blanket last night. Derek?

“Derek?” he asked, and looked around him. No naked body was there, yet his clothes were still under the ball of breathing black fur next to him.

And finally his mind cleared.

It was a wolf. An majestic black wolf with sleek fur and yellow eyes.

“Derek?” he asked again with more urgency, the fear of the suspicion edging his mind.

The wolf raised his head and looked at him.

“You bastard!”

Stiles moved away from the animal, reaching for his rifle. The wolf. He was the wolf. Derek.

Derek – no he wasn’t Derek. It was a beast— got up on his feet and sniffed at him.

“You are a werewolf! No, you are the werewolf!” He pulled the cock of the rifle and aimed. “You’re the beast!”

The wolf whimpered and took two hesitant steps towards him. Stiles fired at him, the bullet hitting a couple of feet to the wolf’s left. “Don’t come near me!”

He should take the hit. He should kill the beast. To think that it had been trying to disorient him, making him suspect the village, his friends as murderers. He should kill him.

And yet, no matter how much his teeth hurt from clenching, and his chest shuddered from the anger, he couldn’t take aim truly.

“Go away!” he said in the end, more angry with himself that he was played like a fool than the wolf in front of his eyes. “Go!” When the wolf whimpered again, and moved forward, Stiles shot again, this time closer. “I said go!”

Derek – the wolf, the beast— took the hint, and then, walking backwards for a while. It lowered his head, the sounds it made sounded like crying. As if it had the right to cry. Finally, it turned around and disappeared into the wood.

****

Stiles entered the village, wondering if he looked as wrecked as he felt.

It didn’t matter. He was determined to forget the past night, and most of all, that morning. It was banned from his memories, and because of that, he was never going to utter a single word to anyone about Derek.

Walking to his house, he passed the blacksmith’s corner on the side street and heard voices arguing. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but the word “werewolf” piqued his interest. So he just stopped walking and, well, listened.

“I’ve told you, this conversation isn’t one to have in the shop!” One of the voices said. It sounded deep. Familiar.

“Yes, but we must have it somewhere, and you keep disappearing on me!”

“We shouldn’t talk about this at all!”

“The hunters are out there, killing every wolf they find thinking it’s the beast! What will happen when we’re out of wolves, but still people support Stilinski?”

Stiles’ heart stopped. Derek was right.

Oh no.

Derek had been right.

“We’ll find another way. Right now, it’s important to keep feeding them the lie. I’m so close to kicking the mayor out, and I’m going to do it any way I can. So, be careful, Ennis, because I might decide the beast choose you to claim next.”

Stiles’ could hear the blood beating in his ears as he bolted towards the safety of his home. He had to find his father. He had to share with him what he’d heard and then find a way to prove everything. But his father wasn’t home, and soon there were voices and cheers and noise coming from the main street.

Stiles ran, his chest growing heavy as a bad feeling rushed through him. This wasn’t good. The cheers could only mean one thing.

The crowd had gathered around something, someone. Stiles had to pull and push between the people to get in the middle where he saw Chris and Allison, the other hunters holding a very angry wolf with ropes around its neck, a satisfied smile on their faces.

No.

The wolf was Derek. Stiles could recognize him everywhere. The black fur, the yellow eyes that met his as they fell on him, the soft whimper in between the growls. It was him.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked like an idiot. He knew what they were doing. They had done it before.

“What does it look, Stiles?” Chris said, clenching his teeth patiently.

“It looks like we’re on a quest on killing all wolves in the area, and I wonder what that will do to our forest,” he answered. He knew he was angering the crowd but he had to gain some time.

“Stiles,” Allison said almost laughing, “Come on, let’s finish this.”

“No, wait. Where is my father?”

“What? We can’t decide to kill a wolf without the mayor’s presence?” Ennis said from somewhere on the other side of the circle.

“No, Stiles is right,” Chris said. “Killing the beast is his responsibility and he has to be present every time. Somebody call him.”

Stiles breathed easier, despite having no idea what he intended to do. The only thing he knew, was that he couldn’t leave Derek die. Not because he wasn’t the killer… but because he was Derek. And Derek, no matter how furious he was at him for playing him the way he did, ultimately, he wasn’t a beast.

In the end, if there was someone that was going to kill him for being a cryptic, manipulative jerk, that was Stiles damn it.

So what?

What would he do?

Stiles knew two things to do well. Hunting and talking.

He’d use the one to accomplish the other.

“Weird beasts those werewolves, huh?” Stiles asked Allison. Allison was the gentlest, ruthless, and smartest person Stiles knew. Most of all, she was on the right side of justice. Exactly the opposite side of Ennis.

Allison showed her confusion with a tilt of her head but waited as Stiles continued. “Killing first our deputy mayor, then the vice president of the council. One would think, they’re almost after something.”

Allison raised her eyebrow, her thoughts already going the same ways as his.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ennis interjected, just as Stiles expected. “I’ve seen the beast! And you’ve all seen the claws on the bodies.”

“Who else has seen the werewolf?” Stiles asked the crowd. Various voices agreed, “I’ve seen it”, “I’ve seen it’s eyes in the woods”, “I hear it howling every night”, and Ennis looked at him with a smug smile on his face.

“See?” he asked provocatively. It took everything from Stiles not to roll his eyes.

“Stiles what’s going on?” His father was at the scene, finally, followed by Deucalion.

“They got the wolf, dad. Another wolf.”

“Good. We can’t have this village remain in the mercy of the animals.”

“And what about the mercy of the liars?”

“What do you mean, Stiles?” Chris asked, already side-eying Ennis.

“I’m just saying, we can’t kill all the wolves hoping that one of them is a beast that turns to a large human and kills all the mayor’s political supporters.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Ennis started towards him, but Chris placed a hand on his chest.

“No. But I’m calling you stupid. You think that whoever is paying you to spread those rumors won’t have you dead once this is over?”

Ennis eyes fell on Deucalion, right as Stiles had planned. And with his eyes, all heads were upon the blacksmith.

Now.  Now was the time for Stiles to pressure them. If he wanted Derek to escape this alive, he should push more.

“What? Is this the man who told you to spread the rumors?” Stiles pointed at Deucalion, so that no doubt was left. “It doesn’t surprise me, Deuc, buddy. You always chose stupid people to do your dirty job,” Stiles said with a shrug.

Deucalion, to his credit, laughed. “You think that because Ennis looked at me when you scared him with death by the beast makes me the one who ordered him to murder those people?”

Stiles face lit up with a smile. Allison’s, too. “You know, he never said that. But you did.”

“No! He didn’t tell me to kill them!” Ennis yelled.

“Who did then?” Chris brought him close, gripping his shirt.

“No one. I mean, I didn’t even kill them! The beast did.”

“All I see is an enraged and scared animal. No claws. No teeth. If it were what you said it was, then it would have killed as all here,” Stiles said, spitting every word at the man.

“Still, nothing you say proves anything,” Deucalion said.

“No. But it’s enough to let the animal go, and stop the werewolf hunting. From now on, both of you are under arrest and we’ll wait and see if the murders stop,” Stiles’ father said, and Stiles wanted to kiss him. But he didn’t. All he wanted was to see Derek free from those ropes.

Allison untied the wolf and the crowd split mostly out of fear. Despite not being werewolf in their minds, it was still a wolf. The wolf, Derek, ran away to its freedom and Stiles breathed again.

***

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said to the man swimming in the lake.

It took so long for an answer to come, that he thought Derek wasn’t going answer. He had been coming every night for the past four weeks to the same shore, waiting to see him, but he was nowhere.

Tonight was the full moon. It was almost just like the night they met. Almost. Because the moon was more beautiful and the man more angry.

“For what?” Derek’s voice was thin as it came from the water, and Stiles wished he was closer.

“For everything? For shooting you. Twice, although, I wasn’t aiming at you, that was obvious. For tying you with ropes, even if it wasn’t me. And for accusing you for being a beast. That was totally me.”

“I didn’t want to lie to you.” This time Derek sounded unsure, hesitant.

“But you did. And, after some thinking, I know why you did it. I accept it probably was for the best. At least, we made love before I started shooting.”

“And what about now?”

“Now, I promise I won’t shoot, before, during, or after making love. I mean— if you want to.”

The splashing of the water was the only indication that Derek was moving. He got out of the water in all his glorious nakedness, as handsome as he was the first time he saw him, and he walked to Stiles. His face was serious, his hair dripping waters all over. Stiles swallowed.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For not shooting me. For listening to me when we talked. For saving me when they got me.” Derek’s eyes looked straight through him, and Stiles’ heart skipped several beats.

“Do you want to sit here all night and talk?” Stiles asked once he found his voice again.

Derek nodded.

“And can you show me how you turn into a wolf?”

Stiles most definitely doesn’t jump. Or start drooling when the man he’s looking at is the most beautiful man ever? From what he can tell in the moonlight of course.

“Uh?” is all Stiles can intelligently get out.

“Private. Property,” the man repeats between clenched teeth as he takes a few steps closer to Stiles. “Hale property to be specific. And it’s not a very safe night to be out here, hunter.”

“Uh, right,” Stiles says nervously. “See, I was just looking for the new wolf the rogue alpha bit to just make sure he knows - or she, it could be a girl no need to be sexist here - the rules, you know.”

The man nods, but doesn’t look convinced that Stiles is actually trustworthy at all. Makes sense considering werewolves and hunters never get along anyway. And there’s a chance this guy might be a Hale - the family of werewolves that has been in a constant feud with the Argents since before Stiles can remember.

“And if you knew who the rogue alpha is....”

“I don’t,” the man is quick to say, his voice hard. “If I did, why would I tell you? So you could just kill them? Without a single thought?”

“And what are you going to do?” Stiles challenges. “Let him keep biting innocent people and killing them?”

There’s a flash of blue eyes and wow, great, Stiles. Piss off the werewolf. Great plan.

“I’m going to find him and help him, which is exactly what I plan to do with the new werewolf.” The eyes return back to normal despite the voice having small lisp like he was talking over fangs.

“We could work together?” Stiles suggest.

There’s a very loud snort which rude. “A hunter and a werewolf?” the man asks doubtfully.

“Could be a great children’s show about people coming together despite their differences,” Stiles says. “Very inspiring.”

“Like I would work with you,” the man says, and it’s like Stiles can hear the eye roll. “Your family tried to kill mine.”

And yeah, Stiles could see how that would make a werewolf dislike him. And now he knows for sure this dude is a Hale. “I’m adopted?”

“Uh huh.”

“No, really. My dad died when I was a kid. My name used to be Stilinski, but now it’s Argent and Stiles Argent just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“You do realize it could be dangerous for you to share your name with me, right?” the werewolf points out.

“Fair enough. But no more dangerous than my family when they find out I never actually caught the werewolf because I’m really avoiding this whole hunting thing.”

The air between them is suddenly thick, and Hale is silent. Eerily so. Stiles isn’t sure what suddenly charged it, but Hale is turning around and walking away, leaving Stiles by himself. Great. Now what is he supposed to do? It wouldn’t be too bad if he went back and claimed that the woods were full of Hales and he couldn’t do any hunting.

“Are you coming?” Hale barks out.

“I was invited?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Hale grinds out, so Stiles is quick to move. He stumbles a little over all the leaves on the ground but catches himself. On Hale’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Stiles hisses, pulling his hand away. “Sorry, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“You’re full of rules,” Stiles mumbles before he realizes that werewolf, duh. The dude can still hear him. “Whatever, it’s not like you don’t know. Plus, if I can’t call you dude what can I call you?”

Hale hesitates for a moment before saying, “Derek.”

There’s no more conversation as Stiles follows Derek around the forest. He stops for a moment to sniff around or to listen. Sometimes he hisses at Stiles to shut up so he can hear, but Stiles is 100% sure he didn’t even say anything. It takes about twenty minutes before Derek stills in the middle of a clearing like he’s waiting for something.

Then suddenly Stiles is on the ground with a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring down at him and sniffing happening all up on his neck. The thing is, he recognizes that mop of brown hair.

“Scott?” Stiles squeaks.

The teenager flinches back, his head cocking as he recognizes the name. “Stiles?” except it sounds more like “Thtileth?” over all the fangs in his mouth.

“Dude, you’re a werewolf!” Stiles shouts, shoving at Scott’s chest excitedly. “How could you not tell me? We’re best friends!”

“You know about werewolves?” Scott asks, his face slowing going back to normal and his mouth emptying of fangs. His eyes are still glowing, though. “How could you not tell me?”

“There was no reason to tell you,” Stiles shrugs. “Plus, it would’ve broke the treaty we have with the Hales.” He nods his head to behind Scott where Derek is standing, frowning at both of them.

“You know him?” Derek asks, pointing at Scott.

“Best friend,” Scott growls. “Mine.”

“Whoa, buddy.” Stiles puts a hand on Scott’s shoulder to calm him down. “It’s chill, dude. He just wants to help you.”

Derek’s jaw tightens as his eyebrows lift minutely at Stiles questioningly.

“I want to help him too,” Stiles mumbles, trying to figure out what to tell his family. “Oh, hey Scotty. Do me a favor and like just run a couple claws down my face. Shallowly.”

“What?!” his best friend squeaks.

Derek just sighs like he can’t believe he got stuck with two idiots. “Stiles, get up.”

Which Stiles does as told because apparently he’s a follower. He ambles over to Derek, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“You really trust the barely in control new werewolf to get his claws anywhere near you?” he asks. “Are you really that idiotic?”

“Am I supposed to trust you?” he asks. “My family needs to think I at least put up a fighting chance. They won’t believe that if I come back unscathed.”

Derek’s response is to lift up his hand and let his claws out. Stiles flinches but leans his head back anyway.

It’s a minute and nothing happens. “Dude, just get it over with.”

“Stiles, his eyes are like really zoned out on your neck,” Scott says from the ground. “Like he might want to eat you. His eyes are glowing.”

There’s a growl that most likely comes from Derek because it’s really close to Stiles, and it should scare him, but it’s most definitely not. Someone should really take Stiles to therapy.

One large and warm hand cups his neck and oh fuck this is the opposite of what he needs. Suddenly he feels kinda warm and fuzzy and no pain whatsoever when there’s most definitely a claw slicing down his neck and on his shoulder, ripping up his plaid shirt.

“This is the weirdest feeling ever,” Stiles mumbles. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“You’ll feel it tomorrow,” Derek grumbles back, taking a step away from Stiles and looking to the side when the teenager tries to look at him. “I’ll take Scott to my family. You go back to yours. Don’t tell them it’s Scott.”

“Do you think I’m actually that stupid?” Stiles asks, determinedly ignoring the feeling of liquid dripping down his neck to his collarbone. It’s so weird that he still doesn’t feel the pain.

Derek lifts his eyebrows as if that’s an answer. “Come on, Scott. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”