#sterekweek2020

The first time Stiles came home after lacrosse practice to find Derek waiting in his bedroom, he’d nearly committed murder. But it wasn’t his fault that werewolves did creepy things like chill in the dark, okay? And it didn’t help that Stiles would have liked to have Derek in his bedroom on literally any other occasion that didn’t involve possible death. 

Which at first, he really thought was going to happen. That the man was actually going to rip his throat out or something. 

But instead, Derek had proceeded to give him a list of ‘research needs’ before leaving. Needs which Stiles very nearly threw away, except he liked having a throat, thank you very much.

So he didn’t. And in the days, weeks, and months that came after that, Derek kept showing up. Kept showing up, hanging around for a few moments, and then leaving.

Like an asshole.

Stiles thought it would be so much easier if he could hate Derek as much as the man obviously hated him. Anytime they were stuck in the same situation together, Derek seemed to make sure Stiles understood his distaste. From when they’d first met to any time after that.

And okay, maybe Derek didn’t hate- hate him. Not as much as he used to, anyway. But Stiles was still pretty sure the man might one day rip out his throat. Just because.

It was like the Lydia Martin situation all over again. Stiles was there, Derek was there, and Stiles was so hopelessly pathetic.

Derek didn’t make anything easy.

“You know one day,” Stiles said, when the werewolf swung through his window for the third time that week. “I’m going to be off at college and you’re going to have to look for someone else to be your precious little researcher.”

Derek paused at that, looking confused. Stiles raised an eyebrow and Derek grunted after a moment, moving forward.

“You’ll come back.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles said. “And why would you think that?”

Once more, Derek looked disturbed. “Because it’s you.”

“Dude,” Stiles said. “I’ve got one more year left until I graduate. One more year of supernatural threats appearing literally every other day. Do you really think I plan on sticking around for even more after that?”

Derek just stared.

But Stiles had thought this through, he really had. He already knew his dad wanted him as far away as he could get, though Stiles had been dubious at first. Except then he’d nearly died by a witch curse the day after, and that had made up his mind pretty quickly.

And it wasn’t like his hopeless pining for Derek had anything to do with it all either. Totally not.

In the silence, Derek’s brows had drawn together. Stiles stared at him, a little surprised the man actually expected him to stick around. Because it wasn’t like it would matter if Stiles left. Sure, the pack would lose one mighty grand researcher. The betas would have to go somewhere else when Derek got tired of their teenage angst and kicked them out. And sure, there’d no longer be any easy human bait to lure in the Monster of the Week.

But that’s really all that Stiles was good for.

“Alright then,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “What did you bring for me to research tonight?”

Derek gave him a long, silent look, face unreadable. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, earth to Sourwolf?” 

“Nothing,” Derek said, turning away. Stiles blinked as the man pulled himself right back out the window, sitting still for a moment before shoving himself up and stumbling after him. But by the time he looked out into the darkness, the roof was empty. So was the lawn.

Stiles blinked again. Then frowned. “Okay then, asshole!”

He didn’t get an answer.

Stiles really didn’t understand Derek Hale sometimes.

-

So many things had gone wrong in Derek’s life, he really should have expected this to go wrong too.

This being Stiles Stilinski, of course.

In the month after his impromptu visit to Stiles’s bedroom, Derek had been drastically cutting back on seeing the boy. Only when it was really necessary did he show up at Stiles’s window, reverting back to the old days when he’d drop off a list of ‘research needs’ before leaving again.

So many things in Derek’s life had gone wrong. He really just didn’t understand why this would fall into the list.

Because it was Stiles Stilinski. Stiles-hyperactive-skinny-annoying-Stilinski. Derek didn’t exactly hate him, not anymore, at least. Maybe not at all. Not since that one night, at least, when Derek left the Stilinski house feeling a little bit confused and a little bit empty for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

It took him a month to figure out exactly what part of their last conversation had shaken him so.

Stiles was leaving.

One day, Stiles was going to leave Beacon Hills.

Derek didn’t think that mattered until it sunk in one night as he watched the pack gather around the TV for the Friday night movie. His gaze lingered on Stiles and when Derek finally put two-and-two together, realizing this wasn’t going to last forever, that confused and empty feeling came back.

And Derek realized that at some point, he’d fallen in love with Stiles Stilinski.

Fucking Stiles Stilinski.

Some part of him thought all of that sounded about right. Derek had fallen in love a few times in his life and it never worked out. Well, if ‘not working out’ consisted of having his teenage girlfriend killed and family murdered.

So, of course, it’d be Stiles. Stiles, who Derek couldn’t stand. Stiles, who Derek had never been able to shake.

Stiles, who Derek stared at right now and realized with a pang that he was in love with the idiot.

“Uh, hey, Sourwolf?”

Snapping back to reality, Derek realized Stiles was staring at him. His chest suddenly constricted and he felt like he’d had a mini heart attack, earning a strange glance from Boyd. Clenching his jaw, Derek turned away and glared at the opposite wall, trying to figure out when things had gone wrong and why the hell he was feeling like he was about to claw his way out of his skin.

Lucky, Laura had said once. He was lucky because he had a soulmate somewhere out there.

One that wasn’t Stiles Stilinski.

Before Derek’s heartbeat could betray him any more, Derek turned around and grabbed his keys, starting toward the loft door. Stiles sat straight up as Derek passed him, the boy’s scent flaring with confusion.

“Dude, Derek?”

“I’m going out,” Derek growled, not even turning around. He could feel the others staring at him in confusion.

The door slammed at his back.

And despite it all, Derek barely managed to wait long enough to get outside before he was yanking his shirt over his head and taking off at a run.

-

Stiles turned eighteen a month before he graduated. 

That’s when he woke up to it.

The ink curling around his neck, that is. Stiles went through most of his morning completely unaware, hopping into the shower without glancing into the mirror and stumbling around his room looking for clean clothes afterward. He didn’t even bother to mess with his hair, figuring he was already running late enough as it was.

It wasn’t until Stiles stumbled downstairs and noticed how his dad stared at him like he’d grown two heads, that Stiles realized something was wrong.

“Um, son?”

Stiles blinked at him, but his dad’s attention was fixed solely on his neck. Reaching up unconsciously, Stiles rubbed a hand over smooth skin. “Yeah?”

“Is that a...?”

Stiles stared. Then broke away, stumbling into the bathroom and yanking down the collar of his sweatshirt.

And there it was. Patterns of black ink that curled into three different spirals; a soulmark that Stiles had seen before. But more importantly, a soulmark that Stiles had seen before while being so sure it would never be his own.

For a moment, Stiles just gaped.

Then he had a panic attack.

To be fair, there was a difference between pining over Beacon Hill’s grumpy-growly Alpha werewolf and actually thinking that he stood a chance. Stiles could drool over Derek all he wanted. He’d figured long ago that it would never add up to anything.

And Derek was probably going to kill him for this. Gut him. Rip out his throat before anyone could figure out that Derek Hale was the soulmate of Stiles Stilinski.

He was so dead.

By the time Stiles had finally calmed down, his dad was pounding on the door and saying something that Stiles couldn’t catch. All he could do was stare into the mirror, wondering faintly if he was still asleep and all of this was just a dream. 

Derek was going to kill him. 

Unless Stiles avoided the man as much as Derek had been avoiding him, that is.

The thought struck him like a blow. Stiles blinked at his own reflection and then cursed, yanking his collar up around the mark. Finally unlocking the door, he stumbled out of the bathroom and did his best to brush off his dad’s questions, head spinning. Because until he could figure this all out, Stiles didn’t even want to think about the mark currently on his skin.

It felt like it was burning, but maybe that was just in his head. And oh god, Derek was so going to kill him. Unless— unless— maybe Stiles could skip town. Or the country. Or something.  

He didn’t last nearly as long as he’d hoped. 

Stiles ditched going to school and avoided the pack’s calls, his mind going in circle after circle. He faintly recalled Scott having said something about him going to the loft that night, but Stiles was too terrified to leave his room.

Instead, he waited until his dad left for work, the man still looking unsatisfied as his eyes stayed glued to Stiles’s neck all the way out the door. Then the moment he was gone, Stiles tore off his shirt and raced back into the bathroom, running his fingers over the triskelion on his neck.

The last spiral stopped just above his collarbone. If Stiles pulled his collar up high enough, it almost hid away the entire tattoo, but standing shirtless in front of the mirror, Stiles could just stare, tracing the soulmark over and over again.

He’d been crushing on Derek Hale for years. Years.

He didn’t think Derek felt the same. 

Especially as of late, after the Sourwolf had suddenly stopped showing up at his window. The last straw had been when Derek had stormed out of the Friday movie night three months ago and then proceeded to skip each one after that. 

Stiles didn’t know if it was him or just Derek Hale being Derek Hale. But he might as well have been non-existent every time he tried to call or text Derek to find out.

Groaning, Stiles grabbed his shirt and trudged upstairs. This was it. He was going to have to live out of his bedroom until college. He was going to have to wear turtlenecks until graduation. Stiles was never going to be able to go back to the loft ever again.

That was his beginning thought process, at least. But then his window was shoved open.

Stiles yelped and grabbed the nearest blanket, wrapping it around himself tightly. For a moment, he half-expected to see Scott, because he’d been ignoring the boy’s texts all day. But then Derek pulled himself through the window instead.

And Stiles nearly had another panic attack.

As if he could tell, Derek froze. The man still had one leg outside of the window and he pulled himself all the way in carefully, raising his hands in surrender. Stiles just stood there, blanket wrapped around himself, staring in silent alarm.

Derek’s eyes narrowed as they searched his face. And then they went to his neck.

Instantly, Stiles was bunching the blanket up even higher. Derek raised an eyebrow and stepped forward, still staring at that now hidden spot of Stiles’s soulmark.

“Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“What is wro— nothing’s wrong!” Stiles said quickly, retreating a step back. “Absolutely nothing is wrong, big guy. I’m just, um, sick. Very sick.”

Derek stopped, his expression going flat. “You do remember I can hear you lie, right?”

Stiles internally cursed himself. “Of course, I do. But I’m fine.”

“Hm,” Derek said, not looking convinced. “What are you hiding, Stiles?”

And now wasn’t that the million-dollar question? If it weren’t for freaking werewolf hearing, Stiles would have continued lying his ass off. But as it was, meeting grey-green eyes that seemed to look right through him, Stiles just stayed silent. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Scott said he texted you.”

“Yes, Sourwolf, he did. Multiple times.”

“So you know the pack is waiting at the loft, then.”

“For…?”

Derek’s left eye twitched and the man’s ears turned a little red. Stiles blinked, confused for a moment, before nearly choking on his own breath. 

“Oh my god,” he said. “I told Scott I was spending my birthday at home!”

“It was the pack’s idea,” Derek defended, folding his arms over his chest. “Not just Scott’s.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Does that include you?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. He didn’t need werewolf hearing to notice how Derek’s face tightened and the man avoided his gaze. “You're lying.”

“I am not.”

“You’re totally lying!” Stiles said again. He stepped forward, but felt a small tug on the blanket. Glancing backward, he spotted where it had gotten caught on the edge of his bed and cursed, trying to maneuver it free.

That’s when Derek yanked on the other side of the blanket.

“Hey, wait— asshole!”

Stiles spun around, clapping both hands over the spot on his neck as if that would do anything. But Derek had already gone stock-still, eyes wide and face pale. The man’s gaze was fixed solely on the spot where the triskelion was.

Stiles’s heart plummeted. For a moment, they both just stood there.

Then Derek stepped forward. Stiles stepped back.

“Okay, okay, I know what you’re going to say…” He said, then paused. “Actually, I don’t. But I have a fair idea and as long as it doesn’t involve ripping this token human’s throat out, I’m pretty sure I can take whatever rejection you’re about to dole out. Just make it quick, big guy, would you?”

Derek stopped too, looking at Stiles like he was crazy. The man’s eyes were still a little wide, but they weren’t red and Stiles didn’t spot any claws, which he supposed was a good thing.

Stiles waited, slowly lowering his hands. Derek stared at the mark for a long moment before looking back at him.

“That’s new?”

Stiles tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Sort of.”

“Today?”

“I mean, I really thought I’d be able to keep it hidden longer—”

“Why?”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, I don’t…”

“You don’t want it,” Derek said, cutting him off. The man looked a little pained. “You didn’t want it.”

And that was the exact opposite of what Stiles expected Derek to say. To be honest, he’d been waiting for something along the lines of ‘why you? Why Stiles Stilinski?’ or whatever else rejection entailed. But Derek actually looked hurt and Stiles had no idea why.

“Um,” Stiles said, once more floundering unsuccessfully for words.

Derek was starting to look like he was about to go for the window, and if Stiles knew he’d probably never see the man again if that happened. So moving forward, Stiles caught Derek by the arm. The werewolf jerked like he’d been burned.

Quickly, Stiles let go. But he didn’t step away, not yet. “Dude, it’s not like that. I’m just so confused.”

“You were going to hide it,” Derek said.

“Because I didn’t want to get my throat ripped out!”

The man’s eyes flashed. “What?”

The conversation was taking so many turns, Stiles didn’t know how to react. So instead of saying anything else for a moment, he just raised his hands. And Derek actually seemed to relax a little.

The silence didn’t last long though, before Derek was clearing his throat. “Did it hurt?”

“Hurt?”

“The tattoo.”

“No,” Stiles said quietly, searching his face. “It was there when I woke up.”

Derek looked uncomfortable for a long moment. Then he dropped his gaze to the bedroom floor, shuffling from foot to foot. “So it’s a bad thing, then?”

Was it a bad thing? 

Stiles was so surprised, he actually could have laughed.

Because he used to have this dream, right? This dream of soulmarks and Lydia Martin. Or maybe it was less of a dream and more of an attraction back then. But then he had this fantasy. This fantasy of glowing eyes that never stayed the same color. 

That too, he’d abandoned before it could break him down.

Was it a bad thing?

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “Nothing about this could be bad, Sourwolf, ever. Unless you plan on ripping my throat out, that is.”

Derek stared at him. Then the man actually rolled his eyes. “What is it with you and getting your throat ripped out?”

“Alright, big guy, you were the one that made that threat in the first place.”

“Three years ago.”

“It was a very impactful moment!”

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles blushed, running a hand through his hair. “Not like that, asshole.”

“Hm.”

For a moment, Stiles entertained the idea he was dreaming again. But then Derek stepped forward and there were calloused fingers tracing over the tattoo on his neck. Stiles froze, a shiver running down his spine, and Derek paused for a second.

“Is this okay?”

Stiles closed his eyes, turning his face into the touch. He could’ve sworn he heard Derek growl at the back of his throat to that.

“Stiles—”

“Yeah, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, opening his eyes to look back at the werewolf. The words stuck in his throat, just a little. “This is okay.”

This time, when Derek’s eyes sparked red, it was anything but threatening. He was closer now, Stiles realized. Close enough that Stiles thought if he wanted to, he could kiss the man.

He wanted to. Oh hell, he wanted to.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Stiles swallowed nervously, Derek’s fingers unmoving where they touched his neck. Where they touched the soulmark that Stiles had never expected to show up. Not on him. Not identical to the one of Derek’s skin.

He used to have this dream—