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Stiles has always kept odd hours. Long before he decided he wanted to be a writer and would come to spend hours at his laptop typing away, barely noticing as the sun went down and then came up again. That is when he was actually able to write. Which is something he’s been struggling with lately.
Still, he’s always been a night owl.
There was something he preferred about the late hours when the rest of the world was asleep. There’s an eerie sort of peace to it. A peace he doesn’t often find during the daylight and the hustle and bustle as people go about their days. It’s chaos. One he’s taken to avoiding as much as he possibly can.
It’s not that he avoids people. He doesn’t. He still sees his friends and his Dad. He just prefers not to do it around other people. Something Lydia usually scoffs at when he tries to convince her to just come to his place instead of going out for coffee.
“Just because you’re content living your life as a recluse doesn’t mean the rest of us are,” she would tell him. “Besides, I can’t exactly people-watch from your living room.”
Stiles would like to argue that’s not true. Not the recluse thing. He’s given up on that argument. But he does plenty of people-watching from his living room. There’s a reason he has his desk set up next to the big window looking out front. And yes, he knows for someone who prefers nighttime, having his desk right near the most daylight doesn’t make sense. But where else is he supposed to watch people?
“Aren’t you supposed to be writing and not watching people?”
He hates how much that voice in his head sounds like Lydia and that it might actually have a point. But where else is he supposed to try and find inspiration if he has a block? He can’t exactly do it staring at a plain white wall. He might just go mad.
Besides, his hobby of looking out the window lets him get to know his neighbors without actually having to talk to them. And that helps him learn the ones he’d very much like to avoid forever and the ones that might not be so bad but that he’d also not voluntarily strike up a conversation with.
He learns their habits and routines through pure observation.
He knows that Mrs. Harrington next door likes to get up early and spend all day in her yard gardening. She only stops when the sun goes down. He thinks that might be her way of doing some people-watching herself. He learns that Mr. Jefferson likes to go for late afternoon runs, and Mrs. Mabel always does her grocery shopping after church on Sundays and on and on.
Then there’s Derek Hale, his neighbor across the street.
Stiles rarely sees him out during the day. He’s only ever out at night. Which isn’t all that strange. He could work the night shift someplace. There are nights where he stays gone until the sun comes up, while on others, he’s only gone a few hours. He could also be dating someone, he supposes. Someone he doesn’t want to bring home.
Stiles isn’t sure why he doesn’t like that thought. It’s not as if he knows the man. Just what he looks like and that he seems to sleep as much as Stiles does, and that’s not a lot.
Tonight is one of those nights where Derek left early– around 8 o’clock. The neighborhood has been pretty quiet all night. Which is a little unfortunate. Stiles has been staring at the blank screen of his laptop for hours, just begging for words to come for his latest novel. But no amount of staring will make them appear, unfortunately. That would make his life a little easier. Because the idea is there. It’s just putting it into words that’s a bitch. But that is his job.
It’s around 3 a.m. when Stiles sees headlights coming down the street before Derek’s familiar SUV pulls into the driveway across the street. Stiles half expects to see him carrying groceries or some shit. But instead, he’s thrown when Derek stumbles out of the car and almost falls to the ground. Is he drunk? If he actually talked to his neighbors, he might have half a mind to give the man a lecture on the dangers of drunk driving.
But then he really looks and what he sees has his eyes widening. Even from this far, he can see the tears in Derek’s clothes and what looks like— but it can’t be. There’s no way. No fucking way. Stiles grabs his binoculars from next to the window and trains them on Derek, trying to get a closer look. He almost wishes he hadn’t. What he sees makes his stomach turn. Because Derek Hale is very much covered in blood. His face, his neck, his arms, his hands. Stiles can even see some through the tears in his clothes across his chest.
“What the fuck?” he mutters.
Derek’s head snaps up and in his direction. Stiles stumbles back away from the window and almost knocks his lamp over. He manages to straighten it and is a little grateful he forgot to turn it on. He hides behind his recliner and holds his breath. There’s no way Derek heard him. Not from all the way across the street. Sure, it had seemed that way. He had looked in Stiles’ direction right after he spoke. But that doesn’t mean anything. It was just a coincidence. Maybe he’d caught sight of Stiles out of the corner of his eye. Which, honestly, doesn’t make him feel any better. Because then he’d know Stiles had seen something.
Oh god, what if he comes over and kills him too? What if Stiles had unknowingly seen something he shouldn’t have? Lydia would be laughing at him right now, telling him he should have known his snooping would get him into trouble eventually. Though it’s not like she has room to talk.
And it’s not as if he knew his neighbor was a damn serial killer. Which is the only logical explanation given the facts he has. Derek’s only ever out at night. He never brings anyone back to the house. He lives alone. So obviously, he’s a murderer.
Now the question is, what is Stiles going to do about it?
Sure, he could call the cops. His dad, particularly. But he doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of evidence. Not any that could get a warrant. And by the time the cops got one, Derek would probably have everything cleaned up. Especially if he has reason to believe someone saw him.
Which means one thing: Stiles is just going to have to follow him and get proof himself.
The problem with that plan is that he barely sees Derek after that. The man somehow becomes even more reclusive, even with Stiles staying up for going on 72 hours now. He hasn’t managed to catch even a peek at Derek.
Maybe Derek had seen him that night, and he’d gotten scared, so now he’s lying low. Stiles supposes he should be grateful he’s stopped his murderous tendencies, even temporarily. But he needs proof if he wants to stop him for good. Or at least to catch him in the act before he can actually hurt someone.
One night, about a week after Stiles saw Derek covered in blood, Stiles sees him leaving his house. Stiles curses to himself and fumbles to get his shoes on. He grabs his keys from the table and is about to run out the door when he realizes he might be having a confrontation with a serial killer tonight. He needs protection. He grabs his old baseball bat from the hall closet and runs out the door. He creeps along the house towards his jeep and hops inside when he’s sure Derek isn’t looking.
It’s another few minutes before Derek’s SUV backs out of his driveway and sets off down the road. Stiles pulls out and follows him, trying to keep a safe distance, so Derek doesn’t spot him. The last thing he wants is to give himself away, especially after waiting so long for this moment.
Stiles is confused when Derek drives towards the preserve on the outside of town. No one should be out here this late. Not unless Derek’s had someone hidden out here this whole time. The thought makes Stiles uneasy. If someone has been captive this long, there’s no way they could still be alive. That is if they were even alive when Derek left them. He could just be coming back to enjoy his handy work.
Derek parks in the barely lit parking lot. Stiles drives past and parks far enough away that he’s sure Derek won’t notice. He runs back towards the parking lot, trying to be as quiet as possible. By the time he gets there, Derek is gone. Stiles curses to himself and looks around. There’s a worn path near Derek’s SUV. Stiles hesitates a moment before setting off down the trail. He doesn’t see Derek anywhere ahead of him, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could be creeping in the woods somewhere like the creeper he is. The thought does make Stiles a little uneasy.
Stiles stops when he comes to a clearing. There, a few feet away from him, is a jet-black wolf. Stiles’ eyes widen when it turns its head towards him. Its eyes seem to glow blue. It bares its fangs, and Stiles holds up his hands.
“Easy,” Stiles says. “I’m uh… I’m a friend?”
Stiles is sure he must be imagining it because the wolf huffs and its eyes drift toward the sky. Did the wolf just roll its eyes at him? Can wolves roll their eyes?
“I’m looking for someone,” Stiles says. “I think they could be in danger.”
The wolf tilts its head, and Stiles really must be imagining things. There’s no way the wolf can actually understand him. “I don’t know what they look like,” Stiles says. “But I think someone hurt them? Have you uh… have you seen anyone?”
The wolf just continues to stare, and Stiles groans. “Oh my god. I’m talking to a fucking wolf. I really am going crazy.”
The wolf huffs again then turns on its tail and runs into the trees behind it. Stiles closes his eyes. That had been close. The wolf very well could have decided to eat him. He’s lucky it just decided to run off.
Unless…
What if the wolf had understood him and was trying to show him the victim? Stiles takes off running in the direction the wolf went. He keeps an ear out, trying to listen for the sound of pawprints but can’t hear anything. He breaks through another group of trees and stumbles to a stop when he realizes he’s standing on the edge of a cliff.
“What the fuck?” he mutters.
“What the fuck is right,” a voice says from behind him.
Stiles spins around and almost jumps back when he sees Derek standing there. He still stumbles, and his arms flail out, his feet catching on a rock as he starts to fall backward. Derek grabs him by the shirt and hauls him back away from the cliff. Stiles would be thankful if he didn’t think Derek might just want to do the job himself.
“What are you doing out here?” Derek asks him.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Stiles spits back as he raises his bat in front of him and points it at Derek.
“I wanted to go for a moonlit walk,” Derek says. “It helps me clear my head.”
Stiles snorts. “Oh yeah? Is that what does it?”
“What?”
“I know what you are,” Stiles says, keeping his bat pointed at Derek.
Derek raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “And just so you know, my dad is the Sheriff, so if I go missing, there will be so many people looking for me, and they’ll come right to you. Because I told them all about you.”
That’s a lie, of course. Stiles hadn’t told a soul about Derek or his plan. But Derek doesn’t know that. How could he?
And yet, Derek smiles, having the audacity to look amused. “You haven’t told anyone anything, Stiles.”
“How do you know my name?” Stiles asks him. “Have you been stalking me?”
“No, but it seems you’ve been doing a little stalking yourself,” Derek says.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when someone comes home late at night covered in blood,” Stiles says. “I’m just trying to keep people safe.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Derek questions.
“Yes!”
“And what exactly are you keeping people safe from?”
“You!” Stiles says. “Because you’re– you’re a–”
“I’m a what?” Derek asks him.
“You know exactly what you are!”
“Maybe I want to hear you say it.”
“Why? For your sick amusement before you kill me?” Stiles spits out.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Derek says.
“But you can’t just let me walk away since I know your secret,” Stiles says. “And like hell am I going to let you keep doing this.”
“It’s not as if I can control it,” Derek says. “I was born this way.”
Stiles laughs at that. “Yeah, I’m sure you were. I bet you have loads of repressed trauma you’re using as an excuse to hurt other people.”
“I’m not hurting anyone,” Derek says. “At least not anyone that doesn’t deserve it.”
“And who are you to decide that?”
“I’m just doing what you’re doing, Stiles,” Derek says. “I’m trying to keep the people of this town safe.”
“Yeah, well, only one of us is killing people,” Stiles says. “And it’s not me.”
Derek frowns. “I’m not— Stiles, what do you think is happening here?”
“You’re some sort of psycho serial killer, that’s what!” Stiles says.
“I’m a what?”
“A serial killer!” Stiles shouts. “Just like I said.”
“I think you’ve been watching too many murder documentaries,” Derek tells him.
“That has nothing to do with this,” Stiles says. “I know what I saw.”
“I really don’t think you do,” Derek says.
“You were covered in blood!”
“Yes, my blood,” Derek says.
“But…”
“I’m not a serial killer, Stiles,” Derek says.
“Then what’s with the odd hours? And staying out at night?” Stiles asks him. “You keep even later hours than I do.”
“Did you ever notice what days those happen to be on?” Derek asks him. “Or just jump to the conclusion that I’m a serial killer?”
“What does the day have to do with it?” Stiles questions.
“A lot more than you think,” Derek says.
“If you’re not killing people, then what is going on?” Stiles asks him.
“I’m not sure you’re ready to know,” Derek tells him. “Even if you did stumble across it just a few minutes ago.”
“What?”
“The wolf, Stiles.”
“What about it?” Stiles asks. “What? Is it a pet or something?”
Derek smiles. “No, not a pet.”
“Then what?”
Derek shakes his head. “As I said, you’re not ready.”
“I am,” Stiles argues. “I can handle it.”
“I’m not so sure,” Derek says.
Stiles waves his bat at him, immediately catching onto his game. “You’re just trying to distract me since I know your secret.”
Derek shakes his head, an amused smile still on his lips. “You don’t know as much as you think you do.”
“I know enough,” Stiles says.
“You really don’t.”
“Then enlighten me,” Stiles says. “Come on, big guy. If you’re not a serial killer, then tell me why you came home covered in blood the other night, huh?”
“I already told you it was my blood,” Derek says.
“So what? One of your victims got the better of you this time?”
Derek sighs. “Are you always this insufferable?”
“I just want to know the truth,” Stiles says.
“Yeah?” Derek asks. “You really want to know the truth?”
“I just said so, didn’t I?”
Derek looks down at the ground and sighs. “I’m going to regret this,” he mutters. Then he’s lifting his head, and Stiles gasps and stumbles back. Because eyes are no longer green but a bright glowing blue.
“What the fuck?” Stiles exclaims. “Did you put in contacts?”
“My hands didn’t move,” Derek says. “These aren’t contacts.”
“Then what… what the hell is this?”
“I think you know,” Derek says. “Your brain is just taking a moment to process it.”
“What? What are you…?”
Stiles stops, his mind going back over their conversation until now. Everything he knows– everything he’s seen. Then it hits him.
The wolf, Stiles.
The wolf had been here just before Derek appeared. And it had the same glowing blue eyes.
“Oh my god.”
“Knew you’d get there eventually,” Derek says, his eyes now back to normal.
“You can turn into a wolf?” Stiles says. “So you’re what? A werewolf?”
“I am,” Derek says.
“Cool.”
“That’s all you have to say?” Derek asks him.
Stiles shrugs and lowers his bat. “It’s certainly better than you being a serial killer. I have to say.”
Derek snorts. “I suppose. I just didn’t expect you to be so calm about this.”
“I can be calm,” Stiles says. “I’m always calm.”
“Stiles, you were just ranting and raving about me being a supposed serial killer,” Derek says. “That’s not exactly calm. Which, we really need to talk about your idea of self-preservation, by the way.”
“I have plenty of self-preservation,” Stiles says.
“You followed me into the woods when you thought I was murdering people and then confronted me about it,” Derek says. “That doesn’t exactly scream having a high left of self-preservation.”
“As I said, I was looking for the truth,” Stiles says. “And I would have run if you tried to attack me.”
“Right.”
A silence falls between them, and Stiles takes the opportunity to study Derek. Now that he knows he’s not out there murdering people, he can admit he’s kind of cute– with the scruffy beard and bunny teeth that poke out when he smiles.
“So,” Stiles says. “Dinner?”
Derek’s brow furrows. “What?”
“I’m starving,” Stiles says. “And you must be, too, with all the running in the woods and howling at the moon.”
“I wasn’t… Stiles, I don’t howl at the moon,” Derek says.
“Why not?” Stiles says.
“Because I don’t,” Derek says.
“Shame,” Stiles sighs. “But you never answered me. Dinner?”
“You want to have dinner with me?”
“Why not?” Stiles says. “We’re neighbors. It’s about time we get to know each other.”
“Do you get dinner with any of our other neighbors?” Derek asks.
“No way,” Stiles says. “I barely talk to them.”
“And yet, you’re talking to me,” Derek says. “And asking me to dinner.”
“Because you’re actually interesting,” Stiles says. “And I have so many questions.”
“So this is an interrogation.”
“No, it’s just two people spending time together, talking and laughing over a meal,” Stiles says. “Hopefully enjoying themselves.”
“Is this you asking me out?” Derek asks him. He doesn’t seem put off by it.
That hadn’t been Stiles’ intention. He really was just starving and wanted to know more about this whole werewolf thing. But Derek is cute, and well, Stiles isn’t about to pass this chance up when he has it. “If you want.”
“You just accused me of murder,” Derek points out.
“And I’m sorry about that,” Stiles says. “It won’t happen again.”
Derek cracks a smile at that. He assesses Stiles for a moment before he shrugs. “Sure, Stiles. I’ll go to dinner with you.”
Stiles grins. “Awesome.”
“So, tell me how you two met again?” Lydia asks.
“You already know we’re neighbors,” Stiles says.
“Yes, but you said yourself you don’t talk to your neighbors,” Lydia counters.
“Not the others,” Stiles says. “But Derek is different.”
“We met on a stroll in the woods,” Derek says. “I must admit, I was surprised to see Stiles out there.”
“I can’t blame you,” Lydia says. “Stiles hates the woods.”
“I have a newfound fondness for it,” Stiles says. He shares a smile with Derek. “It’s given me a new perspective on life.”
Lydia eyes the two of them over her glass of wine. “Has it now?”
“It has.”
“And you two just came across each other in the woods and decided to date?”
“It didn’t go exactly like that,” Derek says. “He accused me of murder first.”
“Derek,” Stiles hisses, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Excuse me?” Lydia questions.
“He saw me covered in what he thought was blood,” Derek says. “And got it in his head I was a serial killer. So he decided to follow me one night and confront me about it.”
Lydia shakes her head. “Of course he did.”
“It was paint,” Derek says. “I was helping a friend paint their shed and got it all over me. But since it was dark when I came home….”
“Stiles thought it was blood,” Lydia guesses.
“He did,” Derek says.
“I still don’t understand how he went from accusing you of murder to being your boyfriend,” Lydia says.
“Well, once we talked things out, and he realized I wasn’t a murderer….”
“I decided I should just take my shot and ask him to dinner,” Stiles says. “Luckily, he didn’t hold it against me and said yes.”
Derek smiles fondly at Stiles and pecks his lips. “How could I say no?”
Stiles is glad he didn’t. He has been glad the last month, ever since that night in the woods. They’d gotten dinner, and Stiles had asked his questions about the whole werewolf thing, which Derek had answered patiently before the conversation turned elsewhere. Stiles had found out that Derek is an artist and is usually up late working on his latest project. When they’d gone home that night, Derek had walked Stiles to his door, joking about being careful of murderers on the loose, and had promised to call him.
Much to Stiles’ relief, he had. He’s kept calling and coming around, and for once, Stiles doesn’t mind the company. He finds himself enjoying it. It’s nice to look over from his computer and see Derek sitting on the couch with a sketchpad in front of him. To have him look up and smile softly at Stiles before going back to his work.
“I would have said no,” Lydia says bluntly. “But it is sweet you two found each other in your own unique way.”
Stiles grins and leans into Derek’s side. “Yeah, it really is.”