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The restaurant's atmosphere is quiet, with dim lights and soft, classical music dancing around them—along with the low hum of voices from other patrons and little clinks of dishes. A light vanilla-scented candle burns between them, casting a warm glow on the table.
Even so, all Stiles can focus on is the man seated across from him, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight. He still can't believe that Derek agreed to go out with him. Hell, Stiles can't believe he even got up the nerve to ask Derek out in the first place. He didn't think Derek knew who he was when they ran into each other at Brewed Awakening.
Stiles had just gotten back into town after being away for a few years. He was standing in line at the local coffee shop when Derek—his high school crush—tapped him on the shoulder. They made some small talk while they waited for their turn at the counter. Derek asked if he was back for good. His eyes twinkled then, too, when Stiles said yes.
They grew closer as the weeks went by. Friendly banter turned to flirting, and it was the only reason Stiles took a chance and asked him out on this date. "Is there something on my face?"
Derek's voice pulls him from his thoughts in time to catch a smile slowly growing on his lips.
Stiles has always loved the way his eyes crinkle in the corner. He smiles back and sighs dramatically. "You're pretty."
Derek rolls his eyes, making Stiles chuckle. "Pretty? You think I'm pretty?"
"Oh, whatever. You know what you look like! And, okay, but seriously, I'm on a date on with Derek freaking Hale." On Valentine's, no less! "I don't think my night could get any better."
A second later, as Stiles takes a bite of his food, something rubs against his leg.
When Stiles glances at Derek, he blinks at Stiles innocently. "You're sure about that?"
Stiles gasps in mock indignation. "Why, Derek Rufus Hale, what kind of guy do you take me for?"
Derek snorts. "Did you just call me Rufus? That's not my middle name."
"Well, I don't know your middle name, now do I?" He does. It's Sebastian. "So I had to make one up on the spot."
"And you came up with Rufus?" Derek's laughter is like sunshine bursting through storm clouds. Beautiful.
Stiles would kill to hear it every day of his life.
"It's Sebastian, by the way," Derek says, tapping his leg again. "You should know that."
"And why's that?" Stiles would lean forward, but then he'd have to pull his leg back and he likes the way Derek's foot rubs against his calf.
"Because I like you."
Holy shit.
Holy. Shit.
Stiles swallows thickly as his fifteen-year-old self cheers. "I-I like you, too."
"Oh, I know."
Stiles must have a confused look on his face because Derek taps his nose.
"Oh my G—" Stiles looks up at the ceiling, his face flooding with warmth. How the hell did he forget Derek could scent that?
Derek taps his leg again, getting his attention. There's a small, hopeful smile on his beautiful face. "What do you think? Would you go out with me? Not just a date, but dating?"
Stiles grins, nodding enthusiastically. Okay, let's play it cool, Stiles, he tells himself, clearing his throat.
"Yes," he says firmly. "Yes, I'm definitely up for that."
***
Stiles wakes with a smile on his face, remembering the kiss Derek gave him after their date. It was just a soft press of lips, but hotter than any kiss he's ever experienced before. Probably because it was Derek.
With a pep in his step, he hops out of bed. Derek will be coming over soon, and while he's not expecting anything more to happen, he still wants to look his best. So he takes a quick shower, gets dressed, and does his hair with a little extra care than normal.
Once he's done, he heads to the kitchen to make a late breakfast. The pan he needs is in the sink since his dad made himself something earlier, so he has to wash it first. Seriously, he needs to find his own place soon. That doesn't stop him from humming as he works, a smile on his face at the thought of seeing Derek again. It's different now that they're dating.
Dating!
The word sends a thrill through his body. He can hardly believe it.
But when Derek's not there by the time he's done eating, Stiles worries. He checks his phone in case Derek had to cancel. But there are no notifications other than some Twitter posts Erica tagged him in.
He tries calling Derek's phone. His pulse thrums in his veins as the call rings through to voicemail—once, twice, three times, before Stiles gives up. He pockets his phone and grabs his keys, making sure he has his wallet before flying out the front door.
Roscoe rumbles to life, and he peels out of his driveway, dread sinking into the pit of his stomach.
***
Derek's Camaro isn't in his regular spot when Stiles gets to the loft.
Stiles parks haphazardly, practically taking up two spaces. At least he has the presence of mind to turn the Jeep off before sliding out and rushing into the building, using the code Derek gave him.
The elevator feels like it takes thirty years to get to the top, and Stiles walks into the loft to find the rest of the pack watching a movie in the front room. They all give him distracted greetings, too engrossed in whatever it is they're watching. But something—no, someone—is missing.
"Is Derek upstairs?" Stiles asks as he heads toward the spiral staircase. Usually, when everyone is here, Derek's hanging out with them, albeit silently.
"No, we thought he was with you," Erica replies, pausing the show to give Stiles his full attention.
Stiles stops and spins around. "What?"
"I stayed over last night and he never came home," Isaac explains with a shrug. "You guys were on a date last night, so we figured he'd gone home with you or something."
"No, we left the restaurant around eight. He walked me to the Jeep, kissed me, and then got into his Camaro.
"Aww, you guys finally kissed?" Isaac teases, but Stiles gives him a withering look.
"That's not exactly what's important right now."
"Should we go look for him?" Erica asks.
Stiles throws his hands in the air. "Yes!"
Boyd shuts the TV off as he gets to his feet. "We can split up. Erica and I can go to the high school."
Stiles nods. "I like this plan. Isaac, come with me to check the preserve."
They all hurry out of the loft and to their respective vehicles. As Stiles heads to the preserve with Isaac, his thoughts stray to Derek, where he might be and why he'd disappear like that. It's out of character and doesn't sit well with him.
"Where do you think he went?" Isaac asks, bringing Stiles back to the present.
Stiles sighs heavily. "I'm not sure." Sure, he and Derek have only been hanging out for a few weeks, but they've known each other longer than that—even if only from a distance.
Because while Stiles didn't think Derek knew who he was back in high school, Derek admitted to having a crush on him, too. He was apparently just too chickenshit to do anything about it.
Now, though, they've had their first date—on Valentine's, no less—and Derek officially asked him out.
"Do you think you scared him off?" Isaac voices his thoughts, causing him to grip the steering wheel a bit tighter.
Shit. Did he? But Derek's the one that asked him out. But what if he changed his mind?
"I don't know," Stiles grits out. "I don't think so. I mean, he was supposed to come over today."
"Cold feet?" Isaac plays with the radio, changing the station. "What if you're a terrible kisser and he doesn't know how to tell you?"
Stiles glares at him, slapping his hand away from the dial. Only Derek's allowed to change the station. "Dude, you're not helping right now. Besides, do you really think Derek would just ghost me for being a terrible kisser? Which I'm not," he adds.
"Sorry."
The rest of the drive to the preserve is spent in silence.
***
"Alright. Why don't you head that way?" Stiles says, pointing to the snowy trail off to the left. "I'll take this path. Call me if you find anything, alright?"
Isaac nods before taking off.
Stiles shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, the brisk air doing nothing to stamp down his irritation and worry.
Mostly worry because he knows this isn't Derek avoiding him or something stupid. He wouldn't have avoided his own home.
Home.
Derek's childhood home is close if Stiles remembers correctly. It backed up to the preserve on the north side of town. Could he be there?
Wouldn't hurt to check, his mind supplies, so he heads in that direction.
***
Stiles isn't sure what he was expecting as he walks onto the old Hale property, but this is definitely not it. Several bodies are strewn about the yard, clothes shredded and torn. Even with the cloud covering, threatening to downpour any second, all the blood covering the ground is easily visible against the dusting of snow from the night before. Anyone else would've lost their lunch at the sight, but after helping his dad with one too many violent cases, Stiles has become immune to it.
Though the carnage before him isn't what catches his attention. No, it's the man hunched over a few yards from the front porch, snarling as he slams another man into the ground. His skin, painted in blood, is warped and scarred, almost making him unrecognizable. But it's the bright red eyes that snap up as Stiles takes another step closer that give him away.
"Derek," Stiles breathes, both relieved and concerned. As far as he knows, Derek's never done anything like this before. Sure, he knows Derek's gotten angry—has heard stories from his pack—but he's never killed a man. At least not on purpose.
Low groaning and movement from the man under Derek has Stiles rushing over without thought. He lifts his bat as Derek moves back, startled.
Good, he doesn't want to accidentally hurt Derek.
With as much force as he can muster, he swings the bat down onto the man's head, adrenaline surging through his veins at the resounding crack as metal meets bone. The man stops moving, but Stiles isn't done. No, this man—and the others around the yard—were hunters, and they were here for a reason. Derek did most of the work, and now it's Stiles's turn to finish the job.
He swings his bat down several more times, unaware of all the blood splattering over himself and the ground beneath them. Satisfied, he lowers the bat, breathing heavily as he glares at the body below.
A low growl brings him back to himself, and he looks over at Derek. Confusion and fear are written all over his face, making Stiles feel something akin to shame. Or maybe it's guilt? But not for killing the man. No, it's for scaring Derek.
"Shit, I'm sorry, Derek," Stiles says, dropping the bat as he hurries over to Derek. He promptly slows to a stop a few feet away and crouches down to Derek's level.
Derek sniffs the air, ass practically on the ground as he crouches. It's easy to tell when he catches Stiles's scent because all his hesitance instantly falls away. His shoulders relax, and he practically bowls Stiles over, face shoved into the crook of his neck, inhaling.
They're pressed so close together that Stiles can feel the vibrations through his chest as he rumble-purrs—definitely his new favorite sound.
"Hey, big guy. Uh, what's going on?" Though it's fairly obvious that somehow Derek's gone feral.
However, Stiles doesn't have time to think about it because Derek pulls away, growling as he pushes Stiles behind him. A pair of hunters burst through the trees, guns drawn.
Three quick shots ring out, echoing through the trees.
Bang bang bang.
As Derek rockets forward, an unfamiliar thrum of energy ignites in Stiles's veins. He flings his arms out, letting out a guttural roar as he waits for the pain to come.
Only it never does.
Instead, the hunters go flying backward into the trees. The resounding snap of their bones is loud in the otherwise quiet forest.
Stiles immediately looks to Derek, checking him over for gunshot wounds, but there’s nothing besides the scars and burns.
What the…? Where did the bullets go?
And what happened to the hunters? Derek growls, breaking him from his thoughts. "What's going on?"
Derek's eyes are on the treeline. Seriously, are there more hunters? Except, it's not hunters that step through the treeline. It's Isaac.
He whistles at the carnage around them. Before Stiles can chide him, Derek snarls, putting himself between Isaac and Stiles.
"Whoa! Derek, it's okay!" Stiles runs a hand down his back. "It's just Isaac."
But Derek doesn't calm down. It's clear Isaac's presence sets him on edge.
"Hey, Isaac. Why don't you head back to the loft? Let Erica and Boyd know we found Derek, okay?"
"Uh, yeah? Okay? But why is he growling at me? Is he feral?"
"Kinda looks like it. And I'm pretty sure you have about two-point-five seconds before he tries to rip your throat out. With his teeth."
Isaac holds his hands up in surrender as he slowly walks backward. "I'm going. But what do we do about all this?"
"Call my dad. He'll take care of it."
"Okay, you got it,," Isaac assures him before disappearing through the trees.
Stiles looks down at Derek, running his fingers through Derek's hair. "Alright. We need to get you out of here." And cleaned up.
***
Somehow, Stiles managed to get Derek to his house. Actually, it really wasn't that hard, considering Derek wouldn't let Stiles more than two feet away from him. So really, it was more like Derek was following breadcrumbs—and Stiles was the breadcrumb.
If only getting Derek in the shower was that easy.
Instead, Derek growls at the showerhead, as if it's personally offended him.
"Derek, we need to get you cleaned up," Stiles says, urging him forward, but Derek doesn't budge. "Okay, fine. What if I shower with you?"
When he yanks off his shirt, Derek finally—finally—stops growling. Stiles rolls his eyes and pushes down his pants and boxer briefs, muttering under his breath, "This definitely wasn't what I had in mind for the first time we got naked together."
Stiles steps into the shower, completely unsurprised when Derek follows him.
As Stiles scrubs Derek's body clean, he's able to see the details of Derek's warped skin. Scars from bullet wounds, other werewolves' claws, and electric burns line his arms, torso, and legs, even a few on his cheeks and forehead.
All his suffering is laid out in plain sight for anyone and everyone to see. It breaks Stiles's heart, so he kisses each one while he rinses Derek off, feeling those curious eyes watching him.
After they're done and dried off, Stiles pulls some clothes on and tries to get Derek in boxers.
"Come on, Der," he says, almost whining when Derek backs away again. "I don't mind seeing you nude, but I'm pretty sure my dad would. Just wear this and that's it. I swear."
With the glare Derek gives the piece of clothing, Stiles is sure that if Derek had the ability, the boxers would've burst into flames by now.
"Ugh, fine! But don't blame me when dad complains about your nakedness!" Stiles flops back on his bed with a heavy sigh. He looks at Derek as the bed dips beside him, smiling when Derek lies down. "What happened to you?"
The rush of adrenaline from earlier finally leaves him, and Stiles yawns loudly. He rolls over and snuggles up to Derek, grateful for his body heat. It doesn't take long for it to lull him to sleep.
***
Stiles wakes to movement beside him, the mattress cold under his searching hand. He opens his eyes to find Derek sitting on the edge, his back to him. The bathroom light is on, illuminating his tanned skin—marred only by the scars and marks he saw the day before.
"Derek?" he says quietly, afraid he might spook him.
"Did I wake you?" Derek replies, glancing over his shoulder.
"No. Well, kind of. But that's okay." Silence falls between them for a few moments. Stiles moves and sits next to Derek, reaching out but not touching. "Are you okay?"
Derek doesn't say anything right away. There's a hardness in his green eyes, his jaw clenched and lips set in a firm line.
The silence stretches on and on, but just before Stiles breaks it, Derek does, his tone void of emotion, "I remember what I did."
Stiles nods. "You weren't yourself." After a brief moment of internal debate, Stiles places his hand on Derek's thigh.
Derek jerks away so fast Stiles barely even sees it. "Don't."
"I wasn't myself either last night," Stiles says, his voice steady. Derek needs someone right now, and he's determined to remind Derek of that. "The moment I saw the hunter moving to hurt you, I lost it. All I could see was red. All I could think was 'not Derek. Not my Derek.' I didn't care about what you did, only to make sure that you were okay."
Derek finally looks at Stiles and holds his gaze. Then, abruptly, he throws himself at Stiles, wrapping his arms around him and breathing in his scent.
"You weren't scared of me or what I did," Derek states in the crook of Stiles's neck.
"Nah. It was hot." Really hot. In fact, if Stiles thinks about it, he finds it's actually a turn on. "But what happened? What caused all of this?"
Derek's voice grows small and quiet, wary. And when he asks, "Does it bother you?" it's clear he's not talking about the hunters he killed.
"No, not at all. It adds to your appeal." Stiles moves his hand to the back of Derek's neck, playing with the soft hairs there. "Does it bother you?"
"I mean, it makes me look weak."
"How do you mean?"
"Werewolves don't get scars, Stiles. If they did, then their healing isn't working properly."
Stiles can practically hear the scowl on Derek's face. "Do you want to test out your healing? See if it's working?"
Derek lifts his head, sighing. "No. I don't need anymore scars."
"Derek," Stiles says softly, cupping Derek's cheek as they look each other in the eyes. "The scars aren't anything to be ashamed of. They show how much you've been through and that you've come out stronger. Anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot."
To prove his point, he leans in and lightly presses their lips together. A few seconds tick by and Stiles isn't sure Derek is going to reciprocate, so he starts to pull away. But then Derek deepens the kiss, his hand holding the back of Stiles's head.
Eventually, though, they have to break away for air. Derek rests their foreheads together and whispers, "Thank you."
Stiles smiles. "You're welcome. We'll figure out what happened, okay? I promise."
Derek returns the smile and nods. "I trust you."
Stiles bites his lip as a thought enters his mind and he takes Derek's hand. "Question… How do you feel about staying here for a little while?"
"A little while as in today or…?"
"As long as you want. We can go to the loft and get some of your things."
Derek's brow furrows in apprehension. "You don't think your dad will mind?"
Stiles waves his hand dismissively. "Nah, he loves you. He'll probably even use your status as a werewolf to have steak."
Derek chuckles. "Okay, yeah. I'd like that. But I don't really want to go outside looking like this."
"That's okay. I've got some sweatpants that should fit you." Stiles gets up and goes to his closet. "Oh, and I may have stolen one of your hoodies a while ago…" He pulls out a gray zip-up hoodie that's definitely a bit too big on him.
Derek's brow goes up.
"I may not have your sense of smell, but it still smells like you and I like it," Stiles says quickly, holding the hoodie to his chest.
"I didn't say anything," Derek replies as he stands and takes the hoodie when Stiles hands it over.
"Your eyebrows said it all."
Derek snorts and pulls the hoodie on. "You said you have sweatpants?"
"Oh yeah!" Stiles turns back to the closet and pulls out some black sweatpants. "They may be a bit short on you, but they should fit everywhere else."
With Derek dressed, Stiles grabs his keys and they head to the loft.
***
Stiles pulls away from Derek as the elevator lurches to a stop. As they step out, Derek stills—an arm shooting out across Stiles's chest to stop him from walking further.
"Der?"
"Something's not right." Derek sniffs the air, jaw clenched. "Stay here."
Derek strides toward his loft with a look of determination. Stiles has to practically sprint to keep up, not backing down when Derek glowers at him.
"You're supposed to stay back," Derek growls.
Stiles narrows his eyes. "I think yesterday proved that I can hold my own."
Derek's mouth thins, but he doesn't argue. He takes up a position in front of Stiles as they creep into the loft. Three bodies lay across the floor—Erica, Isaac, and Boyd—and they do not look well.
Before Stiles can go check on them, he notices some movement nearby. Sure enough, someone’s lurking in the corner, dressed in all black—almost blending in with the shadows.
"Jennifer," Derek says, his voice eerily calm. "What are you doing here?"
The figure moves, stepping into the light coming through the large bank of windows. It's a pretty woman around their age, with long brown hair that falls in waves over her shoulders. Though her brow is furrowed as she glares, lips pulled back over her teeth in anger.
"You've ruined everything!" she yells at them. Well, really, at Stiles since her piercing green eyes are locked on him.
What the hell did I do? he wants to ask, but Derek takes a step forward, mostly blocking her view of Stiles.
"What are you doing here?" Derek repeats, keeping Stiles at his back.
There's clearly something going on that Stiles isn't privy to. "Does someone wanna fill me in on what's going on?"
"I needed to see why my spell failed," Jennifer says, eyes narrowed on Stiles. "He's supposed to love me."
Spell? Love?
Stiles scoffs because, seriously? "You're a witch?"
"I told you I never wanted to see you again," Derek growls.
Jennifer gives him a sardonic smile. "I told you, you're mine!"
She throws her arms up, knocking them back against the wall.
Derek jumps to his feet, face beta-shifting as he crouches, clearly ready to attack.
"Yeah, I'm good. I'm fine," Stiles grits out, rolling to his stomach. But it's not really the time for jokes because as soon as she moves again, Derek sprints into action, tackling Jennifer to the ground.
Stiles scrambles up and watches with wide eyes as Derek stands, easily lifting her with one arm, claws digging into her neck as she scratches at him. Her face goes red the tighter he grips.
"And I told you, I never wanted to see you again."
Jennifer attempts to twist out of his grip, kicking at air, but Derek holds firm, squeezing and squeezing until there's a barely audible snap of her neck. Her entire body goes limp and Derek drops her like a rag doll.
"We need to tell my dad," Stiles manages after a few moments of silence, walking up beside Derek.
"Okay." Derek's voice is gruff, but his eyes are soft, focused on Stiles. "Are you alright?"
Stiles nods. "Not the first time I've been knocked on my ass."
"It's a very nice ass," Derek jokes, though his tone is flat, weighed down by the seriousness of the situation.
Still, Stiles snorts. "Thanks." He glances over his shoulder. "We should probably check on your betas."
"Right."
For the next little while, they get Isaac, Erica, and Boyd taken care of, making sure they heal and rest, and figure out what to do with Jennifer. Stiles texts his dad to let him know what happened
Stiles notices Derek heading upstairs and hurries after him. When they're in Derek's room, Derek shuts the door and pulls Stiles close.
"I'm glad you're okay," Derek says softly.
"Me too," Stiles mutters into Derek's shoulder. He pulls back a bit to look into Derek's eyes. "How'd you know her?"
Derek sighs and steps back, unzipping his jacket. "We went on a date once and it ended poorly."
Derek keeps talking, but Stiles doesn't hear any of it. He's too distracted staring at Derek's chest. His unmarked chest.
"Derek," he breathes, reaching out toward his boyfriend. "Your scars…"
Derek follows Stiles's gaze, and his breath hitches. His fingers slowly run over the smooth skin. "They're gone."
"Killing her must've broken the spell." Stiles smiles and winds his arms around Derek. "With or without them, though, you're still the same Derek I fell in love with."
Derek smiles back and kisses Stiles. "I love you, too."