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The first time Stiles was offered the bite, he said no. He was sixteen, shaking in a parking garage with Peter’s iron grip around his wrist. He was surprised Peter had deigned to ask, then even more surprised when he didn’t just bite him anyway.
The second time, it came from Derek. It was a gentle thing. Soft words offered up as their rag-tag Pack finally coalesced into something good. It was open-ended and non judgemental. This time, Stiles refused with a smile and a hand on Derek’s shoulder. He didn’t want or need anything more than he already had.
The third time it wasn’t a conversation Stiles participated in at all. He was in the back of Derek’s car with his head in Erica’s lap. Blood soaked his shirt. He could feel it dripping down his face. His eyes were blurry as the voices swirled around him. Scott was yelling. He wanted Derek to do it, but Derek just drove. The hospital was cold. The lights were blinding. His father’s tear-stained face was haunting. Afterwards, when the surgeries were done and the blood washed away, Stiles asked Derek why he hadn’t just done it. All Derek said was, “you said no,” and that was that.
The fourth time, Stiles knew his luck was running out. The Alpha’s mouth was hot, her teeth razor sharp. Stiles ripped his flannel off and as panic gripped his lungs. Blood dripped down his forearm from the crescent shaped wounds. He shoved his arm in Derek’s face, his eyes brimming with tears and his breath short and painful. Derek inspected the bite with furrowed brows and frustratingly tight lips as Stiles waited in agony for the verdict.
“I don’t know,” Derek finally said, squeezing him gently. “It’s not that deep, but it’s not shallow either.”
The Pack gathered in the new Hale House that night, clustered together in the living room while Stiles cried silently with his head on Scott’s shoulder and his hand clutching Derek’s like if he squeezed hard enough the lycanthropy would leak out of him and seep into Derek’s skin instead.
The next morning, Lydia circled herself in with mountain ash and held out her hand. Stiles took it and she tugged him over the line. His human body collapsed against hers and she held him tight as his panic melted into relief.
Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to think that the fifth time wouldn’t come. The bite was starting to feel less like an option and more like an inevitability. Part of him wondered if he should just get it over with— at least then it would be Derek and not some half-feral Alpha clawing desperately at their own sanity— but it was never more than a thought. No matter how much he tried to justify and convince himself, Stiles just didn’t want to be a werewolf. He could understand the pros: healing, strength, speed, enhanced senses, but the cons were ones he couldn’t get over: being tied to an Alpha who could easily abuse their power, being dependent on a Pack that could go up in flames after one mistake, being beholden to the tug of the moon, and live so precariously on a razors edge between control and a slave to instinct.
No. Stiles wanted the choice. He wanted to be in the Pack because he chose to be there, not because he’d go feral if he left. He wanted to stand at Derek’s side because he trusted him, not because he was lured in by his Alpha red eyes. He liked his freedom and no amount of persuading could change his mind.
But when the fifth time finally came, Stiles knew there wouldn’t be a sixth. He stared up at the stars, twinkling innocently between the dark shadows of the trees as wolves howled, bullets flew, and bones cracked. Stiles could feel blood seeping from his shoulder, pooling on the dirt around his neck. He didn’t need Derek to check it for him. Heat radiated from the bite. He could feel it in the muscles of his neck and arm, in the bone beneath. All this time, all these years, all those refusals, and here he was, exactly where he knew he’d end up one day; on the hard packed earth, a stone’s throw from the Nematon, bleeding onto the moss.
He didn’t even know the name of the Alpha who’d bitten him and doubted he ever would as Derek’s roar echoed through the clearing.
I’m glad it wasn’t you, Stiles found himself thinking as he listened to Derek tear through flesh and bone. I’m glad I’ll be able to look at you without seeing what you took from me.
“Stiles!” Scott’s voice was distant and panicked. “Stiles!”
He blinked. Scott leaned over him, his eyes wide and his cheeks blood-splattered.
“He got me,” was all Stiles could say, his eyes still fixed on the stars.
There was no moon in the sky. Ironic.
“Stiles.” Derek half collapsed into the dirt, clutching Stiles’ good shoulder tightly. “Stiles, let me see. Maybe—“ Stiles felt a tug at the tatters of his t-shirt as Derek realized what Stiles already knew. “Oh.”
Stiles closed his eyes as tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t want it,” he breathed.
“I—“ Derek gripped his hand, pulling it up to his chest. He could feel Derek’s heartbeat through his blood-soaked henley. “I know.”
Isaac, Allison, and Erica clustered around him, while Boyd, Lydia, and Jackson hovered over Scott and Derek’s heads.
“Is there anything…” Isaac trailed off.
“There’s no undoing the bite,” Lydia said, her voice tight. “Stiles and I have looked extensively. Either it takes or it doesn’t.”
Allison sucked in a sharp breath. Scott swallowed thickly.
Stiles did the math in his head. Teens were the most likely to survive. He was a bit older than that but only a little. Overall he was in good health. He exercised, hydrated, he ate healthy with his dad and less healthy at university but not by much. There wasn’t any real reason to be concerned, but then again, even a 90% chance of survival still left a 10% chance of death. No one thinks they’ll be the 10% until they are.
“H-how long do I have?” Stiles managed. His mouth was dry. His hand trembled in Derek’s.
“We’ll know soon if it- if it doesn’t—“ Derek couldn’t finish the sentence. “But if it takes then maybe eight hours.”
“The bite’s already healing,” Boyd remarked. “That’s good right?”
Derek hesitated before responding. “Y-yeah.”
The silence was cacophonous with all that was left unsaid. Eventually, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. “My dad.”
“I’ll call him,” Scott said immediately, scrambling for his phone.
“I want to go home,” Stiles added.
Immediately, the Pack jumped into action. Jackson and Boyd turned to deal with the bodies, Lydia and Erica led the way, and the rest formed a tight, protective ring as Derek gently scooped Stiles up with an arm under his knees and the other curled around his back.
Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder. His thoughts felt distant, as did the fading pain. He knew he was shaking only in contrast to Derek’s solid chest against his. He tried to control his breathing, focusing first on not gasping, then on matching the length of his inhales with his exhales, then on finding a consistent tempo.
“We’ve got you, Stiles.” Derek’s voice rumbled. Stiles could feel it against his cheek. “We’re gonna take care of you.”
Stiles let his tears fall. Derek knew why he didn’t want the bite. He knew better than anyone— even Scott. When Stiles left for Berkeley he hadn’t expected to feel the Derek-shaped hole left in his life but it ached like a gaping wound that could only be stitched closed with that exasperated sigh, those soft, barely there laughs, and the little smiles that were more in the eyes than the mouth. He definitely hadn’t expected Derek to feel the same but a weekly text became daily, then they turned to phone calls, then video calls, and then Stiles found himself writing papers while Derek sat in the corner of his laptop screen, slowly turning the pages of a book, glancing up every few minutes to watch Stiles obsess over footnotes and what format to cite his sources in.
It had been a long time since Stiles had questioned what he and Derek were to each other. He didn’t have a label for it. “Friends” wasn’t big enough. “Family” was too non-specific. “Soulmates” was too charged. Stiles didn’t know what to call them but he didn’t care. They weren’t a couple, but they were a pair. Derek was his person. His “can you come pick me up?” His “help me hide the body.” His “I’d kill for you.” His “I can’t live without you.”
A shudder wracked through him and Derek squeezed him tighter.
“He looks feverish,” Allison whispered. “Is that normal?”
“I think so,” Issac replied softly. “I remember being hot and cold and sweaty and nauseous.”
“I’d never had fever chills before,” Erica added. “They sucked.”
They fell silent again as the crunch of leaves turned to the scrape of gravel and Stiles let out a breath of relief as Derek climbed the porch steps to the house.
“Isaac, go upstairs and get him some soft clothes,” Derek ordered as they stepped into the hall. “Erica, fill one of the big sports water bottles with cold water and one with lukewarm water. Lydia, set up the nest in the living room. Allison, prep the basement.”
Stiles had always thought of it less as a basement and more of a dungeon. The chains hanging from the walls didn’t help. He didn’t want to go down there. He didn’t want to be so moon-crazy that he had to be chained up just to keep him from murdering people.
We don’t always get what we want, the little voice in his head whispered. It sounded like Peter.
“Shh, I got you.” Derek’s big warm hand ran down his back as they sank into a pile of cushions. Lydia fluttered around them, laying down cushions and blankets as the Pack slowly gathered, sticking close and clustering together.
Derek slowly coaxed Stiles’ grip to relax long enough for him to pull the tattered remains of his t-shirt off and wipe at the dried blood with a damp towel. Stiles let him pull a shirt that smelled like Boyd over his head then helpfully shifted his weight as Isaac tugged off his dirty, bloody jeans then coaxed him into some old BHHS sweatpants with the name “Whittemore” embroidered down the leg.
Stiles heard Scott finally slip in and join the pile.
“I told him everything,” Scott whispered. “He booked the next flight in. He should be here in the morning.”
Convincing his dad to retire outside of Beacon Hills had been the best thing Stiles ever did. He didn’t regret it one bit, even if it meant his dad was a little further away than either of them liked.
“He was a little freaked out, but you know him,” Scott added. “He compartmentalizes like a champ.”
“Must be where I get it from,” Stiles muttered against Derek’s neck.
He felt Derek chuckle.
“Jokes are a good sign,” Isaac said hopefully.
“Yeah.” Derek ran a hand down the back of Stiles’ head before resting it on the back of his neck. There was hesitation in his voice and Stiles knew it came purely from fear. Derek wouldn’t relax until Stiles was looking up at him with golden eyes. Or more likely blue, considering everything.
“Stiles.” Stiles felt Derek take a deep breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
Stiles buried his face deeper in Derek’s neck. He couldn’t bring himself to speak but he hoped the way he wrapped himself in Derek’s arms was evidence enough that Stiles didn’t blame him at all.
“We couldn’t protect you,” Scott corrected, giving Derek a nudge. “We’re Pack. We win and lose together.”
Stiles couldn’t help but smile. Scott wasn’t an Alpha, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the heart of the Pack.
“It’s no one’s fault,” Stiles managed softly. “It was only a matter of time.”
Derek flinched. “It shouldn’t have been.”
The silence wasn’t as loud as the last one. Stiles trembled through a sudden chill and a blanket appeared over him as the Pack curled in tight around him, giving him their heat.
Derek swallowed. “We should talk about anchors.”
“I know about anchors,” Stiles protested weakly. A heavy, aching fatigue was settling into his trembling muscles.
“It should never be a person because—“
“Yes, I was there for Scott’s whole Allison debacle.”
“Hey!”
“— because then your control could shatter in one argument or accident.” Derek continued, ignoring Scott’s quiet protestations. “It needs to be something you can rely on in every situation, something that’s always there for you. Something that calms you and tethers you to your humanity.”
Stiles had thought about it before but only in theory. Despite everything, he’d still managed to have a little hope that he’d never need one. He used to think he could use the memory of his mom. There was nothing that could affect their relationship now. He’d never have a falling out with her or lose her again, but now he knew it wouldn’t work. Often, thinking of her made him sad. Sometimes, it made him angry. Every once in a while he could look back and feel nothing but fondness. Those feelings couldn’t anchor him. They came and went and morphed into one another. He didn’t even know which one he would get on any given day.
Something else then. Stiles breathed against Derek’s shoulder and looked inwards.
What makes me feel human?
A memory came back to him. It was after his mom died. He didn’t like thinking about those first few months where his dad drank too much and the house was too quiet. He’d been quiet too, not speaking at first and then only in terse monosyllabic words. He hadn’t felt human then. He felt like a shell. Like he’d been hollowed out and abandoned, incapable of feeling anything other than helplessness. His dad had worried and eventually signed him up for summer camp. He said something about wanting Stiles to socialize and have fun again. Stiles didn’t see how that was a possibility but he couldn’t stop his dad from driving him a few towns over to a cluster of cabins in the middle of the woods by a vast lake. It was a five day trip but his dad promised that if Stiles really didn’t like it he could call and he’d come back to pick him up immediately. Even as Stiles pulled his duffel out of the trunk he knew he wouldn’t call. His dad wanted him to be better and Stiles was willing to pretend.
It sucked. The other kids were giddy and energetic. Stiles knew his dour attitude wasn’t winning him any points but when someone talked to him he couldn’t stop the snide, clipped comments from slipping out. He didn’t know how to explain that he didn’t want to be like this either. He watched them swim and play volleyball. He participated when the counselors cajoled him but spent most of his time wandering the woods alone.
On the fourth day, Stiles wandered farther than he had before. The sounds from the campground faded away until there was nothing but the crunch of twigs and pine needles under his feet. He walked for hours, stopping when he was tired and continuing on as the afternoon grew hot. Eventually he found himself at the edge of a cliff that sloped down into the lake. He could see smoke from the bonfire back at the camp far away across the water. He sat with his feet dangling off the edge and watched the water sparkle, carefully peeling an orange he’d snagged from the mess hall before he left, and for the first time since his mom died a thought occurred to him.
Maybe it’ll be okay.
And that was it. He watched the sun set in a blaze of red and yellow as the zing of orange filled his mouth. The lake was calm, the trees swayed, the breeze was cool and crisp.
The next day, his dad came to get him and when he got out of the car, Stiles smiled.
“I’ve got it,” Stiles whispered.
“Yeah?” Derek breathed.
“Yeah.”
Stiles didn’t sleep that night. The pain came and went in waves along with bouts of shivers and cold sweats. Derek never let go of him. He tipped water bottles to his lips, holding the cold one to the back of his neck when the fever climbed. Sometimes the others talked, sometimes they slept. They refilled the water, got fresh blankets when the old ones dampened with sweat. Stiles couldn’t do much but cling to Derek and shake.
Every sound made his ears ring. The dim light from the kitchen was somehow too bright. His skin recoiled from all the textures brushing against him. Smell at least wasn’t so bad. It was still a lot— he could smell the woods, the dirt they’d tracked in, the remnants of blood and gunpowder, the pizza they had yesterday, the dark Pepsi stain on the carpet, and the overwhelming mix of eight other people. But all Stiles had to do was tuck his face into Derek and it all faded away. Derek smelled of earth, leather, and something heady and unique, but Stiles had known that already. Now with each passing breath, he discovered new complexities he’d never noticed before.
There was something fresh in there, like the breeze through the preserve. Below that was the sting of something acrid. It took a long time for Stiles to realize it was an emotion. Fear, panic, anxiety. Once he identified it he smelled it everywhere. It clung to Derek’s skin and Scott’s beside him. It wafted over when Jackson got up to refill Stiles’ water bottle and was almost overwhelming when Allison fanned him gently when he got too hot.
All the while Derek ran his hands down Stiles’ back, through his sweaty hair, and rubbed his shaking arms. He rocked them gently when Stiles gasped with pain and held them still when Stiles was quiet and drowsy.
“I’ve got you,” Derek murmured against his hair.
“Derek.”
The sun was rising.
“It’s almost done,” Derek breathed. “Just a little longer, Stiles. It’s almost over.”
Stiles shuddered. He was hot all over and his bones were screaming.
He dug his fingers into Derek’s chest, looking up at him as his eyes drifted in and out of focus. “Derek.”
“I’m here.”
“I d-don’t want to hurt anybody.”
“You won’t. I’ve got you.”
Their foreheads touched. Stiles sucked in a trembling breath and smelled that earth, leather, fresh, musky scent that was all Derek.
“You won’t let go?”
“Never.”
Derek’s nose brushed his, then soft lips pressed against his cheek.
Stiles’ eyes fluttered, then the pain was too much and he finally slipped into blissful darkness.
The first thing Stiles felt was safe. It took him longer to feel the thud of a heartbeat that wasn’t his own against his chest, then the gentle rush of breath against his temple, and the curl of arms around his waist. He could hear even more than that. More gentle breathing. More heartbeats. Seven, eight, nine. A familiar scent and the rhythm of a heart Stiles knew in his marrow.
Dad.
Stiles’ cheeks pulled into a helpless smile.
“I think he’s awake.”
“Shh, Isaac!” Scott hissed. “Don’t rush him.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
The ensuing silence was short lived.
“Derek didn’t cuddle me when I turned,” Erica griped petulantly.
“He was shittier back then,” Boyd placated.
Derek sighed deeply. “I’ll cuddle you later, how about that?”
Stiles tightened his grip around Derek’s neck, pulling him in.
“Oh, looks someones got that werewolf possessiveness in him already!” Erica chirped gleefully.
Stiles snorted. “Please, I’ve always been like this.” His voice was rough and coarse but strong. He could practically feel the elation in the air as he pried his eyes open. The first thing he saw was Derek’s smile. Stiles’ heart clenched as he caught Derek’s hazel eyes, filled with relief and something like pride. His hair was mused and sticking up against his pillow as Stiles blinked up at him.
“Hey, there.”
“Hiya, Sourwolf.”
“Stiles.” Stiles looked up at the sound of his Dad’s voice. He was kneeling just behind Derek, his face creased with worry. “How are you feeling?”
Stiles carefully unhooked his arms from Derek’s neck. Slowly they untangled from each other, pushing aside blankets and pillows as they both sat up. Stiles looked down and carefully took stock of himself. His body ached like he’d spent the night sprinting but his vision was clear, his breath was calm, and he had no immediate murderous thoughts which was an unexpected surprise.
Stiles wiggled his fingers and toes just for show. “I thought it’d be worse.”
“You certainly made it seem like a big deal.”
Lydia whacked Jackson’s shoulder.
Stiles snorted. “You can’t fake it anymore, bud. I could smell how worried you were.” He sniffed the air openly this time, trying to pinpoint Jackson’s scent. “Scratch that, how worried you still are.”
Of all the responses Stiles was expecting, a blush wasn’t one of them. “Shut up,” Jackson grumbled but he was biting back a smile. Isaac snickered.
“You can single out Jackson’s scent?” Derek asked suddenly, his eyes wide. “From across the room? Already?”
Stiles almost wanted to go fully Legally Blonde and say, “What, like it’s hard?” but he bit his tongue. It was way too early to brag. He’d save it for if his first full moon went well.
“Ugh, don’t tell me he’s a werewolf prodigy,” Erica lamented. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Show us your claws!” Isaac shouted as if he were catcalling a hot cheerleader from the bleachers.
“Maybe we don’t push our luck?” Scott suggested hesitantly, glancing at Derek.
“Stiles.” Stiles looked at Derek, still sitting next to him in their nest of blankets. “I’m gonna flash my eyes at you, okay?”
Stiles swallowed. He knew his eyes were going to be blue. There was no point putting it off. Derek reached out and squeezed his hand. “Ready?”
Stiles nodded. The Pack craned their necks to see as Derek’s eyes burned deep red.
Stiles watched them glow, glinting in the morning light before fading. He expected to feel something, maybe watch his vision turn blue-tinged, but there was nothing. Then Derek just blinked at him, his eyes hazel and confused.
“W-what?” Stiles asked.
“Um.” Derek’s brow creased. “You didn’t flash back.”
“Oh, sorry.” Stiles blinked rapidly. “Uh, how do I do it?”
“It just happens,” Derek’s voice was hesitant. “A beta always reacts to their Alpha.”
Stiles’ stomach dropped. “You didn’t kill the Alpha that bit me?”
“I did.” Derek’s eyes went wide. “I did, Stiles, I promise. I would never leave you for some other Alpha to claim unless you wanted that.”
“I know,” Stiles whispered, panic clawing at his chest. “But if you’re my Alpha then what’s wrong with me?”
“I—“ Derek faltered “—I don’t know.”
Stiles’ breath turned shallow.
“Stiles.” Derek was suddenly cupping his face. “Stiles, think about your anchor. Remember last night? You said you found one.”
“Maybe we should let him shift,” Lydia said quietly. “Make sure he’s a wolf.”
If Stiles had been scared before, it was nothing to the terror Lydia’s words suddenly instilled in him. Instantly he was thrown back to the high school swimming pool, choking on chlorine as scaly reptilian claws paced in his periphery.
Stiles scrambled back, yanking out of Derek’s grip for the first time since he was bitten.
“Lydia!”
“Sorry, I just—“
Stiles’ back hit the wall. He dug his hands into his shins and felt a prickle of pain. His nails were too sharp. Stiles’ heartbeat thundered in his chest as his canines ached, then began to take up more space in his mouth.
“Stiles, slow breaths,” his dad’s voice cut through the noise.
“Your anchor, Stiles. Find your anchor again.”
Stiles tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against his knees.
The cliff, he remembered. The lake. The hot sun. The cool breeze. The taste of orange. That simple feeling that, even without his mom, maybe some things could still be good.
If I can conquer that, I can conquer anything.
He focused on the taste of the orange. Tart, bright, citric. His mouth watered. He imagined the cool air wafting against his warm skin, gentle and calming. He remembered the scent of loam and pine, fresh and clean. He floated there for a moment, then focused on his toes, forcing them to relax. Then his ankles, then his knees. He worked his way up his body, relaxing his shoulders, his neck, his jaw.
His teeth were blunt against his tongue. His fingertips were dull.
“W-what am I?” He breathed.
For a moment, there was no answer.
“You’re my son.”
Stiles looked up in surprise and found his dad’s gentle face only an arm’s length away. The last of the tension leaked out of Stiles’ body.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Three days passed and nothing happened. Stiles stayed at the Hale House, too nervous about losing control to go anywhere else. The Pack came and went, dragging the acrid scent of worry and uncertainty in with them. Derek was always nearby. He didn’t push or coddle, just made his presence known with lingering touches and the illusion of normalcy.
Stiles kept himself grounded with cool, fresh air, the taste of orange, and the calm of a placid lake. He cooked with Derek, got a head start on next semester’s reading list, and caught up on a few shows on the Pack’s communal Netflix account.
Stiles didn’t try to shift. He couldn’t bring himself too. The word abomination hung unnervingly in the back of his mind as the full moon loomed. Stiles tried not to think about the fact that the moon was growing by the day and he felt absolutely nothing. There was no tug, no yearning, no itch to run or howl. Stiles hadn’t wanted to be tethered to the moon before but he hadn’t considered that its absence would be even worse.
Night fell. The Pack gathered. Stiles sat on the porch next to Allison and Lydia, as he always did, while the wolves grew giddy with anticipation, stripping their clothes off as they awaited the Alpha’s howl that would unleash them on the forest.
“Stiles.”
Stiles looked up. Derek was crouching in front of the porch steps, still dressed, and with that earnest expression that Stiles knew always predicated a— capital A, capital T— Alpha Talk.
Stiles grit his teeth. “I don’t feel anything.”
“I know.” Derek held his hand out. “Come with me anyway.”
Stiles hesitated. “W-what if—“
“Shh.” Derek shook his head. “We’ll talk about it out there,” he said, nodding toward the trees.
Derek was trying to give him privacy, Stiles realized. He’d never felt the eyes of the Pack as oppressive, but as soon as the thought occurred to him, his skin prickled uncomfortably. Derek had noticed before he had, though the realization wasn’t a shock either. He didn’t want the Pack— his family— to see what sort of unnatural thing he was now.
Stiles swallowed thickly and nodded, ignoring Lydia’s hand on his shoulder and Allison’s encouraging smile as he took Derek’s hand. He kept his eyes on the ground as Derek stood and tipped his head back.
When Stiles was human, the long, piercing howl cut straight through to his bones. Now it rang in his ears, adrenaline flooding his veins as his heart thundered and every hair on his body stood on end while his senses sharpened into laser focus. He knew instinctively where every wolf was. He smelled them on the wind, the loam and earthy scent of the forest fading away as his mind picked out Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica— one by one, every wolf, but none as sharply as the man standing next to him. He could feel the power radiating from the Alpha. His hand was warm and gentle. Safety and fear mixed in a roiling cacophony as some primal instinct told him to run while another told him there was nowhere on earth safer than right here.
The wolves howled their response, bones cracking and skin rippling as they transformed, dropping to all fours as fur sprouted, swishing tails appeared, and claws dug into the earth. They darted around each other, relishing the shift, before each taking a turn to brush reassuringly against Stiles’ legs. Derek, still human, gripped his hand and led the way into the trees. The wolves quickly vanished in the darkness, their pants and howls growing fainter as they charged ahead.
Stiles let Derek lead him into a small clearing that had been used more than once as a semi-neutral meeting ground with other Packs. Moonlight shone down from above, illuminating Derek’s skin and making his black hair shine as he turned to face him. Derek took his other hand, squeezing gently as they stood a breath apart in the darkness.
“I think it’s time,” Derek breathed.
Stiles’ heart thundered in his chest.
“I know you’re nervous,” Derek continued softly, taking half a step closer. “But I’m here, okay? Your anchor is strong so no matter what happens, you’ll be able to come back.”
“What if I’m a—“ Stiles couldn’t bring himself to say it. “What if I hurt you?”
“I’ll heal,” Derek replied simply. “And I can always call the Pack. They haven’t gone far. If I call, they’ll come.”
Stiles' mouth was dry as he stared down at his own shoes.
“But I’m not worried,” Derek added softly, his forehead resting against Stiles’. “The shape you take reflects the person you are,” he recited. “You know who you are, you always have, so I’m not worried. You might not be a wolf, but you’ll always be Pack.”
Stiles looked up. Derek’s face was soft, even as the moonlight accentuated the cut of his cheekbones. His eyes were honest and unfaltering. The trust in them was almost too much. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shuddering breath as he squeezed Derek’s hands tight.
“I’ll love you no matter what,” Derek whispered against his lips. “You know that.”
Derek’s lips were soft and gentle against the corner of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles sucked in a tiny gasp as his eyes fluttered open to look up at Derek’s glowing red eyes.
“What was that for?” Stiles breathed.
“You,” Derek replied simply, ducking his head to hide his smile in that way Stiles always found so endearing. “Just you.”
Stiles leaned in closer, his nose brushing Derek’s. “Why now?”
“Because I want you to know how much faith I have in you,” Derek replied, pulling Stiles’ hands up to press them both against his chest. His heart beat was strong and steady beneath his shirt. “I’m here. I’m yours. You have nothing to fear, I promise.”
A little breath left Stiles’ lips before he was leaning forward, fingers digging into Derek’s chest as he pulled him in. Stiles groaned as Derek’s lips parted easily under his own and the scent he was so familiar with morphed into a taste. He held on fiercely, gripping the back of Derek’s neck as big hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tight. Stiles gasped breathlessly as he pushed harder, kissing Derek deeply as Derek took a stumbling step back.
“Heh.” Derek’s lips pulled into a smile as he got his balance back. “You’re strong.”
The words barely registered as Stiles sank his fingers into Derek’s hair and pulled him back in, kissing the smile from his lips and relishing the pounding of Derek’s heart mingling with his own.
Suddenly, it was all too much. Stiles panted desperately against Derek’s cheek, clutching him tightly as his hands shook.
“Your eyes,” Derek breathed, his hand cupping Stiles’ cheek.
Stiles blinked up at him. He could feel it now. It was like flexing a muscle he didn’t know he had.
“What color…” Stiles whispered, hardly wanting to know.
Derek smiled, his thumb brushing Stiles’ bottom lashes. “Not yellow like a beta, not red like an Alpha.” Derek leaned in and kissed the corner of his eye. “Bronze,” he decided. “Like a sunset.”
Stiles sucked in a surprised breath. His mind instantly went back to the lake, the orange, the sunset.
Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are.
Something settled in Stiles’ chest. His fear ebbed as Derek’s confidence became his own.
“I’m ready,” he whispered.
He felt Derek’s cheek pull into a smile against his own. “Breathe,” he whispered. “You are a rock, buffeted by the rush of a river. Sturdy, strong, unyielding.”
Stiles pictured it, a smooth stone, standing firm against the tides.
“Now let the water take you,” Derek said gently. “Let yourself drift. Let it carry you.”
Stiles took a deep breath, then increment by increment, he softened his death grip on his humanity.
“You are tethered by your anchor.” Derek’s voice filled his ears. “You won’t drift far and you’ll always be able to come home.”
Stiles let the force of his new nature overwhelm him. Trusting Derek. Trusting himself.
He let go.
Trees rushed past. The earth was soft beneath his feet. He was fast. He was nimble. He darted under fallen logs and skipped easily across jagged stones. The rhythm of his feet was new and exhilarating. It wasn’t the pounding of two, but the music of four. His field of vision was wider than he’d ever known it could be. Every branch, every leaf, every twig was new and fascinating. His ears swiveled, picking up every croak of distant frogs, the buzz of insects, the pounding of lupine paws.
Stiles ran faster, his heart racing with an intoxicating mix of fear and excitement as the wolf behind him closed in.
The tip of his tail brushed a panting mouth. Stiles spun around and sank his fangs into black fur.
The wolf stumbled to a halt with a yelp of surprise, tumbling twice before landing on his side with Stiles hanging on by his scruff. A big red eye found his and Stiles chomped twice before pulling off with a raspy laugh, darting over Derek’s sleek form.
The replying growl was playful and a moment later, Stiles was hoisted up with sharp teeth clamped around the back of his neck. His back feet pawed at the ground before Derek shoved him down, crushing him into the dirt with a paw on either side and his heavy body against his back before rubbing his long snout up and down the back of Stiles’ head.
Stiles grumbled as Derek rubbed his scent all over Stiles’ fur.
He wasn’t a pack animal, Stiles could tell that much, but he couldn’t deny that it also felt pretty good. So he let Derek rub all over him, licking him occasionally before Stiles wiggled onto his back and batted Derek’s long snout with his paw.
With a ripple and a series of cracks, Derek’s fur receded to smooth skin. Stiles’ tail flicked back and forth as Derek, naked and grinning, loomed over him.
“I’ve never met a werefox before,” he mused, rubbing Stiles’ soft, pointed ears. “It suits you.”
Stiles snapped his teeth, catching Derek’s forearm and gnawing at it.
“What? You’re cute like this.”
Suddenly deeply irritated by his inability to snark back, Stiles pictured the river, the rushing current, his anchor— calm water, cool breeze, tart orange— held him firm against the stream.
His body twisted and creaked as it shifted, tugging pleasantly like a satisfyingly deep stretch and he blinked up at Derek again with human eyes.
“Asshole.”
“You shifted back just to say that?”
“I needed you to know.”
“It’s not my fault your tail is so fluffy.”
“I’m gonna bite you for real next time.”
“Is that a promise?”
Derek’s smirk sent sparks down Stiles’ spine. Without a second thought, Stiles lunged up, fangs erupting from his gums as he bit down on the thick cord of muscle between Derek’s neck and shoulder. Derek gasped as his back hit the forest floor. Stiles straddled him, his claws digging into the dirt as Derek’s hands scrabbled at his sides, his back, his thighs.
“H-harder,” Derek hissed.
Stiles growled low in the back of his throat and dug in deeper. He could feel the racing thrum of Derek’s pulse beneath his tongue. He could taste the metallic tang of blood hovering just below the surface of his fragile skin.
“Fuck.”
Stiles lips tugged into a grin as Derek’s hips rolled under his. He pulled back, licking the vivid red mark as he planted his elbows in the earth, framing Derek’s face with his arms. He rubbed his cheek against Derek’s.
“Mmm, you smell good,” he mumbled against Derek’s stubble.
Derek snorted. “You’re telling me.” He tucked his nose behind Stiles’ ear and breathed deep. “I’ve been chasing your scent for years.”
Stiles shuddered, letting his full weight settle across Derek's’ chest. He could feel Derek’s half-hard cock against his thigh. His own length nestled in the curve of his hip. Derek’s arms curled around him, warm against the cool night air.
“You okay?” Derek asked softly, the teasing giving way to gentle earnestness.
Stiles paused. For once in his life, the words came slowly.
“I’m… I’m a werefox.”
“You are.”
“Foxes aren’t pack animals.”
“No.”
“I’m not bound to you.”
“No.”
“I’m not bound to the moon.”
“No.”
“There’s nothing forcing me to stay here.”
“No.”
Stiles looked down at Derek, swallowing thickly. “But I can, if I want.”
Derek didn’t hesitate. “Always.”
Suddenly, Stiles was blinking back tears. All it took was a single shuddering breath for Derek to curl around him, holding him tight as Stiles buried himself in Derek’s chest, his arms, his scent.
“I—“ the relief was almost too much. “I choose you.”
Beneath him, Derek took a long, deep breath.
“Not because I have to,” Stiles whispered. “But because I want to, just like before.” He turned and pressed his lips against the length of Derek’s neck. “I want this. I want the Pack. I want you.”
Derek seemed to melt beneath him. He could smell the relief, the joy, the excitement on Derek’s skin as a breathless kiss quickly turned frantic and desperate. Derek’s hands were soft and insistent, his fingers strong and toe-curling, and his cock fit so perfectly inside Stiles that he marveled at the fact that it had taken them this long to discover it. But as Stiles rolled his hips, riding Derek slow and deep, he knew he wouldn’t trade a second of the last few years for anything. It was worth it to see the wonder in Derek’s red eyes, to feel the tension of his body as he tried desperately not to cum, and the glisten of his sweat-slick skin trembling in the moonlight when he did.
Stiles watched the rise and fall of Derek’s chest as the first rays of morning filtered through the trees and for the first time since he’d been bitten, a simple, effortless thought occurred to him.
Maybe it’ll be okay.