Archive of Our Own ^beta

On any given day, despite what's happening, Derek can rely on one thing, and that's Stiles being unpredictable. It's gotten to a point where Derek can predict the unpredictability, like how Stiles will volunteer for the dangerous part of a mission, even though he's the most fragile, vulnerable of them all.

The one time Derek is expecting him to stick up his hand, counting on it in fact, Stiles stays stubbornly silent.

Figures.

In fact, when asked directly which is the last thing he wants to do with Stiles because Stiles lives to be contrary, he says, "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"It's a two letter word. Surely it's come up in your life before now. You can't tell me you don't understand-"

"Stiles, I'm asking why you won't do this," Derek grits through his teeth, trying to be patient. "It's just recon. You love recon."

"If it's so easy anyone can do it."

"I'm not saying they can't. I'm just saying why tempt fate?"

"I think this is a job for Allison."

"What am I being volunteered for?" Allison asks, coming into the living area of the loft. Stiles had been the first to arrive for the pack meeting and Derek had wanted to get his little request out of the way before the others could show up and argue about it. Scott's been more than a little territorial lately about the pack members he sees as his and Erica, Boyd and Isaac are understandably protective of the squishy human in their midst even though Stiles fumes when they're blatant about it.

"Recon with the hunters that just rolled into Beacon Hills," Stiles supplies before Derek has a chance to say anything.

"Sure," Allison says, shrugging and slinging her purse at the nearest chair before kicking her boots off. She flomps down next to Stiles into the oversized arm chair Derek had dragged up from the street after he'd spotted it abandoned on the curb the week before and leans into him, offering a finger of the Kit-Kat she has in hand. "They're not hunters though."

"Of course they are," Derek snaps and Allison raises an eyebrow at him.

"They're as to us what sparkly vampires are to you," she says archly and Stiles snorts around his candy.

"I don't like it," Derek grumbles.

"My god, even if they fell over one of you, they wouldn't know what they were looking at. They're Sasquatch people. They have cameras, not guns."

"They might be trying a new tactic, hiding in plain sight."

"My dad doesn't know any of them," Allison dismisses. "Are we calling for pizza because I'm starving."

"Even amateurs get lucky," Derek presses because honestly, no one takes imminent threat seriously. Over the last few days a virtual cavalcade of Winnebagos have entered the town limits, spewing out camo-covered morons stomping into the forest with camcorders glued to their faces. "Bigfoot chasers," Derek adds with a sneer.

"Fine, I'll go gawk at them and then report back that they are doing absolutely nothing sinister except trampling flora," Allison sighs and Stiles ducks his face when Derek glares at him.

"I had actually asked Stiles to-"

"Ring for pizza? I'm on it. Should we get eight this time because that fight between Isaac and Scott last week wasn't pretty?"

Derek's learned to recognize when Stiles is deflecting and he's doing it now. He watches Stiles stand up, dig his cell phone out of his pocket and then retreat deeper into the loft when Erica, Isaac and Boyd tumble in, shoving each other while Scott follows sedately behind, nose buried in a book. Lydia's last to arrive, snagging Stiles' vacated seat with Allison and the last finger of Kit-Kat when Allison offers it over with a warm smile.

He sees Stiles sneak a glance at him, then duck his face again into the depths of his overlarge coat that he hasn't taken off yet. The others have stripped down because having a bunch of werewolves in an enclosed space always raises the ambient temperature but Stiles always seems impervious.

He's got someone to check out the faux-hunters which is what he wanted, but he's still left feeling troubled. Lately Stiles has been pulling away from everyone and Derek doesn't know how to stop it, how to tug him back into the safety of the pack. He knows Scott's noticed too, that Stiles has been bailing on pack activities more and more and is left wondering if he should be surprised. Stiles is pretty resilient but this life isn't for everyone.

He'd always thought it was for Stiles and is oddly disappointed that Stiles possibly doesn't agree.

*

Stiles is, understandably, suspicious.

"I don't know how you did it, but you did it," he gripes, sitting on the hood of his jeep and swinging his legs. "I mean, honestly if you did do it then that's some Bond shit right there and I'm impressed but-"

"I'm pretty sure the reason your jeep broke down is because it's held together with mostly wishful thinking," Derek interrupts, knowing when Stiles is wound up like this he can build up to a pretty good rant that will have almost nothing to do with his original point.

"It just happens to break down on the stretch of road that is closest to the Sasquatch hunter jamboree?"

"Yes."

"And you just happen to be running by?"

"I haven't changed my jogging route in eight months," Derek points out, trying to hold onto his patience with both hands but it's hard to do when dealing with Stiles.

"If you wanted me to go on stupid recon with you, you could've just asked."

"I did!" Derek flails his hands and snaps his mouth shut at the same time because something goes whizzing by his head so close that he feels the breeze of it. A second later there's a dull chock on the other side of the road and bark flies free of a tree in a spray of splinters.

Derek reaches forward on instinct, grabs Stiles by the shirtfront and yanks him practically off his feet. Right where Stiles had been standing there's another dull chock and one of the jeep's tires starts deflating with a resigned sounding whine.

"What-?" Stiles tugs on Derek's hold, automatically back towards his jeep but Derek uses his grip on Stiles to turn him around and shove him at the forest on the other side of the road.

"Go!" he barks.

"Who's shooting at us?" Stiles yells over his shoulder as whoever is obviously decides to abandon stealth and opens up, spraying the ground behind them. Derek jerks sideways as he runs so he's bodily blocking Stiles from the shots but they thankfully reach the treeline without either of them being hit. Derek is pleased to see that even after they pass into cover, Stiles doesn't stop running.

"Stiles, jacket!" Derek yells because for some reason the jacket Stiles is wearing is bright green and he might as well be wearing a giant target on himself. Stiles doesn't argue, just strips off the jacket without stopping and throws it aside, thankfully revealing a dark red shirt underneath that blends better into the shadows of the forest.

"I thought they only had camcorders!" Stiles yells, and only Stiles can sound irked while running for his life. A moment later, Stiles disappears from sight and Derek's heart lurches, before he crests the same rise Stiles just did and manages to stop before he takes a similar header into what looks like the biggest puddle he's ever seen. Stiles is practically submerged, spluttering and swearing as he emerges and Derek doesn't hesitate, leaps over the water and plucks Stiles out, setting him on his feet and giving him a shove in the direction of his old house.

"Too... cold," Stiles gets out between chattering teeth as he lurches forward again. Derek just ignores him. They'll have the luxury of worrying about pneumonia when they aren't in danger of being shot. As they find the clearing surrounding the old Hale house, Stiles' gait goes wobbly and he starts chanting to himself, "Nonononono, not now!"

"Stiles, go!" Derek says, physically hauling Stiles up the steps to the porch and then through the still surprisingly whole door. He lets go of Stiles on the other side in a hurry though because Stiles lets out a low, threatening growl and Derek's wolf instinctively wants to get away from that sound as quickly as possible.

Then, when Derek didn't think his night could get any more strange, Stiles changes.

*

It’s the feet that really get him, mostly because Stiles looks like he’s wearing giant fluffy novelty boots.

"What am I… what am I looking at?" Derek asks slowly, bewildered.

Stiles has a white furry mantel, long black claws with white fur coating his arms up to the elbows and he has the aforementioned big white fuzzy feet. As Derek stares at him and Stiles fidgets uncomfortably, he notices Stiles also has tiny black horns sticking out from his hair and his canines have lengthened just the tiniest bit.

"What am I looking at?" he repeats, probably a touch hysterically.

“It’s not a big deal. It just happens when I’m… cold,” Stiles offers, scratching gingerly at his head with a claw and then grimacing at it like it’s betraying him.

“Are you serious?”

“Hey, who are you to judge, wolfman?” Stiles huffs, starting to look a little pissed and a lot hurt. “I thought you’d be the last person to be all… speciest.”

“I… what?” Derek splutters, because what? He’s not sure what Stiles is getting angry about, unless Stiles’ senses are sharper than he’s always claimed and he can smell or hear what this new development is doing to Derek. Stiles is… he’s…

He’s beautiful.

Derek supposes Stiles always was, but this new thing, this new facet to Stiles just makes him even more.

“-so fine. I’ll just be taking my chances then,” Stiles is saying, hugging himself and his scent growing more miserable by the second. Derek’s admittedly missed the first part of what he said and he blinks at Stiles in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Derek demands.

“Only, I’m pretty sure these hunters are after me, not you, which is why I didn't want to go anywhere near them. I can spot these types from miles away. Sasquatch hunters which is why Chris has never dealt with them before. Of course, I’m not a ‘squatch but these guys always get us mixed up and they’re a little crazy, well, a lot crazy so you can’t exactly talk them down and-“

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, reaching out and taking Stiles’ clawed hands. He has to make a concerted effort to do it because Stiles immediately curls away from him, like he’s ashamed of these parts of himself and he doesn’t want Derek touching them.

“I’ll go back to normal when I warm up a little,” Stiles says, darting out of Derek’s grasp and rubbing his arms briskly, starting to jog in place.

“Isn’t this normal?” Derek asks and watches Stiles glare at him for a moment, like he’s sure Derek is trying to make a joke, only Derek’s not. His face goes through a myriad of expressions after that before settling on confusion.

“Huh?”

“This, it’s you. It’s normal for you,” Derek presses, both in words and with his body, backing Stiles up against one leaning wall. He’s never been as careful with Stiles as he should have been for how fragile Stiles appears and maybe it’s because he’s known that this was underneath all along. He’s expecting Stiles’ skin to be cool to the touch, and it is but not in an unpleasant way. It’s unbearably soft and smooth and the white, downy fur along Stiles' shoulders melts back into human skin under Derek’s palms where they land. “Oh my god, do you… does it go all the way down?”

Stiles’ cheeks flush at the question and half shrugs. "Sometimes I can be... completely covered," he says with a wry twist to his mouth. Derek doesn’t know why, but he’s yearning to see the bottoms of Stiles’ feet, see if he has black spongy pads underneath like a polar bear but he knows it’ll take a while before Stiles trusts him with his vulnerable places.

“You don't get to make fun of my magical disappearing sideburns ever again,” Derek says, huffing a laugh into Stiles’ shoulder. “That is so a kettle and pot situation!”

“No one knows,” Stiles admits quietly and Derek looks up at him quickly, almost disbelievingly.

“What about your dad?”

“This kinda just… happened when I was fifteen. I figured if it was from my dad’s side of the family he would have sat me down and had some kind of uncomfortable so you’re turning into a snow monster talk but… nada. Must be a mom thing. He might know about her, I never asked. I don’t know how.”

Derek watches the fur recede all the way, claws turning back into pink nails under his hands. Derek’s always run over-warm so his proximity must be chasing away Stiles’ chill. “You just ask. He’ll love you just the same.”

*

They're out on the porch steps, Stiles hunkered down into a blanket Derek had found in one of the back rooms when Scott, Allison and Lydia drive up in Scott's mom's car. Stiles' own chucks were shredded when his feet changed so he's wearing Derek's sneakers, laces left untied and trailing. Derek curls his own bare toes in the chill ground as he steps off the landing to meet them.

"You guys okay?" Scott asks when he gets out of the car. He looks torn between being pissed off and worried. Lydia immediately makes a beeline for Stiles but Scott and Allison pause in front of Derek, both concerned.

"Fine, although I think our wait and see stance about these guys needs to be abandoned. It's likely there's a few serious types in amongst the tourists, using them as cover."

Scott nods grimly, then trots over to Stiles and folds himself into Stiles' side, grumbling unhappily.

"I told my dad. He's calling in a few favors, will have some people here in the next few hours to run these guys out," Allison says, her mouth a grim little line and her eyes furious. "Did they seriously just open fire on you?"

"Not at first. They tried a head shot on me, looks like they were aiming for Stiles' kneecap."

"Get the human out of the way without killing him you think? I suppose that's something."

"That's not really-"

"Derek?" Stiles is behind him, bracketed by Lydia and Scott. His eyes are wide and pleading and Derek remembers that he'd said that no one knew. Derek hadn't figured that no one would include Scott, but suddenly it's clear that it does.

Stiles has been completely alone all this time, hiding this part of himself, terrified it would come out, even after Scott had been bitten.

Somehow, in Stiles' mind, this was worse.

Derek's confusion must be evident on his face, because Stiles deflates somewhat, looking truly exhausted. He's resigned to his secret coming out but Derek knows it isn't the time or place and he reaches out and pats Stiles on the shoulder. "You guys take him home. I don't think I smelled wolfsbane when they shot at us but I want to go back and make sure."

"You want me to come with?" Scott asks, like he knows he probably should, but he's gripping one of Stiles' arms and Derek shakes his head.

"Nah, I'll be careful."

Stiles gives him a relieved little smile when he's herded back to the car and Derek watches them go reluctantly because Erica, Isaac and Boyd aren't the only ones that have overinflated protective instincts when it comes to Stiles. Even with this new dimension to him Derek still feels compelled to tuck Stiles away and stand guard over whatever bolthole he secures him in.

If anything, the feeling is stronger.

"You have your phone?" Allison asks before she gets in the car.

Derek digs in his pockets, pulls it free and shows her.

"Good. I'll get Dad to give you a heads up when his contacts come in so you can make yourself scarce."

Before they leave, Derek trots over to the car and leans down in the back window where Stiles is curled into himself again, blanket held tightly around himself. "You should tell someone," Derek says.

"I thought I just did," Stiles says, giving Derek a wan little smile and then the car is peeling out and Derek watches until the taillights disappear.

*

The window slides up and Stiles pokes his head out. Derek is hunkered on his roof and he almost startles and falls off at Stiles' abrupt appearance. Stiles must notice his rare lack of suaveness because he's smirking when he says, "You can come in, you know."

"You weren't supposed to know I was out here," Derek grumbles, righting himself and then padding carefully over to Stiles' window. Stiles now has his elbows folded over the windowsill, eying Derek with interest.

"I figured."

"How did you know I was out here?"

"I got a little paranoid about late night visitors a while ago, got Allison to get me something. Four of the roof tiles are false. They're pressure plates painted to match. They send an alarm to my phone and laptop. I got some put outside my dad's bedroom and also there's one under the welcome mat at the front and the backyard has a few as well."

Derek's can't say he's surprised about Stiles' vigilance, especially considering recent events. "You said something about being able to recognize these guys. Has something happened before that you haven't told me about?"

"Not... it was before you came back to town," Stiles says, stepping back out of the window which Derek takes for the invitation it is and follows Stiles inside. He watches Stiles cross to his laptop and hit a few keys which stops the screen flashing. "Right after the first time I... changed. I don't know how they found me, but they tried to grab me outside of school. Funnily enough, I have Jackson to thank for not ending up on the back of a milk carton. He was riding by and saw what was happening. He screamed his head off and they split."

"Why didn't I know about this?"

"You never asked me if I'd been kidnapped before, or well, almost kidnapped. It's not something that comes up in general conversation."

"Bring it up. I want to know about this stuff," Derek says and when Stiles' gaze flicks away, guilty, Derek frowns at him. "Stiles?"

"That... one time I went missing after the Lacrosse game? It wasn't the guys from the other team. It was Gerard."

"Stiles!"

"He grabbed me because he wanted to hurt you guys. I didn't want to give the old bastard the satisfaction."

"He was the one that beat you?" Derek says, belatedly enraged but he calms himself when he sees the upset way Stiles is curling from him. "Just... tell me this stuff, okay?"

"I'm not planning on getting kidnapped and beaten to a bloody pulp again anytime soon, but I promise, if I do, I'll let you know right away if I'm not dead."

"This isn't a joke."

"I wasn't trying to make one," Stiles says, sounding suddenly tired. He drops down on his bed and pats the space beside him. Derek crosses the room and sits beside Stiles, gingerly, like maybe he's misreading what's happening even though he's pretty sure he isn't. Stiles proves him right by slumping into Derek and letting his head fall against Derek's shoulder.

"Why haven't you told anyone? Scott maybe? I could understand before he was bitten by Peter and you found out that werewolves were real but now? It's not like he won't understand."

"Will he though? I'm the one, constant thing in his suddenly inverted life. Plain ol' human Stiles. I didn't really want to take that away from him."

"He'd want to know. He'd want to help."

"He'd want to look after me. He has enough on his plate."

"Your plate's pretty full too," Derek points out. Stiles huffs out a long sigh and Derek feels it all along his side. He's missed this, the simple comfort of touch, the reassurance of contact. He remembers making pillow forts with his sisters and cousins, weathering storms that way. With his own pack in a constant state of flux and the question between him and Scott, he hasn't really had the chance to establish intimacy with them like he yearns to.

Stiles seems willing to just take affection without the careful steps leading up to it and Derek can't say he minds.

"Y'know, I don't even know what I am. How can I explain it to someone else?"

"From what I've seen, abominable snowman sounds kinda right," Derek says and Stiles snorts, an indelicate sound. He rubs his face on Derek's shoulder for a moment before he tilts back upright, squishy little nose that Derek's always found far too endearing pressing into Derek's shirt just above his collarbone for a beat too long to be innocent. "Werepolar bear maybe?"

"Now who's making jokes?" Stiles huffs.

"You should learn to control it, the shift," Derek says.

"Oh god."

"What?"

"Are you going to make me into a project? I thought you had enough of those."

"Stiles, controlling it might save your life one day."

"I don't even know if I can," Stiles protests.

"Because you've never tried. I can teach you what I know about my own control, maybe we can talk to Deaton-"

"He'll tell Scott!"

"When has that man ever told anyone anything in a way that's understandable?"

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it again and then makes a fair enough face. "You think he might know what I am? Maybe if there are others?" Stiles says, obviously warming to the idea.

"I think he's our best bet."

*

"Fascinating," Deaton says for about the sixth time and Stiles looks at Derek with exasperation.

"Yes, okay, but do you know what he is?"

"No idea," Deaton says without preamble. Stiles had stripped off to just his cargo pants which had taken awhile considering his preference for multiple layers and then had let Derek throw a freezing cold glass of water over him. Derek felt a little guilty about jumping at the chance to look unabashedly at Stiles' transformation this time without imminent peril weighing on his mind.

"No waffling, no theories. This, this you have a direct answer to?" Stiles grumbles, crossing his furry arms over his chest self-consciously. He's obviously still uncomfortable about this part of himself and his bravado quickly disappears with the hope that Deaton would have answers.

"Can I?" Deaton says and Stiles rolls his eyes, but holds out his, what Derek can only think of as, paws. Stiles is careful to curl the long black claws into his own hands but Deaton pries them out with the patience and experience of a vet used to dealing with recalcitrant clawed creatures.

Deaton gestures and Stiles tilts his head down with a put-upon expression. Derek bites back the growl at Deaton touching Stiles in such an entitled way. He'd be lying if he claimed not to understand why it made him bristle so much.

"Well, you're definitely some sort of shapeshifter," Deaton says and when Stiles' expression turns exasperated again, he adds to Derek, "This does look like a beta form of some kind."

"Suggesting I have an Alpha out there somewhere?" Stiles says and this time Derek can't hold back to the growl. It's ignored, which he's thankful for.

"That's not exactly what I mean. This is really fasc-"

"If you say the word fascinating again, I'll scratch you in a really uncomfortable place. I can do it." Stiles waggles his claws menacingly.

"I'd like to try something," Deaton says, turning away. When he turns back he has a long, plastic object in hand and Derek nor Stiles realize until too late that it's a lighter.

"Ow, what the hell?" Stiles demands, flinching away from the flame. He's back to fully human in an instant.

"Cold triggers the change, heat retards it," Deaton says in a detached way, like he's noting a color preference or that someone doesn't like pineapple on their pizza.

"Warn a guy!" Stiles snaps, rubbing at his side, a red mark appearing on his skin.

"I wouldn't have gotten a true reaction if I had," Deaton says mildly.

"Ugh, you suck. You know that, right?"

"No more experimentation," Derek grits out between his teeth.

"Fine. You should learn to control your shift. I'm very surprised you've managed to keep it at bay for so long."

"I rug up," Stiles grunts, tugging back on first his t-shirt, then overshirt and a hoodie as if to illustrate his point.

"You think this was from your mom?"

"I don't remember being bitten by any snowmen-" Stiles gives Derek an unamused glance, "-or mutant polar bears so I must have been born like this, right?"

"The logic does follow. Most times these things can present in puberty. You said you first changed when you were fifteen?"

"I don't want to hear any cracks about being a late bloomer," Stiles says to Derek who holds up his hands.

"I'll look into it. I can't promise I'll find anything, but I'll see what I can do."

"We'd appreciate it," Derek says.

"As for the uncontrolled transformation issue, I have an idea," Deaton says, digging into his jars and holding one aloft.

"What are these?" Stiles asks, shaking the bottle he's handed. There are what looks like black tablets rattling around the bottom.

"Carbo activatus," Deaton says and when both Stiles and Derek look at him blankly, he says, "Activated charcoal. Magic and the mystical have a lot of symmetry, a lot of poetry to them. There's also a great deal of belief involved. Charcoal is the remnants of fire. I think it will help suppress the shift."

"You're basically giving me a placebo," Stiles says, dubious, but takes the bottle anyway.

"Not if you believe."

*

"You don't heal faster," Derek says. They're back at Stiles' house, his dad on an overnight pseudo-bonding trip with a bunch of new recruits to the BHPD. Before Stiles had busted him and almost made him fall off their roof earlier that night, Derek had heard Stiles' dad tell Stiles that it was all going to be very official and boring and then sneak his fishing gear out of the house when Stiles had gone back up to his room.

"Not as fast as you guys, but maybe I heal faster than a normal person and it's all, y'know, relative."

"Are you stronger in your beta form?"

"Stop calling it that," Stiles grumbles, setting a sandwich down in front of Derek. The fillings are spilling out, a triple-deck monstrosity with four different types of meat and three sauces. It looks disgusting, but when Stiles had asked him if he wanted anything, Derek had just told him to make two of whatever he was having.

He should've known he would regret it.

"Maybe it explains why you eat the way you do," Derek says, watching Stiles drop onto the stool opposite, squish his sandwich down into a more manageable height using both hands and then pick it up and practically unhinge his jaw to take a massive bite.

"There is an explanation for that," Stiles says with a full mouth, pointing at himself with one mayonnaise-coated finger. "Teenage boy."

"You've looked into this, right? Tried to find others like you?" Derek can't imagine Stiles being passive about anything this life-altering and he's managed to pull information about the oddest things out of the weirdest places. Stiles just shrugs and says, dunno, just googled it when Derek's asked in the past but Derek knows it's a lot more complicated than that.

"Not until recently," Stiles admits, setting his food down and wiping his hands on his jeans even though there's a stack of paper towels by his elbow. Derek peels the top piece of bread off his own sandwich and eats a piece of bacon. "The attempted grabbing right after I found out about this kinda made me wary."

"Is that why you think these guys are here for you now, because you've been poking around?"

"It makes sense," Stiles admits.

"Oh my god, do you think this is your fault?" Derek groans.

"Hey, it's not like you have the market cornered on guilt-fests," Stiles says, disgruntled to be called out.

"Stiles, I don't care if you stood at the city limits with a sign held over your head proclaiming you to be the Lochness Monster. This isn't your doing. Guys like this always find us, one way or another. We just have to deal when they do. It helps we have Allison in the pack and Chris not hating on us quite so much."

"If one of you guys gets hurt because-"

"How many times have you been hurt because of us?" Derek interrupts.

Stiles frowns down at his hands and Derek knows it's because he wants to protest, to tell Derek that somehow it's different. It isn't, of course it isn't, but Derek knows that deep down Stiles blames himself for everything, the whole chain of events that have led up to this moment. He's lost count the number of times Stiles has started an argument with, but if I hadn't dragged Scott out that night.

"I guess," Stiles huffs, but it doesn't sound in the least like he believes it.

"I know what'll make you feel better about this," Derek says, plucking his phone out of his pocket and texting hurriedly. Stiles' mouth drops open and his eyes are wary. A piece of tomato drops out of Stiles' mouth onto his plate and Derek snatches it and tosses into his own just to see the hilariously disgusted expression Stiles pulls, and distract him.

"Wait, who are you messaging?" Stiles demands just as Derek hits send.

"Everyone."

"Who everyone?"

"That was the deal, right? If I remember correctly, it was your idea."

"What was?"

"No secrets in the pack."

The color drains out of Stiles' face and he smacks his hands on the table between them. "Did you just text everyone about what I am?" Stiles' voice goes high and shrill at the end in panic.

"Hey, no, calm down. I just told everyone to head on over here. They need to hear this from you," Derek says, picking one of Stiles' hands up off the counter and squeezing it between his palms. Stiles doesn't snatch it back immediately which Derek is going to choose to take as a good sign.

"I can't... I'm not ready to... they won't..."

"Stiles, can you think of a group of people that would be more understanding about what's happening to you?" Derek asks gently as Stiles' heartbeat speeds up and his breathing gets more erratic. Derek keeps squeezing his hand, even goes so far as to drag it back to himself and press it against his own chest. Stiles' breathing settles and his heart slows to match Derek's. "Scott might be mad because you didn't tell him about this when it happened, but I think that's about the worst that's going to happen."

"You really think they'll be okay with this?"

"You're asking if you think a bunch of werewolves will be okay with another shapeshifter? Yeah, I think they can handle it."

"What about Allison, or Lydia?"

"If Lydia can see past Jackson being a giant lizard and Allison... well, I'm pretty sure you'll be okay."

"You'll stay?"

"Of course I will," Derek says and bites down on the rest of that sentence, hoping that the always is somehow implied.

*

To say it goes well is an understatement.

"Erica, put him down," Derek grumbles. The pack's gathered in his loft, Stiles has just done the big reveal and-

"But he's so plushy. I want one," Erica enthuses, holding Stiles aloft and squeezing him, which is a bit of an achievement considering he's taller than her. Stiles accepts being manhandled with good grace, furred paws hanging limply over Erica's arms in a resigned way and only rolling his eyes when she buries her face in the soft fuzz across his shoulders.

"Okay, yes, there was something worse than them having a problem with this," Stiles says as Derek, having had enough, plucks Stiles out of Erica's grasp and sets him back on his feet. He takes a moment to rub up and down Stiles' arms briskly before he steps away and Stiles gives him a grateful little smile as his fur recedes and he's left just normal, human-looking Stiles again.

"You thought we'd have a problem with this?" Scott asks, handing Stiles back the hoodie he'd stripped off right before he'd dumped a glass of ice water over himself. Scott's trying to bite down on his hurt expression, Derek can see it and can also see that it's a losing battle.

"Dude, I just... I don't know what I thought," Stiles admits, reaching out to touch Scott's shoulder. Scott shuffles closer, still frowning a little but Derek can tell he's trying to reel in his own reaction in the face of Stiles' discomfort.

"Does your dad know?" Boyd asks and when Stiles shakes his head, Scott puts an arm across his shoulders and squeezes. Derek tries not to feel jealous when, even though taller than Scott as well, Stiles looks like he belongs curled into the curve of Scott's body.

"What a trip," Isaac says, eyes large and fascinated. "Can you do anything?"

"Apart from grow my own giant, novelty slipper feet?" Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow and straightening when Scott drops his arm. "I don't think so. Pretty lame, right?"

"You don't know that," Derek points out. "Once you learn a bit of control-"

"I'll be able to become a beanie baby at will. Yeah, I know," Stiles huffs.

"Stiles."

"Look, I've been this way since I was fifteen. I would have thought that the X-ray vision or super speed would have kicked in by now if it was coming."

"You might not have ever been under the right kind of stress," Isaac says.

"Yeah, I would think that when Gerard-" Stiles' mouth closes so fast there's an audible clack.

"When Gerard what?" Allison asks slowly.

"When Gerard beat him to a bloody pulp in front of us," Boyd says and Stiles spins on him.

"Boyd!"

"Stiles, they should've known a long time ago," Erica says gently. "I don't know why you didn't want them to."

"Stiles," Scott says, looking stricken.

"Everyone was a little... busy at that time." Before anyone else has a chance to say anything, Stiles presses on. "Fine, okay? Yes, I've been in a stressful enough situation that if I was going to hulk out, I would have."

"That doesn't necessarily follow," Boyd says, rubbing at his chin. "You're so used to suppressing this part of yourself that maybe even under duress it would take more to get you to shift."

"I really prefer when you're the strong, silent type," Stiles complains. Everyone lapses into an unhappy quiet, a few too many revelations to process. Finally Derek stands, claps his hands together so all eyes swivel to him.

"Pizza?"

Who says you can't eat your feelings anyway?

*

Everything settles after that, which is why Derek should have seen it coming.

The pack accepts this new facet of Stiles easily and he relaxes in a way only someone unburdened of a heavy secret can. He even starts talking about sitting down with his father and explaining everything, werewolves, snowmen, the whole nine yards. Stiles is happier, the unsure sour note to his scent dissipating slowly but surely.

Again, should have seen it coming.

Derek is running in the Preserve, his regular route when his cell rings. He stumbles to a halt, digging his phone out of his pocket. "Scott?"

"Is Stiles with you?" Scott demands and there's a thread of panic to his voice that sets off immediate alarm bells to Derek.

"No, I thought-" Derek only manages to get out before he's shot in the back.

*

Derek knows exactly what it says about his life that this is not his first time waking up in a dank cellar or even the second. What's new is that the dank cellars are usually cold but it's almost sauna-hot in this particular windowless room, Derek having sweated straight through his shirt while unconscious.

Derek groans, because he knows what he's going to find when he turns his head and his suspicion is confirmed when he manages to lever himself upright enough that he can see the other side of the cellar and Stiles, chained flat to the floor.

At first he doesn't really understand what he's seeing. Stiles is on his belly, chains across his legs and back keeping him prone. The chains seem to be attached to wires which are twisted into thick cables that run underneath the one imposing, metal door. Stiles' face is turned Derek's way but he's not seeing anything, gaze unfocused and glassy, pupils blown wide.

He looks awful, like he's been a prisoner for weeks and not just hours.

"Stiles," Derek manages through a dusty throat and Stiles' face turns more towards him but his eyes still don't focus. He moves slightly and that's when it all makes a horrible kind of sense.

The chains pinning Stiles are being heated. Derek can see his skin reddening and starting to blister where the chains touch bare flesh at his wrists and ankles. Stiles' eyes roll and he's sweating and Derek needs to get to him because he's going to die.

Derek surges upright, or tries to. He's chained as well by a thick, crude cuff around his ankle that's bolted to the floor without much slack. Derek yanks on it, roaring in frustration when it doesn't budge. He hunkers down, picks up the chain and can see the links are carved with symbols that glow faintly when he exerts any pressure on them.

"Derek?" Stiles says and Derek's focus is immediately back on Stiles. He sounds drunk and he's trying to move, weak little jerks that push his clothes away from his skin and mean that he's exposing more vulnerable parts to the heated chains.

"Stiles, just..." Stay still is what Derek is going to say, but then he takes a moment to look around the room again while tugging idly at the chain that's holding him. The cuff around his ankle is flush with the skin. If there was a little space Derek would try breaking his ankle so he could work his foot out but there are symbols around the cuff as well and as he tries to work a finger between his ankle and the metal of the cuff it tightens. He looks back at Stiles and knows that while his first instinct is to protect Stiles from any harm, his second, stronger one is to save him no matter what the cost.

"Stiles, you're going to have to shift."

"That... won't... help," Stiles says slowly like he has to concentrate not to slur his words.

"You have to."

"I can't," Stiles says, and it sounds like an apology more than anything else, like he's sorry for disappointing Derek so badly, for failing him. "Not when..."

"Stiles, you can and I don't mean halfway either."

"Wha?" Stiles says, more muzzy than ever.

"I think you're like us. I think the cute little feet and paws is just your beta form, but Stiles, I know you. Never in your life will you be a beta."

"I don't-"

"Stiles, you have an Alpha form. You need to reach deep down and find it. You need to do it now and save our asses."

"Derek, I don't-"

"Stiles."

"How do you know?"

"I don't, not for sure. But... I do as well. I feel it, in my gut. Don't you? It's like, when you shift, it's all potential and you're not meeting it. There's an extra inch you can stretch, another mile you can go."

"Your pep talks are terrible," Stiles says and Derek's heartened that he sounds a little more lucid, a little more like himself.

"I thought that was a pretty good one, actually."

"I'm so tired, Derek."

"I know Stiles, but you have to push through that." Derek tugs in a frustrated way at his chain again.

"Fine," Stiles grumbles, sounding every inch the disconsolate teenager. Derek smiles despite their predicament, but he fights the urge to beg Stiles to stop when he starts moving again, slow like he's pushing through water and he lets out a pained hiss as heated metal slides up over his ribs. "You gotta... I'm too hot. Help me."

"How?"

"Talk about ice cubes or frozen wastes... something. Talking about water always makes me want to pee. Maybe talking about the cold will help this."

"Okay, I..." Derek casts about for a second as Stiles keeps shuffling drunkenly and then with a flash he's hit by a memory. "Oh my god, remember when Scott fell through the ice at Barnes Lake chasing that water sprite? When we pulled him out he was blue."

Stiles chuffs a weak sounding laugh. "He thought it was going to drown. It was a water sprite."

"It was pretty darn cute," Derek muses. "I remember you standing on the side of the lake with about fifteen different layers on and you were still jigging in place. I guess I get why now."

"Derek," Stiles says and his voice is lower, a deep rumble. "This is... I feel weird. It's... different."

"Keep going," Derek urges. "Think about standing on a fire escape in just your shorts in the middle of winter in New York."

"That sounds like a story I gotta hear," Stiles gets out although his voice has started to sound mangled.

"Stiles-"

"Just-" Stiles shudders and manages to roll over on his side facing away from Derek. He thinks maybe that's it, that Stiles has exhausted what little energy he had left on a fruitless attempt to shift, but then Stiles lets out a noise that sounds like concrete blocks being dragged across the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Derek blurts but then has to curl into himself when Stiles suddenly lurches upright and the heated chains virtually explode away from him. Stiles is standing in a puddle of his ruined clothes, larger than Peter in his Alpha form, covered head to foot in thick, white fur and with large clear fangs. His roar sounds like crushed ice and the walls around him spider with white tendrils, the heaters that had been bolted to the corners dying in a spectacular shower of sparks.

Stiles lowers himself to all fours and charges the metal door. "Stiles!" Derek yells, worried Stiles is going to knock himself out. When Stiles backs up, the metal is covered in a sheen of white and the second time Stiles hits it with his head down and large, curled black horns connecting it shatters like a pane of glass.

"Stiles!" Derek yells for a different reason because Stiles doesn't stop at the door, barrels straight through it and he can hear the sound of Stiles thumping up a set of stairs. Distantly yells are starting up, the people that are holding them alerted by the commotion. Derek strains against his chains but he's still trapped and he slumps to the floor, sick with terror that Stiles is going out there, even in his Alpha form, unprotected.

Derek loses track of how long the sounds of fighting persist, putting his hands up to his face when there's finally a silence that stretches. After a while, there's feet on the stairs and Derek braces himself for the worst, but then Erica's head appears around the doorway and she grins at him.

"Hey loser."

"Erica, how-?"

"Apparently Stiles always carries three cell phones," she says, crossing over to his pile of clothes and sorting through them, coming up with a phone. "Something about kidnappers checking for two but never three. Allison tracked his GPS."

"Is he okay?" Derek demands.

"He's fine and by that I mean naked," Erica says, grinning sharply. "Boy's been working out."

"Erica," Derek groans, shaking his still bound ankle.

"Don't worry, we called Deaton already. He's on his way to free you." They both turn to the door when tentative feet approach and then Stiles is there decked out in a jaunty blanket toga.

"Stiles!" Derek says and makes grabby hands at him. He's so relieved that right now he doesn't care that he's supposed to be the cool and aloof one. Stiles approaches tentatively, but snorts out a laugh when Derek basically grabs him and hugs the hell out of him, pressing his face into the top of Stiles' head and breathing deep.

"Do I still smell like me?" Stiles asks and it's half-amused and half-worried.

"Same old you," Derek reassures although that's not exactly true but Derek isn't sure how to explain that Stiles smells like himself but more, the brittle snap of an icicle hanging from a roof or the first snow that sticks to the ground.

"Y'know that's kinda weird since he's naked, right?" Scott says from the doorway.

"I think Stiles and Derek have a lot of naked cuddling in their future," Erica says, grinning.

"Oh, no! Gah! My ears!" Scott complains bitterly.

*

Derek doesn't want their first kiss to be in a basement with Erica smirking at them and Scott pretending to barf. He waits until they're outside where he can tug Stiles aside.

*

"I thought maybe you were like me, that it just... skipped you."

Sheriff Stilinski knew, or at least he knew about his wife. Stiles has sat in stunned silence for a while, obviously trying to reconcile the mother he knew with this new bit of information. Derek watches Stiles and his father at their dining table from the couch in the living room. He'd promised silent support and he meant it. He'd thought maybe they would have to prove Stiles' story and it would be easier for him to shift than Stiles but it wasn't necessary.

"I am like you," Stiles says, threading his fingers together. "I just think I'm like her too."

"Claudia wasn't sure. She didn't have any family left so she didn't know if it was something that was passed on."

"You could have maybe hinted that this was a possibility," Stiles complains without any real heat.

"How am I supposed to bring something like this up without sounding crazy?" his father asks, then throws a look Derek's way. "It's not like I knew you were surrounding yourself with supernatural creatures all... willy nilly."

Derek bites down on a laugh but Stiles snaps a glare at him anyway like he can sense it. "Did she think there were any others?"

"We took a few road trips, followed some leads but we never found anything. I got the feeling the type of people we ran into when we were looking were ones we wanted to stay well clear of." Stiles looks down at his hands when his father mentions that. Neither he nor Derek thought it was a good idea to tell his father about his latest kidnapping. Chris Argent was making sure that the guys that had grabbed Stiles thought twice before coming near Beacon Hills again. Derek was kind of disappointed that none of them died, but relieved at the same time because he knew Stiles wouldn't have wanted that, even if they were going to kill him.

Derek wasn't one hundred percent sure Chris wasn't going to rectify that little oversight anyway.

"I can help you look, though. If you want to?" his dad offers and Stiles smiles at him, nodding.

"We'd have to be careful but yeah, I'd like that. Family project?"

"Family project," the Sheriff agrees and Derek figures that's his cue to leave. He stands and now both Stilinskis are glaring at him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Stiles demands.

"I just thought-"

"Family project," Stiles says, narrowing his eyes as he shapes his hands around the space Derek's occupying. "That means you too, buddy."

Derek's a little unsure but when he looks at the Sheriff, the man is rolling his eyes in a fondly exasperated way. "Um, sure. Where do we start?"

"We start with making the pack come over. Oh! They can bring me snacks," Stiles crows, getting up from the table and thumping up to his room, presumably to retrieve one of his three phones.

The Sheriff stands when Stiles is out of earshot and gives Derek a level look. "I'm going to have a little chat with Chris Argent."

"Um, okay?"

"Just so you know I can when I threaten to chop you up into puppy chow and bury you in the backyard if you hurt my kid."

"Oh, fair enough," Derek says. He likes how straight forward the Sheriff is. It's refreshing.

"I might need a special knife... or something."

"The silver bullet thing is a myth," Derek offers after a moment.

"Really? Interesting," the Sheriff says, nodding at the couch and Derek drops back onto it.

"You better not be talking about me!" Stiles shrills from upstairs.

"We're talking about how to kill werewolves!" the Sheriff yells back without missing a beat.

"Da-ad!" Stiles protests. After a moment he adds, because it's Stiles. "I already know all the ways!"

The Sheriff smirks at Derek and he can't help returning it.