Fic: but it's enough to keep me going || pre-Stiles/Derek || PG-13
Author: marishna
Title: but it's enough to keep me going
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Pre-Stiles/Derek but gen
Character/s: Derek, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Deaton, Stiles
Summary: As soon as Deaton called Derek knew he wasn't going to like what the veterinarian had to say.
Warnings: N/a
Content Notes: AU, emissary!Stiles, spark!Stiles, good alpha!Derek
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 2450-ish
Prompt: 231 - spark
Author's Notes: n/a
As soon as Deaton called Derek knew he wasn't going to like what the veterinarian had to say.
He sat in the alley behind the vet clinic for long minutes before sighing and slipping through the back door silently. He could hear Deaton in the front speaking with a client and so Derek let himself into his office to wait.
He hated the smell of this place; not quite as overwhelming as the human hospital, but the tinny tang of sterilization, meds, and illness hung in the air so thick that it coated the back of Derek's throat. He breathed shallowly through his mouth, grimacing at how it only helped minimally. He could feel a burning tickle, too, indicative of the other chemicals Deaton kept in his office, like wolfsbane.
Derek was sure that if he wanted to look through Deaton's cupboards and desk drawers that he'd find vials and jars of any number of plants and roots, all of which could be potentially deadly for someone like him. Derek was just lucky that Deaton was on his side, or so he thought.
"Derek, thank you for coming so quickly." Deaton managed to sneak up on Derek while he was distracted and it set his teeth on edge. Derek took a deep breath and nodded at Deaton as he walked into his office and sat down across from Derek at his desk. He was working on less confrontational image, as Erica dubbed it, because apparently Derek could come off a bit... well, temperamental was the best term.
"What dire situation can we expect this week, doc?" Derek asked dryly, raising en eyebrow at the vet who just smiled cryptically in return.
"Nothing this time, sorry to disappoint you Derek. I wanted to let you know I've received word that your emissar--"
Derek stood up abruptly, his chair screeching across the tile floor. "No," he said loudly, shaking his head.
"Derek, I don't know why you're so resistant to this," Deaton told him patiently.
"Are you planning on leaving Beacon Hills?" Derek asked flatly, to which Deaton shook his head. "Fine, problem solved. You can stay on as acting emissary."
"Derek, I thought you were aware that I've continued to perform the duties of an emissary only until yours was found. While I have no plans to leave Beacon Hills in the foreseeable future my role with the pack was only in an official capacity in service to your mother." Deaton offered Derek a solemn smile.
Derek stared back at Deaton with a hard expression, trying to force back his urge to growl at him until he relented and gave in. But he knew from years of watching Deaton with his mother that he was an impossible man to crack.
"Fine," Derek bit out. "I'll do without."
Before Deaton could say another word Derek stormed out of the vet's office and seconds later the back door slammed shut with enough force to vibrate the entire building.
***
A week later Derek was still grumbling under his breath about his meeting with Deaton.
He didn't tell the pack about his meeting but he should have known better than to think they wouldn't find out.
"We met the new emissary," Isaac announced one afternoon when the betas showed up to the loft.
Derek frowned and shook his head. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Not on purpose," Scott added quickly. "After I picked Isaac up we met Erica and Boyd at the coffee shop on the corner of Morse Street."
"Did he approach you? That goes against pack protocol," Derek started, already getting worked up on behalf of his betas--and his own ego, if he was being honest. But his indignation was quickly quashed.
"He didn't even know we were there," Boyd offered and Erica nodded from beside him on the couch, her legs slung across Boyd's lap.
"Scott was the first one to notice something was up," Erica filled in, pointing to him. "We could all tell something wasn't right at the cafe."
Derek's eyebrow shot up. "How so?"
Scott shrugged. "It was like we were drawn to him. I felt a bit like my skin was crawling, but not in a bad way. Like something was walking over my skin in an annoying way."
Derek exhaled loudly and paced to the kitchen and back. He knew he wasn't being set up but this felt like a snow job,
"He was really nice," Scott offered.
Isaac rolled his eyes. He was all right."
Derek turned to Boyd and Erica. "And you guys?"
Boyd shrugged. "Seemed okay by me."
Erica nodded and started to add, "His name is S--"
"Don't tell me," Derek cut in quickly. Scott opened his mouth to probably argue but Derek put his hand up and stopped him. "We don't need an emissary."
Scott tried next. "Can't you just meet with him? Find out what he's like and how he can help--"
"I said no," Derek growled, sharp enough that every member of the pack cowed and took a step back from him. Derek heaved a loud sigh and ran his hand through his hair out of frustration.
"Look," he tried again, this time at in a calmer tone. "Boyd, Erica, Isaac? You guys were presented with the chance to take the bite and be changed. I told you the risks of what could have happened to you if your body rejected the bite. You had full disclosure up front."
"Yeah, so?" Isaac asked with a nonchalant shrug.
"Scott here?" Derek jerked his thumb in Scott's direction. "He didn't. He was chased down in the woods and bitten without consent or what was happening to him. He was forced to be prey until Peter turned him into a predator. Scott, would you have taken the bite had it been offered to you instead of forced?"
Scott considered the question for a long moment. "I don't know," he started carefully. "I like not having asthma anymore and it's cool being better at lacrosse. Maybe? But I do kinda miss being a regular guy. I... if I knew everything I know now about being a werewolf and someone offered me the bite I honestly don't know what I'd say."
Scott looked sideways at the other three betas as if he expected to see judgemental reactions from them but none of them so much as smirked. Derek knew exactly why each of them accepted his offer for the bite and he made sure they were well aware of the potential consequences if anything went wrong. They accepted that outcome before he bit them and how important it was that they always be totally aware of the responsibility that comes with being a werewolf, if one didn't want to end up with bloodthirsty hunters on their tails.
"I don't want anyone to be part of this pack unless it's completely their choice. I don't want to worry about my emissary being part of us because he has to be. And that's final," Derek explained steadily. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd seemed to get it and Scott was looking back at Derek with a thoughtful expression.
"I'm not saying 'never' to an emissary just... not right now," Derek finished and tried to sound definitive. He nodded and shifted awkwardly before nodding to the kitchen, intending to segue into throwing something together for supper.
"He's a spark," Scott announced as Derek started to walk away. Instead the words stopped him in his tracks and he slowly turned back around to stare at Scott. There was no way he could know what that meant but Derek did--vaguely. Many emissaries, like Deaton, were taught the type of magic they used to work help and protect the packs. Some emissaries weren't even good at magic but instead with their words and were able to accomplish great treaties and settle disputes with words instead of magical ability.
Sparks were emissaries who were born with ancient magic that intertwined with the abilities of the first werewolves. Derek could recall maybe a handful of times that they were brought up in his life and a lot of werewolves believed they were a myth or fairy tale for baby 'wolves.
"I mean, I don't really get what that is but he saw how uncomfortable we were. You think you're the only one feeling restless lately, Derek? We do, too. But when we met him it felt like a relief. That can't be wrong."
Unable to say anything in return Derek just shook his head and continued to the kitchen and the subject was dropped.
***
Derek was restless. It was pushing midnight and while he already had a full day of running his territory borders, doing some work in the loft, training with the pack before some group bonding he wasn't tired in the least. He felt wired, actually, and his entire body was jumpy.
His gums ached, reminiscent of the first few times a wolf cub discovers their fangs and they grow involuntarily, or when a human develops wisdom teeth. He wasn't struggling with his shift but his skin felt itchy and uncomfortable. He checked his laundry detergent just in case he somehow grabbed a scented kind the last time he was at the store but found nothing but his regular scent-free kind.
He paced the loft for ten minutes straight as he wracked his brain trying to think of why he felt so out of sorts. He considered going for a run, which normally soothed his wolf so he could settle down for the night, but the idea didn't temper the increasingly-loud voice in his head to go do seek.
With a snarl he left the loft and got in his SUV and started driving with no end point in mind. It's not like Beacon Hills was a bustling hotbed of activity to distract himself. Jungle was open for another couple of hours but the thought of being surrounded by so many sweaty, hyper people bumping and grinding up on him made Derek's lip curl in disgust.
A handful of fast food places offered drive thru for a couple hours past when the dining room closed but he didn't want a cheap imitation of a burger or soggy fries. The corner 7/11 and am/pm convenience stores were open and brightly lit, a beacon of shining hope to someone too drunk or stoned to realize they were eating a 16-hours old corn dog but Derek passed them by.
He ended up at the one grocery store in Beacon Hills that was open 24 hours. It wasn't where he usually shopped so he wasn't very familiar with its layout but within minutes he was walking up and down the aisles, basket in hand, without really seeing any of the products. He shrugged his shoulders as he stepped, making a face at how tight his Henley felt on his arms.
When he was seven and Laura was eleven they were play fighting with each other and ended up in a patch of poison oak. His werewolf strength and healing were no match for itching caused by the plant, unfortunately, and he spent a full day trying to resist the urge to pop a claw and scratch the shit out of every part of his body.
That was the only comparable experience he could apply to how felt but he was still completely clueless as to what the hell was wrong with him. He was seriously considering finally calling Deaton and asking him what to do. Could there be an errant witch around, causing havoc with magic she didn't fully understand? Was there a hunter stalking the area and trying to catch him off guard to weaken the pack and pick everyone else off?
When he got to the produce section he looked around at all the stands of fruit and vegetables, trying to remember what Erica asked him to stock in the loft for when they hung out there together. He stood in front of a display of persimmons, tangerines, and apricots and stared at them blankly for a moment before snapping his fingers.
"Tomatoes, right." He looked around and saw one lone cluster of tomatoes on a vine left a few displays away. When Derek reached the shelf he reached out to grab the last bunch of tomatoes while looking ahead at the salad display.
Instead his fingers closed over another hand and he looked up, surprised.
A young man stared back at him with one eyebrow cocked cheekily while he smirked at Derek patiently. He was Derek's height and lanky, with brown hair, smooth mole-dotted skin, and deep whiskey-colored eyes.
The restless, itchy feeling that plagued Derek all day suddenly faded away and Derek instead felt an internal 'click', like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place.
"Sorry," Derek mumbled. "You take them." He tried to shove the tomatoes at the other man whose smirk widened into a bright grin.
"Why don't we split them?" he offered, separating the bundle and holding two out to Derek who looked at them warily.
"Thanks," he replied slowly and accepted the tomatoes, putting them into his basket with unnecessary care, avoiding looking up as long as possible. But when he straightened the other guy was still grinning at him.
"This wasn't how I thought we'd meet," he told Derek.
"I didn't think we were going to meet at all," Derek grumbled, the words slipping out before he could give them a second thought. He froze, waiting for the inevitable angry reply but instead he got... laughter?
"I heard you were blunt, I like that."
Derek fish-mouthed for a second before replying, "I'm pragmatic," but that just made the other man laugh harder until he had to put his own grocery basket down. Derek watched him, bewildered because Deaton was his standard for emissaries and Derek was sure his mother's hardly chuckled in his adult life.
"Hi pragmatic, I'm Stiles."
Derek froze, staring hard back at him as his brain processed what he just said. "Did you just dad joke me?"
"You've only just begun to uncover how corny and punny my jokes are, I assure you," Stiles replied, then picked his basket up again. "Let's pay for this stuff and go get a drink. I don't care if it's coffee or beer, as long as you're buying. C'mon Alpha, we've got lots of catching up to do."
Stiles turned on his heel and walked away easily, trusting that Derek would follow him.
"This doesn't mean what you think it means," Derek called out after him, even as glimpses of his life where Stiles would fit in flashed before his eyes.
Of course he followed.
Title: but it's enough to keep me going
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Pre-Stiles/Derek but gen
Character/s: Derek, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Deaton, Stiles
Summary: As soon as Deaton called Derek knew he wasn't going to like what the veterinarian had to say.
Warnings: N/a
Content Notes: AU, emissary!Stiles, spark!Stiles, good alpha!Derek
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 2450-ish
Prompt: 231 - spark
Author's Notes: n/a
As soon as Deaton called Derek knew he wasn't going to like what the veterinarian had to say.
He sat in the alley behind the vet clinic for long minutes before sighing and slipping through the back door silently. He could hear Deaton in the front speaking with a client and so Derek let himself into his office to wait.
He hated the smell of this place; not quite as overwhelming as the human hospital, but the tinny tang of sterilization, meds, and illness hung in the air so thick that it coated the back of Derek's throat. He breathed shallowly through his mouth, grimacing at how it only helped minimally. He could feel a burning tickle, too, indicative of the other chemicals Deaton kept in his office, like wolfsbane.
Derek was sure that if he wanted to look through Deaton's cupboards and desk drawers that he'd find vials and jars of any number of plants and roots, all of which could be potentially deadly for someone like him. Derek was just lucky that Deaton was on his side, or so he thought.
"Derek, thank you for coming so quickly." Deaton managed to sneak up on Derek while he was distracted and it set his teeth on edge. Derek took a deep breath and nodded at Deaton as he walked into his office and sat down across from Derek at his desk. He was working on less confrontational image, as Erica dubbed it, because apparently Derek could come off a bit... well, temperamental was the best term.
"What dire situation can we expect this week, doc?" Derek asked dryly, raising en eyebrow at the vet who just smiled cryptically in return.
"Nothing this time, sorry to disappoint you Derek. I wanted to let you know I've received word that your emissar--"
Derek stood up abruptly, his chair screeching across the tile floor. "No," he said loudly, shaking his head.
"Derek, I don't know why you're so resistant to this," Deaton told him patiently.
"Are you planning on leaving Beacon Hills?" Derek asked flatly, to which Deaton shook his head. "Fine, problem solved. You can stay on as acting emissary."
"Derek, I thought you were aware that I've continued to perform the duties of an emissary only until yours was found. While I have no plans to leave Beacon Hills in the foreseeable future my role with the pack was only in an official capacity in service to your mother." Deaton offered Derek a solemn smile.
Derek stared back at Deaton with a hard expression, trying to force back his urge to growl at him until he relented and gave in. But he knew from years of watching Deaton with his mother that he was an impossible man to crack.
"Fine," Derek bit out. "I'll do without."
Before Deaton could say another word Derek stormed out of the vet's office and seconds later the back door slammed shut with enough force to vibrate the entire building.
***
A week later Derek was still grumbling under his breath about his meeting with Deaton.
He didn't tell the pack about his meeting but he should have known better than to think they wouldn't find out.
"We met the new emissary," Isaac announced one afternoon when the betas showed up to the loft.
Derek frowned and shook his head. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Not on purpose," Scott added quickly. "After I picked Isaac up we met Erica and Boyd at the coffee shop on the corner of Morse Street."
"Did he approach you? That goes against pack protocol," Derek started, already getting worked up on behalf of his betas--and his own ego, if he was being honest. But his indignation was quickly quashed.
"He didn't even know we were there," Boyd offered and Erica nodded from beside him on the couch, her legs slung across Boyd's lap.
"Scott was the first one to notice something was up," Erica filled in, pointing to him. "We could all tell something wasn't right at the cafe."
Derek's eyebrow shot up. "How so?"
Scott shrugged. "It was like we were drawn to him. I felt a bit like my skin was crawling, but not in a bad way. Like something was walking over my skin in an annoying way."
Derek exhaled loudly and paced to the kitchen and back. He knew he wasn't being set up but this felt like a snow job,
"He was really nice," Scott offered.
Isaac rolled his eyes. He was all right."
Derek turned to Boyd and Erica. "And you guys?"
Boyd shrugged. "Seemed okay by me."
Erica nodded and started to add, "His name is S--"
"Don't tell me," Derek cut in quickly. Scott opened his mouth to probably argue but Derek put his hand up and stopped him. "We don't need an emissary."
Scott tried next. "Can't you just meet with him? Find out what he's like and how he can help--"
"I said no," Derek growled, sharp enough that every member of the pack cowed and took a step back from him. Derek heaved a loud sigh and ran his hand through his hair out of frustration.
"Look," he tried again, this time at in a calmer tone. "Boyd, Erica, Isaac? You guys were presented with the chance to take the bite and be changed. I told you the risks of what could have happened to you if your body rejected the bite. You had full disclosure up front."
"Yeah, so?" Isaac asked with a nonchalant shrug.
"Scott here?" Derek jerked his thumb in Scott's direction. "He didn't. He was chased down in the woods and bitten without consent or what was happening to him. He was forced to be prey until Peter turned him into a predator. Scott, would you have taken the bite had it been offered to you instead of forced?"
Scott considered the question for a long moment. "I don't know," he started carefully. "I like not having asthma anymore and it's cool being better at lacrosse. Maybe? But I do kinda miss being a regular guy. I... if I knew everything I know now about being a werewolf and someone offered me the bite I honestly don't know what I'd say."
Scott looked sideways at the other three betas as if he expected to see judgemental reactions from them but none of them so much as smirked. Derek knew exactly why each of them accepted his offer for the bite and he made sure they were well aware of the potential consequences if anything went wrong. They accepted that outcome before he bit them and how important it was that they always be totally aware of the responsibility that comes with being a werewolf, if one didn't want to end up with bloodthirsty hunters on their tails.
"I don't want anyone to be part of this pack unless it's completely their choice. I don't want to worry about my emissary being part of us because he has to be. And that's final," Derek explained steadily. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd seemed to get it and Scott was looking back at Derek with a thoughtful expression.
"I'm not saying 'never' to an emissary just... not right now," Derek finished and tried to sound definitive. He nodded and shifted awkwardly before nodding to the kitchen, intending to segue into throwing something together for supper.
"He's a spark," Scott announced as Derek started to walk away. Instead the words stopped him in his tracks and he slowly turned back around to stare at Scott. There was no way he could know what that meant but Derek did--vaguely. Many emissaries, like Deaton, were taught the type of magic they used to work help and protect the packs. Some emissaries weren't even good at magic but instead with their words and were able to accomplish great treaties and settle disputes with words instead of magical ability.
Sparks were emissaries who were born with ancient magic that intertwined with the abilities of the first werewolves. Derek could recall maybe a handful of times that they were brought up in his life and a lot of werewolves believed they were a myth or fairy tale for baby 'wolves.
"I mean, I don't really get what that is but he saw how uncomfortable we were. You think you're the only one feeling restless lately, Derek? We do, too. But when we met him it felt like a relief. That can't be wrong."
Unable to say anything in return Derek just shook his head and continued to the kitchen and the subject was dropped.
***
Derek was restless. It was pushing midnight and while he already had a full day of running his territory borders, doing some work in the loft, training with the pack before some group bonding he wasn't tired in the least. He felt wired, actually, and his entire body was jumpy.
His gums ached, reminiscent of the first few times a wolf cub discovers their fangs and they grow involuntarily, or when a human develops wisdom teeth. He wasn't struggling with his shift but his skin felt itchy and uncomfortable. He checked his laundry detergent just in case he somehow grabbed a scented kind the last time he was at the store but found nothing but his regular scent-free kind.
He paced the loft for ten minutes straight as he wracked his brain trying to think of why he felt so out of sorts. He considered going for a run, which normally soothed his wolf so he could settle down for the night, but the idea didn't temper the increasingly-loud voice in his head to go do seek.
With a snarl he left the loft and got in his SUV and started driving with no end point in mind. It's not like Beacon Hills was a bustling hotbed of activity to distract himself. Jungle was open for another couple of hours but the thought of being surrounded by so many sweaty, hyper people bumping and grinding up on him made Derek's lip curl in disgust.
A handful of fast food places offered drive thru for a couple hours past when the dining room closed but he didn't want a cheap imitation of a burger or soggy fries. The corner 7/11 and am/pm convenience stores were open and brightly lit, a beacon of shining hope to someone too drunk or stoned to realize they were eating a 16-hours old corn dog but Derek passed them by.
He ended up at the one grocery store in Beacon Hills that was open 24 hours. It wasn't where he usually shopped so he wasn't very familiar with its layout but within minutes he was walking up and down the aisles, basket in hand, without really seeing any of the products. He shrugged his shoulders as he stepped, making a face at how tight his Henley felt on his arms.
When he was seven and Laura was eleven they were play fighting with each other and ended up in a patch of poison oak. His werewolf strength and healing were no match for itching caused by the plant, unfortunately, and he spent a full day trying to resist the urge to pop a claw and scratch the shit out of every part of his body.
That was the only comparable experience he could apply to how felt but he was still completely clueless as to what the hell was wrong with him. He was seriously considering finally calling Deaton and asking him what to do. Could there be an errant witch around, causing havoc with magic she didn't fully understand? Was there a hunter stalking the area and trying to catch him off guard to weaken the pack and pick everyone else off?
When he got to the produce section he looked around at all the stands of fruit and vegetables, trying to remember what Erica asked him to stock in the loft for when they hung out there together. He stood in front of a display of persimmons, tangerines, and apricots and stared at them blankly for a moment before snapping his fingers.
"Tomatoes, right." He looked around and saw one lone cluster of tomatoes on a vine left a few displays away. When Derek reached the shelf he reached out to grab the last bunch of tomatoes while looking ahead at the salad display.
Instead his fingers closed over another hand and he looked up, surprised.
A young man stared back at him with one eyebrow cocked cheekily while he smirked at Derek patiently. He was Derek's height and lanky, with brown hair, smooth mole-dotted skin, and deep whiskey-colored eyes.
The restless, itchy feeling that plagued Derek all day suddenly faded away and Derek instead felt an internal 'click', like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place.
"Sorry," Derek mumbled. "You take them." He tried to shove the tomatoes at the other man whose smirk widened into a bright grin.
"Why don't we split them?" he offered, separating the bundle and holding two out to Derek who looked at them warily.
"Thanks," he replied slowly and accepted the tomatoes, putting them into his basket with unnecessary care, avoiding looking up as long as possible. But when he straightened the other guy was still grinning at him.
"This wasn't how I thought we'd meet," he told Derek.
"I didn't think we were going to meet at all," Derek grumbled, the words slipping out before he could give them a second thought. He froze, waiting for the inevitable angry reply but instead he got... laughter?
"I heard you were blunt, I like that."
Derek fish-mouthed for a second before replying, "I'm pragmatic," but that just made the other man laugh harder until he had to put his own grocery basket down. Derek watched him, bewildered because Deaton was his standard for emissaries and Derek was sure his mother's hardly chuckled in his adult life.
"Hi pragmatic, I'm Stiles."
Derek froze, staring hard back at him as his brain processed what he just said. "Did you just dad joke me?"
"You've only just begun to uncover how corny and punny my jokes are, I assure you," Stiles replied, then picked his basket up again. "Let's pay for this stuff and go get a drink. I don't care if it's coffee or beer, as long as you're buying. C'mon Alpha, we've got lots of catching up to do."
Stiles turned on his heel and walked away easily, trusting that Derek would follow him.
"This doesn't mean what you think it means," Derek called out after him, even as glimpses of his life where Stiles would fit in flashed before his eyes.
Of course he followed.