Baby, You're a Crime Scene (1/3)
Title: Baby, You're a Crime Scene (1/3)
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: R (hard)
Word Count: 5,075
A.N.: Written for Nokomis who asked for Stiles and Danny in werewolf witness protection.
Summary: Danny's been in what he personally thinks of as werewolf witness protection for little over a week before he meets Stiles.
Danny's been in what he personally thinks of as werewolf witness protection for little over a week before he meets Stiles. He's spent most of that week alone in some tiny cabin in the woods, surrounded on all sides with a whole lot of nothing. There is no cable. No internet. Nothing to connect him to the outside world at all. So when he hears the roar of an engine echoing through the woods, Danny can't help but be excited.
He cuts his hike short and hurries back to the house, wanting to be there whenever his visitor arrives. But once he reaches it, he can't make himself go inside. Danny decides instead to wait for them on the porch, because staying in the house lost its appeal after the first long, boring day. He's lounging in the porch swing, trying not to look overly eager for company, when a beat-up Jeep pulls into the clearing.
Danny gets off the porch swing and makes his way to the steps, squinting his eyes as he attempts to peer through the dirty windshield. He can't make out much, not that it matters, because the person inside is cutting off the engine, then opening his door and stepping into the fresh air and sunshine.
He's young, but not too young-- probably close to Danny's age-- long and lanky, with cropped brown hair and limpid brown eyes. His outfit is causal, the sort of layered look that Danny has never been into himself, but it's not a bad on the other man. He gives Danny an awkward half-wave, his lips curving up into a welcoming smile and Danny has to admit that he's more than a little charmed.
"Hey," the man says, his smile growing wider. "I'm Stiles."
Danny smiles in response, the flirty one with the dimple, points to himself and says, "Danny."
"Nice to meet ya," Stiles says in reply and Danny doesn't know it yet, but his life has just changed.
*
"So, there are two ways we can play this," Stiles says, glancing over at Danny as he bends down to take out a bag of groceries out of the trunk of the Jeep. "We can either pretend like I don't know who you are and why you are here, or we can acknowledge the fact that I'm hip deep in your history whether you like it or not. Now, I'm all for open and honest communication, but if you would rather play ostrich while you are here, then that's what we can do."
Danny blinks at him. "What?"
Stiles sighs. He straightens up, a bag in each arm, then sorta leans his hip on the bumper. "We are going to be spending the next bit of forever together for various reasons. You know why you are here, sharing this time with me. But you don't know why I'm here. Right?"
Danny nods. "Right."
"Thing is, I also know why you are here. Or at least I know as much as The Pack knows, anyway. I'm sure there are some bits that have been left out, but the big picture reasons, I've got that. All of that. Been briefed on it all because, well. I have." He shrugs. "Pack, you know?"
Danny nods again, because he does know. "Yeah, okay, I get it. You've been briefed on my situation. And you are giving me the option to pretend like that never happened, right?"
"Right." Stiles beams at him, like Danny's done something special by following that trail to its natural end. But then, who knows. Maybe Danny is a special snowflake in comparison to the people Stiles has been used to dealing with.
Danny shrugs mentally and goes to take his share of the groceries. "Yeah, let's not play pretend."
"Awesome." Stiles beams at him some more. "Really, that's beyond awesome. You have no idea how hard it is to try and edit myself. I mean, I can do it. Same as I can shut up already when needs be, but it's not fun, you know?"
“I can see that,” Danny say, because it’s clear that Stiles is looking for an answer. “Uh, you ready to head on in?”
Stiles shoves off from the bumper with another of those smiles of his. "Sure thing. Next question is: you want to talk about it? Or?"
Danny makes a noncommittal noise, which earns him a quick look from Stiles.
"Yeah, I didn’t think so" the other man says with a wry look. "No worries. I get it. You don't know me from Adam, why would you want to go trading heart to hearts with some random guy you just met?"
Danny makes that same noise again and leaves it at that. Though, if he's honest, it's not so much that he doesn't trust Stiles, as that he doesn't trust anyone anymore. Not after what happened with Jackson and Lydia and no. He's not thinking about that right now. He sets the bags down on the counter and lifts a shoulder. "You want to carry in the rest or put things away?"
Stiles gives Danny a blatant once over. "You certainly don't need to extra exercise," he says as he heads for the door.
*
Danny watches the way Stiles’s shirt rides up as he carries in the last batch of groceries, exposing a narrow band of skin-- flat abs, sharp hip bones and a soft line of fuzz below his navel.
“See something you like?” he quips and Danny blushes, embarrassed to be caught looking.
He glances up and sees a smile toying at Stiles lips, so instead of stammering out an apology, Danny just winks and says, “Perhaps.”
Stiles laughs. “A direct one. Good. I can work with that. It’s the ones that sigh and stare and pussyfoot around the issue that make me mental.”
“Get a lot of offers then?” Danny crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter, enjoying the way Stiles’s shirt molds to his body as he takes items out of the paper bags.
"Most of my free time is spent with desperate housewives and lonely, lonely men-- and most of the second set spend way too much on their onesies in the woods," Stiles says wryly. "I get more offers than God."
Danny laughs at that and shakes his head. "Well, at least you've got a good sense of humor about it." He pushes off of the counter and ambles over to where Stiles is standing. He brushes a little too close, hip barely grazing against the other man, as he picks up a couple of cans of soup. "Let me," he says, his voice deliberately husky.
Stiles flashes him a wicked grin. "Oh, you are going to be fun."
Then he's spinning away, heading back towards the car, calling out something about unpacking his things. Danny grins to himself because yes. This is definitely going to be fun.
*
Stiles comes back loaded down with a duffle, a large backpack and a laptop bag. He bypasses the kitchen completely, heading straight for the back of the house, towards the one and only bedroom. Danny narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Sure, it would be nice to play cat and mouse with each other for a little while longer, but if Stiles wants to jump right in, well, Danny won’t say no to that either. He trails in Stiles wake, waiting for some sign of what’s to come. Danny gets it when Stiles yanks the door open, then stops in his tracks, confusion momentarily painted on his face.
"Oh." Stiles clears his throat, runs a hand over the back his head. "You're using the bedroom. Of course you are. There's only one, after all. Um, alright. No worries. I'll just," he lets out a sigh, "sleep on the couch."
Danny takes in the dejected slump of his shoulders and lets out a sigh of his own. "How long are you going to be staying here?" he asks, because it's one thing to have a guy sleep on a couch for a day or two, but if they are going to sharing space for a week or more, well, then they ought to come up with a rotation schedule or something.
Stiles blinks at him, seeming taken aback by the question. "What?"
Danny gives him a reassuring smile. "I was just thinking, if you are going to be here for more than a week, we could come up with some sort of time share arrangement." He tilts his head towards the bed. "Seems fair, right?"
"Right," Stiles says slowly, he sucks on his lower lip, thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans.
"So," Danny leans against the doorframe. "How long are you staying?"
Stiles lets out a little laugh. "Um, well, thing is. It's kind of my house."
"What?" Danny frowns.
"It's my house?" Stiles gives him a confused look. "As in, I own it? It's mine? I don't know what you are looking for here."
Danny glances around the small space, remembers his thoughts about how it felt well cared for, loved. He lets out an awkward laugh. "Then why am I here? If this is your house, what," he trails off with a shake of the head.
"Oh," Stiles laughs. "Um, that. Well, that's part of the deal? I mean, this is my house. I own it outright. But," he scratches his chin. "I had the money for it. But the bank didn't want to sign off on the deal. Said they wanted to try and get a better offer or something. Which, I mean, I could see their point and all, but I loved this place. I wanted it so bad. And, um, well. I might have complained about the situation to some of my friends who might have passed the word on to some of their friends and phone calls might have been made. Strings might have been pulled. I mean, I paid for it with my own money and I didn't ask for them to do it, but they did and so now I sort of owe them? Or at least that's how The Pack sees it. So now I get to play host to, erm, friends of The Pack or whatever."
Danny feels something twist in his gut because damn. Once they got their claws in you, they never let go. He hunches his shoulders and tries to ignore that thought. "That sucks," he says, because it does and offering sympathy is the least Danny can do, seeing as how he is an unwanted guest in Stiles's house.
Stiles sorta shrugs. "Naw, not really. I mean, sure, there have been a few creepers. But for the most part everyone has been fairly normal. As normal as people mixed up in werewolf business can be, anyway. And they have all pretty much just left me alone."
"Is that what you prefer?" Danny asks. "To be left alone? Because I can do that, if you'd like."
Stiles makes a face. "Dude. No. You're cool. We're cool. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Good." Stiles gives him a quick smile. "Alright. I'm going to shower real quick and then unpack and, uh, we can see about dinner after that. Sound good?"
"I was thinking of making pizza. I can start on it while you are getting settled in, if you're alright with that?
Stiles's face lights up at that. "Hell yeah, I'm alright with that," he says, bouncing a little in place. "Dude, so alright it hurts. I haven't had homemade pizza in ages. Not since," he cuts himself off abruptly, his smile dimming. Stiles clears his throat awkwardly. "Not in a long while, anyway. Um, yeah. I'm going to go take that shower now."
Danny doesn't say anything, just nods and then watches Stiles as he drops his bags, then riffles through the duffle. He pulls out a black undershirt, a pair of boxer-briefs and a fresh pair of jeans. He gives Danny a friendly smiles, lifts one shoulder and then turns on his heel and walks towards the bathroom. Danny tracks his progress and doesn’t let himself think about the reasons why he is there at all.
*
Danny uses the time Stiles is in the shower to transfer the majority of his things out of the dresser and closet and into his suitcases. He strips the bed and remakes it with fresh linens, then goes to the living room and tugs the pullout bed into position. He is just smoothing the comforter in place when he hears the water shut off.
He gives the bed one last pat, then heads to the kitchen, checking on his pizza dough. It's risen roughly the right amount, so he pulls it out of the bowl and starts tossing it, working it into shape. Danny nearly drops it when he hears a sharp whistle, barely managing not to as he turns towards the sound.
Stiles is leaning against the doorframe, water drops running down his neck, dampening the collar of his undershirt. His skin is pink from the heat of the shower and he looks good enough to lick. Danny feels his mouth go dry and hastily turns back to his pizza, not wanting the other man to realize just how into him Danny happens to be.
He smooths the edges of the dough out, then spoons a large helping of sauce onto it, desperately trying to ignore the fact that Stiles is walking further into the room. He jumps when he feels warm hands on his hips, a chin pressing into his shoulder.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks, like he isn’t pushing back into the heat of Stiles’s body.
“Mummm.” Stiles has definitely been around Pack if the way he is scenting Danny’s neck is anything to go by, but Danny doesn’t care, not when the feel of the other man’s lips is sending shivers down his spine and making him arch his neck, giving Stiles better access to his skin.
Danny carefully sets the spoon down, then turns so that he is facing the other man, chest to chest. Stiles is slightly shorter than him, but they still fit nicely together. Danny lets a hand come up, palm resting against Stiles’s cheek as his thumb brushes across Stiles’s plump lower lip. “Can I help you with something?” he asks again.
Stiles’s eyes are half-lidded, his pupils blown wide. “Yeah, I think you can,” he replies, then he’s moving in close, slightly chapped lips pressing questioningly against Danny’s own.
Why not? Danny thinks with a mental shrug. Why the hell not. He’s a grown man with nobody waiting for him back home. So he licks into that mouth, makes it his own, nipping and sucking at it until the other man groans.
*
The question of who gets the couch is moot after that.
*
The nightmares that have been plaguing Danny stay away that first week, but on the eight day whatever spell Stiles had cast on him is broken and they return.
He wakes up with a scream, hands reaching out in the dark, panting as though he just finished a marathon. Danny closes his eyes, forces his body to relax, tells himself that it was just a dream. Just a fucking dream. But no amount of pep-talking is going to get him to fall back asleep. So he rolls onto his side and crawls out of bed.
Danny takes himself out to the living room, hunkers down on the couch and tries not to think. He tries not to think so fucking hard. But all his trying doesn't stop the thoughts from coming, flooding his mind with "what ifs" and "could-have-beens" until he's shaking, sobbing into a pillow, his body bent in two.
He doesn't hear Stiles approaching, just jerks as a hand rests on his shoulder.
"Hey," Stiles says, hand squeezing gently. "Hey. Shhh." He leans down, his lips brushing across the back of Danny's neck and Danny can't help but pull away because no. Just... no. He doesn't deserve comfort. Not after what happened. Not after what he caused. Fuck, the way Jackson's eyes looked, starting lifelessly up at him, mouth open in a scream above a ripped open throat--
No. God. No. Not again. Not now. Danny wraps his arms around himself, curling into as tight a ball as he can make as he cries and cries and cries until his eyes are burning and his throat is raw.
And through it all, Stiles stays with him. Rubs his shoulders, whispers in his ear, promises Danny it will be alright, even though it won't be. It never will be again.
*
“You want to talk about it?” Stiles asks the next morning when Danny finally stumbles into the kitchen. Danny scrubs his face with one hand and shakes his head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Here.” Stiles hands him a cup of coffee. “But if you change your mind,” he taps himself on the chest, then turns back to the stove.
“I,” Danny stares down into his coffee for a long moment, trying to find a way to explain, but the words won’t come and so he just sighs. “Thanks,” he offers. It’s not much, but it’s all that he can give.
“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles says, waving off any possible awkwardness. “So, how do you feel about scrambled eggs?”
How Danny feels about scrambled eggs is nothing compared to how he suddenly feels about the man sharing space with him in the kitchen.
*
Danny knows he’s not in the right headspace to start a relationship right now, but that’s not what this is. Stiles is fun, funny even, with a sharp, dry wit and a level of dorkiness that Danny ought to be repulsed by, but instead finds oddly endearing. They just click, like he and Jackson just clicked.
Something works between them, makes Danny smile a little brighter, makes him want to spend as much time with the other man as possible. Which is pretty damn good, seeing as how they are trapped alone together in the woods.
Well.
Danny’s trapped, anyway. Stiles isn’t. Stiles is free to come and go as he pleases. And Stiles actually owns the cabin, so it stands to reason that Stiles likes being in the middle of the woods with limited creature comforts and nothing directly linking him to the outside world.
But then, Stiles is part of The Pack and so it makes sense that he needs a place to retreat to.
But thinking about that makes Danny remember why he’s where he is and that’s not something he wants to be doing right now.
*
They fall into an easy pattern. Stiles comes and goes, staying a week here and three days there, his movements never fully predictable. Sometimes he shows up with heaps of papers and books and various other implements of destruction, sometimes he shows up with nothing but his smile. Either way, Danny welcomes the distraction.
Occasionally Stiles will pull Danny into whatever he’s working on, give him little nuggets of detail, ask for his opinion when something just isn’t adding up and Stiles can’t quite put his finger on why. Once-- and only once-- he even let Danny have access to his computer, allowing him to ferret out what happened to an important, and supposedly deleted, email thread.
It’s not nearly enough to keep Danny’s mind occupied, but it is still better than nothing. And Danny doesn’t mind that it is clearly done in an attempt to sway Danny to The Pack’s side. Of course they are still going to want him to keep up his end of the bargain, never mind that Danny’s so-called pay off directly resulted in the death of two of Danny’s closest friends. Still, he appreciates that Stiles isn’t heavy handed about it, that he is trying to sweeten the pot by only giving Danny snippets that leave him hungry for more.
*
“What’s that?” Danny asks when he comes into the house and finds Stiles-- who had been absent for little over a week-- buried up to his eyebrows in paper.
Stiles startles, then blinks blearily at him. “Hum?”
Danny gestures to the reams of paper. “Got yourself a new project?”
“You could say that.” He pushes his chair back and rolls his shoulders. “There hasn’t been enough movement on this cluster to satisfy Derek, and he thought I might be able to make a breakthrough. That, or he thought I was getting a little too comfortable up here with you,” he says with a wink and Danny can’t help but flush as thought of how comfortable, exactly, they have gotten together.
It takes longer than Danny likes to admit for him to shake free of the mental recap and form a response. “What is it then? If you can share.”
“Seeing as how it’s your case, of course I can share.”
Danny feels his stomach drop to his feet and he swallows hard. “My case?” he repeats, his voice a buzz in his ears.
Stiles gives him a little nod, his eyes sad and understanding. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, and I respect that, but that’s kind of out of our hands now. Cases like this only get handed off to me once in a blood moon, when something’s gone wrong, and, well, I’m not going to hide the fact that I’m working on it from you.” He gets an introspective look on his face for a moment before he sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, you want to take a look?”
Danny doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. But that doesn’t actually matter. He sucks in a breath and then nods. Stiles tilts his head at the chair next to him and Danny crosses over to it. He settles himself in and then looks at Stiles expectantly. Stiles wordlessly hands him a thick manila folder. Danny flips it open, starts to read.
It’s not comforting, seeing the facts of his situation laid out in black and white, but it does make Danny feel better to know that the story is out there, that someone is doing something about it.
Although the more he reads, the less he can take comfort in that, because Stiles is right, something is definitely off about this. It’s not just the lack of progress, though that is troubling in its own right, but the way that the investigation has been handled. Danny has seen enough of The Pack’s paperwork to know what he ought to be looking at and this just isn’t it. Everything is... sloppy, for lack of a better word-- like no effort was put into it. Leads have been ignored left and right; the ones that have been tracked down aren’t documented properly. And that’s just not how The Pack does things.
He finishes the last page of the report, then slowly gathers the papers up, tidying them a bit before he puts them back into the nondescript manila folder they live in, uneasy burning in the pit of his stomach. This isn’t how things are supposed to be go. The Pack takes care of their own. Jackson was one of theirs, damn it. Jackson was--
Danny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Getting worked up over what happened won’t solve anything. He lets it out slowly, then repeats the process until he can think clearly, until that empty ache inside of him is bearable again. He opens his eyes and finds Stiles watching him.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No, not really,” Danny huffs out a sigh. “But I’ll cope.” He rubs the side of his neck, working at the suddenly tight muscles, trying to tell himself that it doesn’t matter that up until now something has been rotten in the state of Denmark, because now Stiles is on the case and...
Danny frowns.
Why does that make him feel better about things? What does Stiles actually bring to the table here?
Not that Danny doubts Stiles’s ability, hell the man can ferret out the most hidden of metadata and has a way of playing with coding that makes Danny hard just thinking about it, but, well. For all Stiles is a genius as far as research and corporate espionage go,that’s not exactly the skill set needed with the massive cock up that is the investigation into his “case.”
Danny taps the closed folder with a finger. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what good will you looking all this do?”
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Dude. I thought you were up on Pack politics,” he says like that’s some kind of answer. Danny’s confusion must be written all over his face, because Stiles kind of laughs and shakes his head. “Fine, okay then. Clearly someone wasn’t paying attention in class. But, whatever. I still love you.” He flashes Danny a smile that Danny can’t help but return. “Alright, then, once more for the short bus kids: Hi, I’m Stiles. I am the one they call when things go wrong, and things have indeed gone wrong.”
Danny rolls his eyes. “Did you just quote a Disney movie at me?”
Stiles gives him that winning smile again. “I’ll quote anything, if it’s apt.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you are the Cora Bubbles of The Pack because...” Danny’s words trail off as he is hit with a sickening realization. “You’re Stilinski.”
Stiles gives him an are-you-serious look. “Um, yeah. Thought we already covered that, Danny-boy.”
Oh fuck.
This is not good. This is so not good. Danny shakes his head in denial. “No! We most certainly did not! You said your name was Stiles!”
“You can’t tell me that you thought that was my first name.” Stiles’s look has morphed from disbelief into amusment, his lips twitching up as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Seriously? What sort of baby name is that?”
“Well, no,” Danny admits, feeling hopelessly off balance. “I thought it was a nickname.”
“That’s because it is. Stiles is short for Stilinski. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. And you, Mr. Mahealani, are most certainly a genius. If I didn’t know it before I read your case history, I certainly would now.”
Normally Danny would be tickled pink with the compliment, especially seeing as how it came from Stilinski, but right now all he can focus on is A: that Stiles aka Stilinski is super entrenched with The Pack, which meant that B: the “friends” Stiles talked about translated directly into the upper echelon of The Pack, and that could only mean that C: “Derek” is, in fact, Derek Hale.
And, holy mother of god, that meant Danny was dead.
Because everyone knew that Derek Hale and Stilinski were the power couple being groomed to take over the Hale branch of The Pack.
And Danny, well, Danny’s been fucking one half of said power couple for going on three months.
Repeat: Danny is dead
“Danny, my man, you don’t look so hot,” Stiles says, like he didn’t just sign Danny’s death certificate.
Danny makes a sad, desperate sound. “Um, hi. Very much not okay over here. Oh Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About my name? I told you, I thought you knew.”
Danny shakes his head again. “No, not your name. About you and Derek fucking Hale. But then, I guess you would have thought that was obvious too. Except how it totally wasn’t, because I kind of like breathing and that means I never would have laid a finger on you if I had known.”
Stiles looks at him like he’s crazy. “What are you talking about?”
"You’re shitting me" Danny says with a gasp. "I’m talking about you and Derek Hale. Derek Hale. As in, top Beta in the Hale Pack. Oh god, he's going to rip my throat out with his teeth. I'm dead. I'm so fucking dead. I can't believe how dead I am."
"Relax," Stiles says with a roll of the eyes. "Derek's not going to kill you."
Danny lets out a panicked laugh. "Says you. But, dude, I know what happens to you when you fuck around with a mob boss’s wife. Oh god, and I thought I had problems before. I didn't have any problems at all." He buries his face in his hands, swallowing back bile. "I'm so dead."
"Dude, I've told you a hundred times, you're too pretty to die. Look at that handsome face of yours, that dimple, and don't even get me started about your body. It would be a crime against humanity for you to die." He gives Danny's bicep a squeeze. "Besides, me and Derek aren't like that. We aren't mates or anything. Nothing exclusive going on here. I'm a free agent. And so is he. So, yeah. No death. No dismemberment. Nada." He leans into Danny, his chest pressed firmly against Danny's side, and nuzzles at the underside of Danny's jaw. "Stop freaking out, big guy. You're gonna be just fine."
"I'm gonna be dead, is what I'm gonna be," Danny retorts, pushing Stiles away.
Stiles sighs. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Nothing is going to happen to you. But, dude, don’t take my word for it, you can see for yourself when Derek comes to visit next week.”
“What!” Danny squawks. “He’s coming here? Oh fucking fuck my fucking life. He’ll know everything the second he gets a whiff of you. God, he’ll probably even know the positions I’ve had you in. Shit. Oh fucking shit.”
“Calm down, you idiot.” This time Stiles’s voice is hard, all amusement gone. “Derek already knows. I don’t keep secrets from him. And, seeing as how you and I have been going at it like rabbits for just about three months now, you would be dead and buried by now if that was his intent. So, seriously, stop with the freak out already. It’s the oposite of sexy.”
Danny gives a broken laugh. “Oh, because being sexy really matters right now.”
Stiles gives him a look that Danny can’t even begin to process, then sighs again and pats Danny’s cheek. “Being sexy always matters,” he says, his tone as light and airy as always, but there’s something sharp behind it, something that makes Danny swallow hard and wonder, yet again, what he has managed to get himself into.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: R (hard)
Word Count: 5,075
A.N.: Written for Nokomis who asked for Stiles and Danny in werewolf witness protection.
Summary: Danny's been in what he personally thinks of as werewolf witness protection for little over a week before he meets Stiles.
Danny's been in what he personally thinks of as werewolf witness protection for little over a week before he meets Stiles. He's spent most of that week alone in some tiny cabin in the woods, surrounded on all sides with a whole lot of nothing. There is no cable. No internet. Nothing to connect him to the outside world at all. So when he hears the roar of an engine echoing through the woods, Danny can't help but be excited.
He cuts his hike short and hurries back to the house, wanting to be there whenever his visitor arrives. But once he reaches it, he can't make himself go inside. Danny decides instead to wait for them on the porch, because staying in the house lost its appeal after the first long, boring day. He's lounging in the porch swing, trying not to look overly eager for company, when a beat-up Jeep pulls into the clearing.
Danny gets off the porch swing and makes his way to the steps, squinting his eyes as he attempts to peer through the dirty windshield. He can't make out much, not that it matters, because the person inside is cutting off the engine, then opening his door and stepping into the fresh air and sunshine.
He's young, but not too young-- probably close to Danny's age-- long and lanky, with cropped brown hair and limpid brown eyes. His outfit is causal, the sort of layered look that Danny has never been into himself, but it's not a bad on the other man. He gives Danny an awkward half-wave, his lips curving up into a welcoming smile and Danny has to admit that he's more than a little charmed.
"Hey," the man says, his smile growing wider. "I'm Stiles."
Danny smiles in response, the flirty one with the dimple, points to himself and says, "Danny."
"Nice to meet ya," Stiles says in reply and Danny doesn't know it yet, but his life has just changed.
*
"So, there are two ways we can play this," Stiles says, glancing over at Danny as he bends down to take out a bag of groceries out of the trunk of the Jeep. "We can either pretend like I don't know who you are and why you are here, or we can acknowledge the fact that I'm hip deep in your history whether you like it or not. Now, I'm all for open and honest communication, but if you would rather play ostrich while you are here, then that's what we can do."
Danny blinks at him. "What?"
Stiles sighs. He straightens up, a bag in each arm, then sorta leans his hip on the bumper. "We are going to be spending the next bit of forever together for various reasons. You know why you are here, sharing this time with me. But you don't know why I'm here. Right?"
Danny nods. "Right."
"Thing is, I also know why you are here. Or at least I know as much as The Pack knows, anyway. I'm sure there are some bits that have been left out, but the big picture reasons, I've got that. All of that. Been briefed on it all because, well. I have." He shrugs. "Pack, you know?"
Danny nods again, because he does know. "Yeah, okay, I get it. You've been briefed on my situation. And you are giving me the option to pretend like that never happened, right?"
"Right." Stiles beams at him, like Danny's done something special by following that trail to its natural end. But then, who knows. Maybe Danny is a special snowflake in comparison to the people Stiles has been used to dealing with.
Danny shrugs mentally and goes to take his share of the groceries. "Yeah, let's not play pretend."
"Awesome." Stiles beams at him some more. "Really, that's beyond awesome. You have no idea how hard it is to try and edit myself. I mean, I can do it. Same as I can shut up already when needs be, but it's not fun, you know?"
“I can see that,” Danny say, because it’s clear that Stiles is looking for an answer. “Uh, you ready to head on in?”
Stiles shoves off from the bumper with another of those smiles of his. "Sure thing. Next question is: you want to talk about it? Or?"
Danny makes a noncommittal noise, which earns him a quick look from Stiles.
"Yeah, I didn’t think so" the other man says with a wry look. "No worries. I get it. You don't know me from Adam, why would you want to go trading heart to hearts with some random guy you just met?"
Danny makes that same noise again and leaves it at that. Though, if he's honest, it's not so much that he doesn't trust Stiles, as that he doesn't trust anyone anymore. Not after what happened with Jackson and Lydia and no. He's not thinking about that right now. He sets the bags down on the counter and lifts a shoulder. "You want to carry in the rest or put things away?"
Stiles gives Danny a blatant once over. "You certainly don't need to extra exercise," he says as he heads for the door.
*
Danny watches the way Stiles’s shirt rides up as he carries in the last batch of groceries, exposing a narrow band of skin-- flat abs, sharp hip bones and a soft line of fuzz below his navel.
“See something you like?” he quips and Danny blushes, embarrassed to be caught looking.
He glances up and sees a smile toying at Stiles lips, so instead of stammering out an apology, Danny just winks and says, “Perhaps.”
Stiles laughs. “A direct one. Good. I can work with that. It’s the ones that sigh and stare and pussyfoot around the issue that make me mental.”
“Get a lot of offers then?” Danny crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter, enjoying the way Stiles’s shirt molds to his body as he takes items out of the paper bags.
"Most of my free time is spent with desperate housewives and lonely, lonely men-- and most of the second set spend way too much on their onesies in the woods," Stiles says wryly. "I get more offers than God."
Danny laughs at that and shakes his head. "Well, at least you've got a good sense of humor about it." He pushes off of the counter and ambles over to where Stiles is standing. He brushes a little too close, hip barely grazing against the other man, as he picks up a couple of cans of soup. "Let me," he says, his voice deliberately husky.
Stiles flashes him a wicked grin. "Oh, you are going to be fun."
Then he's spinning away, heading back towards the car, calling out something about unpacking his things. Danny grins to himself because yes. This is definitely going to be fun.
*
Stiles comes back loaded down with a duffle, a large backpack and a laptop bag. He bypasses the kitchen completely, heading straight for the back of the house, towards the one and only bedroom. Danny narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Sure, it would be nice to play cat and mouse with each other for a little while longer, but if Stiles wants to jump right in, well, Danny won’t say no to that either. He trails in Stiles wake, waiting for some sign of what’s to come. Danny gets it when Stiles yanks the door open, then stops in his tracks, confusion momentarily painted on his face.
"Oh." Stiles clears his throat, runs a hand over the back his head. "You're using the bedroom. Of course you are. There's only one, after all. Um, alright. No worries. I'll just," he lets out a sigh, "sleep on the couch."
Danny takes in the dejected slump of his shoulders and lets out a sigh of his own. "How long are you going to be staying here?" he asks, because it's one thing to have a guy sleep on a couch for a day or two, but if they are going to sharing space for a week or more, well, then they ought to come up with a rotation schedule or something.
Stiles blinks at him, seeming taken aback by the question. "What?"
Danny gives him a reassuring smile. "I was just thinking, if you are going to be here for more than a week, we could come up with some sort of time share arrangement." He tilts his head towards the bed. "Seems fair, right?"
"Right," Stiles says slowly, he sucks on his lower lip, thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans.
"So," Danny leans against the doorframe. "How long are you staying?"
Stiles lets out a little laugh. "Um, well, thing is. It's kind of my house."
"What?" Danny frowns.
"It's my house?" Stiles gives him a confused look. "As in, I own it? It's mine? I don't know what you are looking for here."
Danny glances around the small space, remembers his thoughts about how it felt well cared for, loved. He lets out an awkward laugh. "Then why am I here? If this is your house, what," he trails off with a shake of the head.
"Oh," Stiles laughs. "Um, that. Well, that's part of the deal? I mean, this is my house. I own it outright. But," he scratches his chin. "I had the money for it. But the bank didn't want to sign off on the deal. Said they wanted to try and get a better offer or something. Which, I mean, I could see their point and all, but I loved this place. I wanted it so bad. And, um, well. I might have complained about the situation to some of my friends who might have passed the word on to some of their friends and phone calls might have been made. Strings might have been pulled. I mean, I paid for it with my own money and I didn't ask for them to do it, but they did and so now I sort of owe them? Or at least that's how The Pack sees it. So now I get to play host to, erm, friends of The Pack or whatever."
Danny feels something twist in his gut because damn. Once they got their claws in you, they never let go. He hunches his shoulders and tries to ignore that thought. "That sucks," he says, because it does and offering sympathy is the least Danny can do, seeing as how he is an unwanted guest in Stiles's house.
Stiles sorta shrugs. "Naw, not really. I mean, sure, there have been a few creepers. But for the most part everyone has been fairly normal. As normal as people mixed up in werewolf business can be, anyway. And they have all pretty much just left me alone."
"Is that what you prefer?" Danny asks. "To be left alone? Because I can do that, if you'd like."
Stiles makes a face. "Dude. No. You're cool. We're cool. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Good." Stiles gives him a quick smile. "Alright. I'm going to shower real quick and then unpack and, uh, we can see about dinner after that. Sound good?"
"I was thinking of making pizza. I can start on it while you are getting settled in, if you're alright with that?
Stiles's face lights up at that. "Hell yeah, I'm alright with that," he says, bouncing a little in place. "Dude, so alright it hurts. I haven't had homemade pizza in ages. Not since," he cuts himself off abruptly, his smile dimming. Stiles clears his throat awkwardly. "Not in a long while, anyway. Um, yeah. I'm going to go take that shower now."
Danny doesn't say anything, just nods and then watches Stiles as he drops his bags, then riffles through the duffle. He pulls out a black undershirt, a pair of boxer-briefs and a fresh pair of jeans. He gives Danny a friendly smiles, lifts one shoulder and then turns on his heel and walks towards the bathroom. Danny tracks his progress and doesn’t let himself think about the reasons why he is there at all.
*
Danny uses the time Stiles is in the shower to transfer the majority of his things out of the dresser and closet and into his suitcases. He strips the bed and remakes it with fresh linens, then goes to the living room and tugs the pullout bed into position. He is just smoothing the comforter in place when he hears the water shut off.
He gives the bed one last pat, then heads to the kitchen, checking on his pizza dough. It's risen roughly the right amount, so he pulls it out of the bowl and starts tossing it, working it into shape. Danny nearly drops it when he hears a sharp whistle, barely managing not to as he turns towards the sound.
Stiles is leaning against the doorframe, water drops running down his neck, dampening the collar of his undershirt. His skin is pink from the heat of the shower and he looks good enough to lick. Danny feels his mouth go dry and hastily turns back to his pizza, not wanting the other man to realize just how into him Danny happens to be.
He smooths the edges of the dough out, then spoons a large helping of sauce onto it, desperately trying to ignore the fact that Stiles is walking further into the room. He jumps when he feels warm hands on his hips, a chin pressing into his shoulder.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks, like he isn’t pushing back into the heat of Stiles’s body.
“Mummm.” Stiles has definitely been around Pack if the way he is scenting Danny’s neck is anything to go by, but Danny doesn’t care, not when the feel of the other man’s lips is sending shivers down his spine and making him arch his neck, giving Stiles better access to his skin.
Danny carefully sets the spoon down, then turns so that he is facing the other man, chest to chest. Stiles is slightly shorter than him, but they still fit nicely together. Danny lets a hand come up, palm resting against Stiles’s cheek as his thumb brushes across Stiles’s plump lower lip. “Can I help you with something?” he asks again.
Stiles’s eyes are half-lidded, his pupils blown wide. “Yeah, I think you can,” he replies, then he’s moving in close, slightly chapped lips pressing questioningly against Danny’s own.
Why not? Danny thinks with a mental shrug. Why the hell not. He’s a grown man with nobody waiting for him back home. So he licks into that mouth, makes it his own, nipping and sucking at it until the other man groans.
*
The question of who gets the couch is moot after that.
*
The nightmares that have been plaguing Danny stay away that first week, but on the eight day whatever spell Stiles had cast on him is broken and they return.
He wakes up with a scream, hands reaching out in the dark, panting as though he just finished a marathon. Danny closes his eyes, forces his body to relax, tells himself that it was just a dream. Just a fucking dream. But no amount of pep-talking is going to get him to fall back asleep. So he rolls onto his side and crawls out of bed.
Danny takes himself out to the living room, hunkers down on the couch and tries not to think. He tries not to think so fucking hard. But all his trying doesn't stop the thoughts from coming, flooding his mind with "what ifs" and "could-have-beens" until he's shaking, sobbing into a pillow, his body bent in two.
He doesn't hear Stiles approaching, just jerks as a hand rests on his shoulder.
"Hey," Stiles says, hand squeezing gently. "Hey. Shhh." He leans down, his lips brushing across the back of Danny's neck and Danny can't help but pull away because no. Just... no. He doesn't deserve comfort. Not after what happened. Not after what he caused. Fuck, the way Jackson's eyes looked, starting lifelessly up at him, mouth open in a scream above a ripped open throat--
No. God. No. Not again. Not now. Danny wraps his arms around himself, curling into as tight a ball as he can make as he cries and cries and cries until his eyes are burning and his throat is raw.
And through it all, Stiles stays with him. Rubs his shoulders, whispers in his ear, promises Danny it will be alright, even though it won't be. It never will be again.
*
“You want to talk about it?” Stiles asks the next morning when Danny finally stumbles into the kitchen. Danny scrubs his face with one hand and shakes his head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Here.” Stiles hands him a cup of coffee. “But if you change your mind,” he taps himself on the chest, then turns back to the stove.
“I,” Danny stares down into his coffee for a long moment, trying to find a way to explain, but the words won’t come and so he just sighs. “Thanks,” he offers. It’s not much, but it’s all that he can give.
“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles says, waving off any possible awkwardness. “So, how do you feel about scrambled eggs?”
How Danny feels about scrambled eggs is nothing compared to how he suddenly feels about the man sharing space with him in the kitchen.
*
Danny knows he’s not in the right headspace to start a relationship right now, but that’s not what this is. Stiles is fun, funny even, with a sharp, dry wit and a level of dorkiness that Danny ought to be repulsed by, but instead finds oddly endearing. They just click, like he and Jackson just clicked.
Something works between them, makes Danny smile a little brighter, makes him want to spend as much time with the other man as possible. Which is pretty damn good, seeing as how they are trapped alone together in the woods.
Well.
Danny’s trapped, anyway. Stiles isn’t. Stiles is free to come and go as he pleases. And Stiles actually owns the cabin, so it stands to reason that Stiles likes being in the middle of the woods with limited creature comforts and nothing directly linking him to the outside world.
But then, Stiles is part of The Pack and so it makes sense that he needs a place to retreat to.
But thinking about that makes Danny remember why he’s where he is and that’s not something he wants to be doing right now.
*
They fall into an easy pattern. Stiles comes and goes, staying a week here and three days there, his movements never fully predictable. Sometimes he shows up with heaps of papers and books and various other implements of destruction, sometimes he shows up with nothing but his smile. Either way, Danny welcomes the distraction.
Occasionally Stiles will pull Danny into whatever he’s working on, give him little nuggets of detail, ask for his opinion when something just isn’t adding up and Stiles can’t quite put his finger on why. Once-- and only once-- he even let Danny have access to his computer, allowing him to ferret out what happened to an important, and supposedly deleted, email thread.
It’s not nearly enough to keep Danny’s mind occupied, but it is still better than nothing. And Danny doesn’t mind that it is clearly done in an attempt to sway Danny to The Pack’s side. Of course they are still going to want him to keep up his end of the bargain, never mind that Danny’s so-called pay off directly resulted in the death of two of Danny’s closest friends. Still, he appreciates that Stiles isn’t heavy handed about it, that he is trying to sweeten the pot by only giving Danny snippets that leave him hungry for more.
*
“What’s that?” Danny asks when he comes into the house and finds Stiles-- who had been absent for little over a week-- buried up to his eyebrows in paper.
Stiles startles, then blinks blearily at him. “Hum?”
Danny gestures to the reams of paper. “Got yourself a new project?”
“You could say that.” He pushes his chair back and rolls his shoulders. “There hasn’t been enough movement on this cluster to satisfy Derek, and he thought I might be able to make a breakthrough. That, or he thought I was getting a little too comfortable up here with you,” he says with a wink and Danny can’t help but flush as thought of how comfortable, exactly, they have gotten together.
It takes longer than Danny likes to admit for him to shake free of the mental recap and form a response. “What is it then? If you can share.”
“Seeing as how it’s your case, of course I can share.”
Danny feels his stomach drop to his feet and he swallows hard. “My case?” he repeats, his voice a buzz in his ears.
Stiles gives him a little nod, his eyes sad and understanding. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, and I respect that, but that’s kind of out of our hands now. Cases like this only get handed off to me once in a blood moon, when something’s gone wrong, and, well, I’m not going to hide the fact that I’m working on it from you.” He gets an introspective look on his face for a moment before he sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, you want to take a look?”
Danny doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. But that doesn’t actually matter. He sucks in a breath and then nods. Stiles tilts his head at the chair next to him and Danny crosses over to it. He settles himself in and then looks at Stiles expectantly. Stiles wordlessly hands him a thick manila folder. Danny flips it open, starts to read.
It’s not comforting, seeing the facts of his situation laid out in black and white, but it does make Danny feel better to know that the story is out there, that someone is doing something about it.
Although the more he reads, the less he can take comfort in that, because Stiles is right, something is definitely off about this. It’s not just the lack of progress, though that is troubling in its own right, but the way that the investigation has been handled. Danny has seen enough of The Pack’s paperwork to know what he ought to be looking at and this just isn’t it. Everything is... sloppy, for lack of a better word-- like no effort was put into it. Leads have been ignored left and right; the ones that have been tracked down aren’t documented properly. And that’s just not how The Pack does things.
He finishes the last page of the report, then slowly gathers the papers up, tidying them a bit before he puts them back into the nondescript manila folder they live in, uneasy burning in the pit of his stomach. This isn’t how things are supposed to be go. The Pack takes care of their own. Jackson was one of theirs, damn it. Jackson was--
Danny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Getting worked up over what happened won’t solve anything. He lets it out slowly, then repeats the process until he can think clearly, until that empty ache inside of him is bearable again. He opens his eyes and finds Stiles watching him.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No, not really,” Danny huffs out a sigh. “But I’ll cope.” He rubs the side of his neck, working at the suddenly tight muscles, trying to tell himself that it doesn’t matter that up until now something has been rotten in the state of Denmark, because now Stiles is on the case and...
Danny frowns.
Why does that make him feel better about things? What does Stiles actually bring to the table here?
Not that Danny doubts Stiles’s ability, hell the man can ferret out the most hidden of metadata and has a way of playing with coding that makes Danny hard just thinking about it, but, well. For all Stiles is a genius as far as research and corporate espionage go,that’s not exactly the skill set needed with the massive cock up that is the investigation into his “case.”
Danny taps the closed folder with a finger. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what good will you looking all this do?”
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Dude. I thought you were up on Pack politics,” he says like that’s some kind of answer. Danny’s confusion must be written all over his face, because Stiles kind of laughs and shakes his head. “Fine, okay then. Clearly someone wasn’t paying attention in class. But, whatever. I still love you.” He flashes Danny a smile that Danny can’t help but return. “Alright, then, once more for the short bus kids: Hi, I’m Stiles. I am the one they call when things go wrong, and things have indeed gone wrong.”
Danny rolls his eyes. “Did you just quote a Disney movie at me?”
Stiles gives him that winning smile again. “I’ll quote anything, if it’s apt.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you are the Cora Bubbles of The Pack because...” Danny’s words trail off as he is hit with a sickening realization. “You’re Stilinski.”
Stiles gives him an are-you-serious look. “Um, yeah. Thought we already covered that, Danny-boy.”
Oh fuck.
This is not good. This is so not good. Danny shakes his head in denial. “No! We most certainly did not! You said your name was Stiles!”
“You can’t tell me that you thought that was my first name.” Stiles’s look has morphed from disbelief into amusment, his lips twitching up as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Seriously? What sort of baby name is that?”
“Well, no,” Danny admits, feeling hopelessly off balance. “I thought it was a nickname.”
“That’s because it is. Stiles is short for Stilinski. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. And you, Mr. Mahealani, are most certainly a genius. If I didn’t know it before I read your case history, I certainly would now.”
Normally Danny would be tickled pink with the compliment, especially seeing as how it came from Stilinski, but right now all he can focus on is A: that Stiles aka Stilinski is super entrenched with The Pack, which meant that B: the “friends” Stiles talked about translated directly into the upper echelon of The Pack, and that could only mean that C: “Derek” is, in fact, Derek Hale.
And, holy mother of god, that meant Danny was dead.
Because everyone knew that Derek Hale and Stilinski were the power couple being groomed to take over the Hale branch of The Pack.
And Danny, well, Danny’s been fucking one half of said power couple for going on three months.
Repeat: Danny is dead
“Danny, my man, you don’t look so hot,” Stiles says, like he didn’t just sign Danny’s death certificate.
Danny makes a sad, desperate sound. “Um, hi. Very much not okay over here. Oh Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About my name? I told you, I thought you knew.”
Danny shakes his head again. “No, not your name. About you and Derek fucking Hale. But then, I guess you would have thought that was obvious too. Except how it totally wasn’t, because I kind of like breathing and that means I never would have laid a finger on you if I had known.”
Stiles looks at him like he’s crazy. “What are you talking about?”
"You’re shitting me" Danny says with a gasp. "I’m talking about you and Derek Hale. Derek Hale. As in, top Beta in the Hale Pack. Oh god, he's going to rip my throat out with his teeth. I'm dead. I'm so fucking dead. I can't believe how dead I am."
"Relax," Stiles says with a roll of the eyes. "Derek's not going to kill you."
Danny lets out a panicked laugh. "Says you. But, dude, I know what happens to you when you fuck around with a mob boss’s wife. Oh god, and I thought I had problems before. I didn't have any problems at all." He buries his face in his hands, swallowing back bile. "I'm so dead."
"Dude, I've told you a hundred times, you're too pretty to die. Look at that handsome face of yours, that dimple, and don't even get me started about your body. It would be a crime against humanity for you to die." He gives Danny's bicep a squeeze. "Besides, me and Derek aren't like that. We aren't mates or anything. Nothing exclusive going on here. I'm a free agent. And so is he. So, yeah. No death. No dismemberment. Nada." He leans into Danny, his chest pressed firmly against Danny's side, and nuzzles at the underside of Danny's jaw. "Stop freaking out, big guy. You're gonna be just fine."
"I'm gonna be dead, is what I'm gonna be," Danny retorts, pushing Stiles away.
Stiles sighs. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Nothing is going to happen to you. But, dude, don’t take my word for it, you can see for yourself when Derek comes to visit next week.”
“What!” Danny squawks. “He’s coming here? Oh fucking fuck my fucking life. He’ll know everything the second he gets a whiff of you. God, he’ll probably even know the positions I’ve had you in. Shit. Oh fucking shit.”
“Calm down, you idiot.” This time Stiles’s voice is hard, all amusement gone. “Derek already knows. I don’t keep secrets from him. And, seeing as how you and I have been going at it like rabbits for just about three months now, you would be dead and buried by now if that was his intent. So, seriously, stop with the freak out already. It’s the oposite of sexy.”
Danny gives a broken laugh. “Oh, because being sexy really matters right now.”
Stiles gives him a look that Danny can’t even begin to process, then sighs again and pats Danny’s cheek. “Being sexy always matters,” he says, his tone as light and airy as always, but there’s something sharp behind it, something that makes Danny swallow hard and wonder, yet again, what he has managed to get himself into.