New Teen Wolf Fic: Except What Has Been Forgotten, Rated R, 11/?
Except What Has Been Forgotten, Part 11
by Suz
Enormous thanks to rhiannonhero for fixing this part :) :) Feedback would be wonderful :)
Okay, just to keep you guys informed, I have to go back to work tomorrow. UGH, REAL LIFE, WHY? Anyway, fic production will likely slow down at some point, so you might not get parts as often. We'll see how it goes and I'll still work on it as much as I can.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10.
*
Consciousness rushed in and out for a while, his existence consisting only of the sounds he could hear and the feeling of being warm.
"Careful. Isaac, be careful..."
"I'm not the one who has a history of dropping bodies, remember?"
"...yeah, okay."
*
"Derek's going to kill him for this."
"Stiles? Why?"
"Not Stiles - Deaton."
"Okay, that makes a lot more sense. Why kill him, though? I mean Deaton apologised and everything, so..."
"...you really haven't been paying attention lately, have you?"
"Oh. Oh. Is this about them again?"
*
"What're you doing?"
"Telling Derek."
*
When Stiles finally woke up - finally woke up properly - he blinked his eyes open to discover he was laying in his own bed, in his own room, in his own house, facing away from the door. It was dark outside.
And then he remembered what'd happened at the vet clinic.
Dude, Deaton was a psychopath! He was worse than Peter! What gave him the right to go forcefully bringing back people's memories, when said people were actually really confused about the whole thing and absolutely had not given permission for that kind of...magic - magic? - to take place on his brain. His brain. His brain. The very core of his being, the substance of who Stiles was. Sure, that substance was a little jumbled right now and remembering everything he'd forgotten would no doubt be incredibly useful - hello there, understatement - but. But.
Stiles wasn't ready. If it were down to him, right now he'd only remember the stuff that hopefully didn't come saddled with all the baggage it seemed Previous Stiles was now carting around. He did want to know about magic. He did want to know about werewolves. He did want to know what the hell was going on with Derek. But the more time passed, the more he remembered, the more it was becoming obvious that there were no memories that were simply just exciting or interesting or fascinating. Each memory wasn't a separate entity that he could just analyse and move on from. They were all connected by the story of his life, linked by the way everything had changed and developed over the past 18 months. Stiles couldn't just pick out the cool stuff to remember - even if that were possible - because it was always tinged with horror, regret, guilt and a stifling sense of helplessness.
Basically, most of the memories that were coming back sucked, and he didn't want to remember.
It was also becoming just as obvious that he couldn't avoid it, though. He'd tried focusing only on Derek and life had kicked him in the ass with new crappy memories anyway. Whatever Deaton had done at the clinic had hit Stiles with an actual trifecta of memories, this time. At least, he thought it was three. They'd all been so close together they'd kind of blended into each other, making them even harder to figure out than usual. Not to mention they'd been much more intense - maybe as a result of not coming back 'naturally'?
What he was able to put together specifically, was that there'd been some...event...with Derek, that'd somehow been connected to Dad getting hurt? Something that Stiles had found profoundly embarrassing and humiliating - and really, like his situation wasn't bad enough? He had to worry that, at any moment, he could remember what that was?
It was an incredibly weird and equally incredibly disturbing situation to be afraid of your own memories, the very things that made you who you were.
He definitely needed to think about this more; what Deaton had actually done to him and what it meant. It didn't feel right, what he'd done to Stiles. He also needed to pick apart and study the memories closer, understand them further. Sighing, shifting in bed, Stiles only realised there was a piece of paper resting next to his pillow when he heard it crinkling. Quickly grabbing it, he sat up and squinted in the moonlight at the words that covered the paper, written in Scott's familiar messy scrawl.
Your going to be okay. Deaton says sorry and thought you wanted him to do it. I had to go home call if you need anything.
p.s. Calling Derek was Isaac's idea. I AM INNOCENT!!!!
Freezing momentarily, Stiles then sat up further and angled his body in the other direction and-
Yup. Derek was sleeping in his computer chair.
Stiles didn't even know how that was possible - he could sleep just about anywhere, and even he'd never managed to fall asleep in that chair - but there Derek was, arms folded across his chest, tucked in on himself, head bowed with his eyes shut.
It also had to be really uncomfortable.
It absolutely shouldn't have been for a guy who was a werewolf - an Alpha, no less - but it really was kind of adorable. Derek was being adorable, and-
Derek wasn't being adorable. He wasn't. There was no part of Derek Hale that was in any way tinged with adorableness. Or cuteness. Or puppy-like-ness - despite the obvious dog connection.
Derek was annoying. And stubborn. And annoying. And an idiot. And deadly. And painfully, obviously, out of his depth.
But as Stiles watched Scott brush Derek off for what had to be, like, the seventeenth time, Derek's face twisted into this...expression. Derek didn't really do expressions that weren't glaring, glowering and other variations of 'grrr, I'm angry and growly and have a tragic history and feel my paaaaaain'. But the expression Derek was wearing now - the same expression he'd worn the previous sixteen times - was almost ridiculously child-like. Like Derek was trying so hard and he didn't understand why it wasn't working and it just wasn't fair.
Honestly, Stiles thought Derek was perfectly entitled to feel this way about life in general. His life was pretty much a big shit-fest - much the way Stiles' had been for a while now - and Stiles couldn't really blame the guy if he did just sit around feeling sorry for himself.
So, Stiles finally took pity on him after attempt seventeen. The guy was persistent; Stiles would give him that much.
"You're going about this all wrong," Stiles announced, dropping down to sit on the dusty wooden box next to Derek, the space Scott had just vacated. They really needed to get some kind of furniture in here. Stiles was not a fan of tetanus. "You're being too nice." Honestly, he sucked at being nice. Like, it was even worse than Stiles had anticipated - and he'd known, going into this, that it was going to be bad.
Derek's jaw clenched. "You. Told me. To be nice." Yeah, he kind of had. The problem was, Derek was going about it the way a regular person would. Derek was not in any way regular and his sudden apparent personality change was not doing him any favours.
"Okay there, Mr Enunciation," Stiles moved to pat him on the shoulder; quickly thought better of it. "It's nice that you're being nice. You're just being too nice. It's not really your thing, you know?"
"What is not my thing?"
Still with the enunciation, then. "Well, you've never really done nice, you know? Or at least not since we've known you. Not that you haven't done nice things," he added, because that was totally true, "you know, saving our lives and stuff. Definitely good, nice things," he nodded. "But not so much with the speaking. Which, hey - tragic past, I get it. But you're being too nice now and, frankly, I think it's creeping him out."
Derek cricked his neck.
Stiles babbled on because he was pretty sure that was all the response he was going to get. "Nice is probably the wrong choice of words. That was probably my fault. You don't have to be all, 'Hey, Scott! Great day we're having, huh? What've you been up to lately - please tell me in detail and in triplicate'." It wasn't actually word-for-word the kind of thing Derek had been saying, but it was close. "Just be honest."
"I'm always honest," Derek insisted.
Maybe that was true? Actually, it felt more like bullshit. And hey, at least Derek was speaking again. "Be honest in a...less intimidating way?"
Derek grunted.
"Look," Stiles sighed, "I've been doing what I can, trying to convince him to give you a chance. But the bulk of the work has to come from you - it's your pack he'll be joining. It has to come from you. Just tell him the truth - your pack only has two members, your crazy uncle keeps trying to seduce you to the dark side," and seduce Stiles, but that didn't need mentioning right now, Stiles could totally handle Peter, "and if the Alphas attack, you're toast! Simple."
That little 'pep talk' had done the joyous job of reminding him why they were even trying to do this in the first place. Scott had been side-eyeing him for weeks now for spending so much time in Derek's company. It wasn't like Stiles even wanted to hang around with Derek, but he'd already decided he couldn't sit on his ass and do nothing while the Alpha Pack were waiting in the wings. God knew Scott wasn't about to do it with all his "You're not my Alpha," feelings and his sudden Scott-and-Isaac-Special-Private-Time that Stiles was in no way jealous of.
But Scott. Scott was important. Derek had always wanted them to work together - be pack - since the start. Whether to team up against the Alpha to avenge his sister, or team up together to stop the kanima, or just so he wouldn't be so alone.
Not that Derek would actually say that.
It was obvious - to Stiles at least - that if Derek could convince Scott to finally, actually join his pack, that it'd give Derek a huge boost of confidence that he desperately needed. The pack would be stronger in general - and as the pack really only consisted of Derek and Isaac at the moment, they needed that strength badly. Derek would become stronger as a leader and honestly, with Scott on-board they might be able to convince Jackson to step up to the plate, too. Scott and Jackson weren't close by any stretch of the imagination, but Scott had been just about the only one who had always, always advocated for doing everything they could to keep Jackson alive - even when he was a mindless killing machine.
Something that Jackson was well aware of, thanks to Stiles 'happening' to mention it to him during a particularly gruelling practise session.
So Stiles had gone to Derek, told him to try and convince Scott to sign up again. Experiment with some of those social skills that were still so glaringly absent. They went through the routine - Derek snarled at Stiles to stay out of his business, Stiles yelled that the only reason he was mixed up in Derek's business at all was that Derek kept asking him for help, then there was a day of mutual silence and Derek ending up doing what Stiles had suggested all along.
And now here they were. Trying to figure out how to make Derek socially acceptable without creeping Scott the hell out.
Derek brought his hands up to his face. "Right," he said. "Simple. I don't know why I listen to you."
That made two of them.
And then there were the memories like that one. Those memories made everything even more confusing, because they were still usually tinged with desperation - or at least the memory of it - but the actual content was...not bad. Which, because this was the way Stiles rolled, only made him curious and this constant swinging between not wanting to know and actually wanting to know was really, really annoying, ugh!
Fortunately, Stiles then noticed movement, which was at least a distraction.
Not so fortunately, he noticed movement because Dad had just stepped into his open doorway.
Where he could see Derek. In Stiles' bedroom.
Dad's suddenly and decidedly silent appearance had at least been really, really cool, so Stiles totally decided to focus on that. "Wow, I didn't even hear you."
"Sheriff," Dad remarked, like that explained everything, like sheriff's got sent on How-To-Be-A-Silent-Badass-Ninja training courses.
Maybe they did.
Maybe it was the same place werewolves got sent on How-To-Be-A-Silent-Creeper courses.
They both looked at Derek, who hadn't moved an inch.
"Heavy sleeper?" Stiles shrugged, and then paused as he realised what that sounded like. "And that's totally a guess because that's not something I have any practical knowledge of."
Dad rolled his eyes. Derek finally started waking up, lifting his head, blinking slowly.
Dad stepped into the room. "Stiles, can I ask you a question?"
This was going nowhere good. "...no?"
Unsurprisingly, Dad didn't listen. "This is your bedroom, correct?"
He sighed. "Yes."
"And isn't your bedroom...upstairs?"
He sighed again. "Yes."
"You had one rule, Stiles," Dad pointed out, "one."
It wasn't like they'd even been doing anything. "It's not like-"
Derek finally, finally said something. "It's not his fault," he explained, causing the computer chair to squeak on its wheels as he got to his feet. "He wasn't feeling well at the vet clinic. Scott brought him home but his mother needed him. He thought Stiles shouldn't be left on his own, so he called me." There were some lies tied up in that, but Stiles figured it was mostly kind of the truth. "Stiles...wasn't aware that I was here." That was definitely true, at least.
Dad took a step in Derek's direction. "If my son isn't feeling well after a sustaining a head injury you let me know, you understand?" He paused. "And probably a hospital."
"I'm fine, dad, really," Stiles insisted, throwing back the covers and twisting his body around to sit on the edge of the bed. He actually did feel fine at the moment; whatever Deaton had done to him had clearly worn off - and not a moment too soon.
He still didn't really know how he felt about the fact that his mind had essentially been...invaded...without his permission.
Pissed, though. Pissed was definitely there.
Satisfied, Dad turned away and started heading out of the room. Stiles thought that might actually be it, but - no. Of course not.
"Derek," Dad called, as he walked out. "With me."
Stiles and Derek stared at each other.
"I'm really sorry," Stiles breathed.
Lips quirking into a smile, Derek just turned and left the room.
Stiles went into panic stations, scrambling off the bed. Red Alert! Red Alert! Someone had taken his sneakers off - thank you, Scott or Isaac - but he was still fully dressed - thank you, Scott or Isaac - and he flew out of his bedroom, stumbling down the stairs.
He found Dad and Derek in the living room, where they both had their phones out and were...were...
Exchanging phone numbers.
"I have contact numbers for most of Stiles' friends," Dad was saying, before adding a deliberate, "or at least their parents." Folding his arms across his chest, Stiles glared at the back of Dad's head. "But as you are, apparently, one of Stiles' friends, we should know how to contact each other. For situations like today."
"Good idea," Derek said calmly, and this whole faux-pleasant conversation thing was creeping Stiles the hell out.
When they finished, they both pocketed their phones and then Dad was gesturing towards the sofa. "Have a seat, Derek. Are you staying for dinner?"
Okay, now Dad was doing this deliberately just to mess with him. Clearly.
Derek looked at Stiles.
Stiles shrugged.
Derek shrugged. "Sure."
"Stiles?" Dad asked politely. "You still feeling okay?"
"Uh." This was a trap, surely. "Yes?"
"Good." Dad's expression darkened. "You're making dinner."
Yep. He was right.
And that was how he ended up sitting around the counter in the kitchen, eating pasta with Dad and Derek. There was conversation but nothing particularly personal or enlightening - just what each of them had done during the day. Well, he said each of them when he really meant just himself and Dad. Derek may have seemingly opened up more with Stiles, but not around others. Of course, Stiles couldn't be truly honest about his day, either - not with trying to hunt down information about Derek, and then discovering he'd performed magic, and then having missing memories forced back into his brain via different magic.
Honestly, lying all the time was completely understandable.
Mostly they just let Dad ramble on about work and some idiot administrator who had it in for him and every now and then Stiles would glance over at Derek. One time Derek caught him and Stiles rolled his eyes as if to say, Parents. And then Derek raised his eyebrows as if to say, You're lucky. And then Stiles nodded back as if to say, I know, and then they just kind of looked at each other until Dad pointedly cleared his throat.
Stiles found his empty dish fascinating after that.
It'd turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant evening, despite the way the day had gone previously. Was this what life was like before? Moments of thorough, nearly unbearable intensity followed by moments that were actually pretty enjoyable? There couldn't have been many of these enjoyable moments, surely, not with the threat of death always hanging over their heads. But there had been some, definitely been some, like the memory he'd had earlier. Derek had been an idiot and Stiles had still had that underlying constant taste of fear in his mouth, but he couldn't deny that it'd been fun.
He wondered how he'd adjusted to that, the occasional sudden shift from OMGTERROR to hey, this is pretty fun because even now he was finding the disconnect pretty strange. No wonder he'd been see-sawing all over the place when it came to wanting/not wanting to remember everything.
Eventually, Dad parked himself on the sofa with the remote, leaving them to deal with the dishes. Derek actually seemed to know what a dishwasher was used for, and after the two of them had loaded it up Stiles escorted him to the porch, pointedly closing the door behind them.
"Thanks for that," he said immediately, folding his arms across his chest. "I know it was probably...awkward, but-"
"I wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to," Derek interrupted, facing him, looking stupidly good in the ugly yellow glow of the porch light. "Your pasta's pretty good."
Stiles pursed his lips together for a moment. "Not just staying for dinner. But staying...before. That was..." Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. "Thoughtful."
Derek glanced down and away, actually shifting on the spot. That absolutely wasn't adorable, either. "I should go." He didn't leave immediately, though, instead looking back at Stiles and announcing, "I dealt with Deaton. What he did was..."
"Potentially kind of useful?" Stiles felt the need to point out, and he wasn't even sure why until he recognised the concern Derek was trying to mask and realised that he didn't want Derek to have to do that - even though Stiles was the one who'd actually had his mind whammied. "It, um. Could've been a good thing."
"It could've been useful," Derek agreed, watching him carefully. "With full and frank permission."
Derek moved to leave and when the instinct came, Stiles just went with it, unfolding his arms to grab Derek's wrist. Immediately turning back around, Derek stared down at their hands.
"What were we? Or...you and him?" Stiles asked, while he was still feeling brave enough. "Before?"
Slowly sliding his gaze all the way along Stiles' arm, up over his shoulder, on to his face, Derek's gaze settled deliberately on Stiles' mouth.
And Stiles knew then, without a doubt (but hadn't he known already? Hadn't he secretly known all along?). Isaac was right. Erica was right. Whether anything had actually happened or not, the feelings were there on both sides, and they were real.
Only that'd been between Derek and Previous Stiles. Not him.
"A work in progress," were all the words that Derek produced, the sound of them making Stiles open his hand instinctively and then Derek was leaving, turning, and walking away.
TBC
Next Part
by Suz
Enormous thanks to rhiannonhero for fixing this part :) :) Feedback would be wonderful :)
Okay, just to keep you guys informed, I have to go back to work tomorrow. UGH, REAL LIFE, WHY? Anyway, fic production will likely slow down at some point, so you might not get parts as often. We'll see how it goes and I'll still work on it as much as I can.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10.
*
Consciousness rushed in and out for a while, his existence consisting only of the sounds he could hear and the feeling of being warm.
"Careful. Isaac, be careful..."
"I'm not the one who has a history of dropping bodies, remember?"
"...yeah, okay."
*
"Derek's going to kill him for this."
"Stiles? Why?"
"Not Stiles - Deaton."
"Okay, that makes a lot more sense. Why kill him, though? I mean Deaton apologised and everything, so..."
"...you really haven't been paying attention lately, have you?"
"Oh. Oh. Is this about them again?"
*
"What're you doing?"
"Telling Derek."
*
When Stiles finally woke up - finally woke up properly - he blinked his eyes open to discover he was laying in his own bed, in his own room, in his own house, facing away from the door. It was dark outside.
And then he remembered what'd happened at the vet clinic.
Dude, Deaton was a psychopath! He was worse than Peter! What gave him the right to go forcefully bringing back people's memories, when said people were actually really confused about the whole thing and absolutely had not given permission for that kind of...magic - magic? - to take place on his brain. His brain. His brain. The very core of his being, the substance of who Stiles was. Sure, that substance was a little jumbled right now and remembering everything he'd forgotten would no doubt be incredibly useful - hello there, understatement - but. But.
Stiles wasn't ready. If it were down to him, right now he'd only remember the stuff that hopefully didn't come saddled with all the baggage it seemed Previous Stiles was now carting around. He did want to know about magic. He did want to know about werewolves. He did want to know what the hell was going on with Derek. But the more time passed, the more he remembered, the more it was becoming obvious that there were no memories that were simply just exciting or interesting or fascinating. Each memory wasn't a separate entity that he could just analyse and move on from. They were all connected by the story of his life, linked by the way everything had changed and developed over the past 18 months. Stiles couldn't just pick out the cool stuff to remember - even if that were possible - because it was always tinged with horror, regret, guilt and a stifling sense of helplessness.
Basically, most of the memories that were coming back sucked, and he didn't want to remember.
It was also becoming just as obvious that he couldn't avoid it, though. He'd tried focusing only on Derek and life had kicked him in the ass with new crappy memories anyway. Whatever Deaton had done at the clinic had hit Stiles with an actual trifecta of memories, this time. At least, he thought it was three. They'd all been so close together they'd kind of blended into each other, making them even harder to figure out than usual. Not to mention they'd been much more intense - maybe as a result of not coming back 'naturally'?
What he was able to put together specifically, was that there'd been some...event...with Derek, that'd somehow been connected to Dad getting hurt? Something that Stiles had found profoundly embarrassing and humiliating - and really, like his situation wasn't bad enough? He had to worry that, at any moment, he could remember what that was?
It was an incredibly weird and equally incredibly disturbing situation to be afraid of your own memories, the very things that made you who you were.
He definitely needed to think about this more; what Deaton had actually done to him and what it meant. It didn't feel right, what he'd done to Stiles. He also needed to pick apart and study the memories closer, understand them further. Sighing, shifting in bed, Stiles only realised there was a piece of paper resting next to his pillow when he heard it crinkling. Quickly grabbing it, he sat up and squinted in the moonlight at the words that covered the paper, written in Scott's familiar messy scrawl.
Your going to be okay. Deaton says sorry and thought you wanted him to do it. I had to go home call if you need anything.
p.s. Calling Derek was Isaac's idea. I AM INNOCENT!!!!
Freezing momentarily, Stiles then sat up further and angled his body in the other direction and-
Yup. Derek was sleeping in his computer chair.
Stiles didn't even know how that was possible - he could sleep just about anywhere, and even he'd never managed to fall asleep in that chair - but there Derek was, arms folded across his chest, tucked in on himself, head bowed with his eyes shut.
It also had to be really uncomfortable.
It absolutely shouldn't have been for a guy who was a werewolf - an Alpha, no less - but it really was kind of adorable. Derek was being adorable, and-
Derek wasn't being adorable. He wasn't. There was no part of Derek Hale that was in any way tinged with adorableness. Or cuteness. Or puppy-like-ness - despite the obvious dog connection.
Derek was annoying. And stubborn. And annoying. And an idiot. And deadly. And painfully, obviously, out of his depth.
But as Stiles watched Scott brush Derek off for what had to be, like, the seventeenth time, Derek's face twisted into this...expression. Derek didn't really do expressions that weren't glaring, glowering and other variations of 'grrr, I'm angry and growly and have a tragic history and feel my paaaaaain'. But the expression Derek was wearing now - the same expression he'd worn the previous sixteen times - was almost ridiculously child-like. Like Derek was trying so hard and he didn't understand why it wasn't working and it just wasn't fair.
Honestly, Stiles thought Derek was perfectly entitled to feel this way about life in general. His life was pretty much a big shit-fest - much the way Stiles' had been for a while now - and Stiles couldn't really blame the guy if he did just sit around feeling sorry for himself.
So, Stiles finally took pity on him after attempt seventeen. The guy was persistent; Stiles would give him that much.
"You're going about this all wrong," Stiles announced, dropping down to sit on the dusty wooden box next to Derek, the space Scott had just vacated. They really needed to get some kind of furniture in here. Stiles was not a fan of tetanus. "You're being too nice." Honestly, he sucked at being nice. Like, it was even worse than Stiles had anticipated - and he'd known, going into this, that it was going to be bad.
Derek's jaw clenched. "You. Told me. To be nice." Yeah, he kind of had. The problem was, Derek was going about it the way a regular person would. Derek was not in any way regular and his sudden apparent personality change was not doing him any favours.
"Okay there, Mr Enunciation," Stiles moved to pat him on the shoulder; quickly thought better of it. "It's nice that you're being nice. You're just being too nice. It's not really your thing, you know?"
"What is not my thing?"
Still with the enunciation, then. "Well, you've never really done nice, you know? Or at least not since we've known you. Not that you haven't done nice things," he added, because that was totally true, "you know, saving our lives and stuff. Definitely good, nice things," he nodded. "But not so much with the speaking. Which, hey - tragic past, I get it. But you're being too nice now and, frankly, I think it's creeping him out."
Derek cricked his neck.
Stiles babbled on because he was pretty sure that was all the response he was going to get. "Nice is probably the wrong choice of words. That was probably my fault. You don't have to be all, 'Hey, Scott! Great day we're having, huh? What've you been up to lately - please tell me in detail and in triplicate'." It wasn't actually word-for-word the kind of thing Derek had been saying, but it was close. "Just be honest."
"I'm always honest," Derek insisted.
Maybe that was true? Actually, it felt more like bullshit. And hey, at least Derek was speaking again. "Be honest in a...less intimidating way?"
Derek grunted.
"Look," Stiles sighed, "I've been doing what I can, trying to convince him to give you a chance. But the bulk of the work has to come from you - it's your pack he'll be joining. It has to come from you. Just tell him the truth - your pack only has two members, your crazy uncle keeps trying to seduce you to the dark side," and seduce Stiles, but that didn't need mentioning right now, Stiles could totally handle Peter, "and if the Alphas attack, you're toast! Simple."
That little 'pep talk' had done the joyous job of reminding him why they were even trying to do this in the first place. Scott had been side-eyeing him for weeks now for spending so much time in Derek's company. It wasn't like Stiles even wanted to hang around with Derek, but he'd already decided he couldn't sit on his ass and do nothing while the Alpha Pack were waiting in the wings. God knew Scott wasn't about to do it with all his "You're not my Alpha," feelings and his sudden Scott-and-Isaac-Special-Private-Time that Stiles was in no way jealous of.
But Scott. Scott was important. Derek had always wanted them to work together - be pack - since the start. Whether to team up against the Alpha to avenge his sister, or team up together to stop the kanima, or just so he wouldn't be so alone.
Not that Derek would actually say that.
It was obvious - to Stiles at least - that if Derek could convince Scott to finally, actually join his pack, that it'd give Derek a huge boost of confidence that he desperately needed. The pack would be stronger in general - and as the pack really only consisted of Derek and Isaac at the moment, they needed that strength badly. Derek would become stronger as a leader and honestly, with Scott on-board they might be able to convince Jackson to step up to the plate, too. Scott and Jackson weren't close by any stretch of the imagination, but Scott had been just about the only one who had always, always advocated for doing everything they could to keep Jackson alive - even when he was a mindless killing machine.
Something that Jackson was well aware of, thanks to Stiles 'happening' to mention it to him during a particularly gruelling practise session.
So Stiles had gone to Derek, told him to try and convince Scott to sign up again. Experiment with some of those social skills that were still so glaringly absent. They went through the routine - Derek snarled at Stiles to stay out of his business, Stiles yelled that the only reason he was mixed up in Derek's business at all was that Derek kept asking him for help, then there was a day of mutual silence and Derek ending up doing what Stiles had suggested all along.
And now here they were. Trying to figure out how to make Derek socially acceptable without creeping Scott the hell out.
Derek brought his hands up to his face. "Right," he said. "Simple. I don't know why I listen to you."
That made two of them.
And then there were the memories like that one. Those memories made everything even more confusing, because they were still usually tinged with desperation - or at least the memory of it - but the actual content was...not bad. Which, because this was the way Stiles rolled, only made him curious and this constant swinging between not wanting to know and actually wanting to know was really, really annoying, ugh!
Fortunately, Stiles then noticed movement, which was at least a distraction.
Not so fortunately, he noticed movement because Dad had just stepped into his open doorway.
Where he could see Derek. In Stiles' bedroom.
Dad's suddenly and decidedly silent appearance had at least been really, really cool, so Stiles totally decided to focus on that. "Wow, I didn't even hear you."
"Sheriff," Dad remarked, like that explained everything, like sheriff's got sent on How-To-Be-A-Silent-Badass-Ninja training courses.
Maybe they did.
Maybe it was the same place werewolves got sent on How-To-Be-A-Silent-Creeper courses.
They both looked at Derek, who hadn't moved an inch.
"Heavy sleeper?" Stiles shrugged, and then paused as he realised what that sounded like. "And that's totally a guess because that's not something I have any practical knowledge of."
Dad rolled his eyes. Derek finally started waking up, lifting his head, blinking slowly.
Dad stepped into the room. "Stiles, can I ask you a question?"
This was going nowhere good. "...no?"
Unsurprisingly, Dad didn't listen. "This is your bedroom, correct?"
He sighed. "Yes."
"And isn't your bedroom...upstairs?"
He sighed again. "Yes."
"You had one rule, Stiles," Dad pointed out, "one."
It wasn't like they'd even been doing anything. "It's not like-"
Derek finally, finally said something. "It's not his fault," he explained, causing the computer chair to squeak on its wheels as he got to his feet. "He wasn't feeling well at the vet clinic. Scott brought him home but his mother needed him. He thought Stiles shouldn't be left on his own, so he called me." There were some lies tied up in that, but Stiles figured it was mostly kind of the truth. "Stiles...wasn't aware that I was here." That was definitely true, at least.
Dad took a step in Derek's direction. "If my son isn't feeling well after a sustaining a head injury you let me know, you understand?" He paused. "And probably a hospital."
"I'm fine, dad, really," Stiles insisted, throwing back the covers and twisting his body around to sit on the edge of the bed. He actually did feel fine at the moment; whatever Deaton had done to him had clearly worn off - and not a moment too soon.
He still didn't really know how he felt about the fact that his mind had essentially been...invaded...without his permission.
Pissed, though. Pissed was definitely there.
Satisfied, Dad turned away and started heading out of the room. Stiles thought that might actually be it, but - no. Of course not.
"Derek," Dad called, as he walked out. "With me."
Stiles and Derek stared at each other.
"I'm really sorry," Stiles breathed.
Lips quirking into a smile, Derek just turned and left the room.
Stiles went into panic stations, scrambling off the bed. Red Alert! Red Alert! Someone had taken his sneakers off - thank you, Scott or Isaac - but he was still fully dressed - thank you, Scott or Isaac - and he flew out of his bedroom, stumbling down the stairs.
He found Dad and Derek in the living room, where they both had their phones out and were...were...
Exchanging phone numbers.
"I have contact numbers for most of Stiles' friends," Dad was saying, before adding a deliberate, "or at least their parents." Folding his arms across his chest, Stiles glared at the back of Dad's head. "But as you are, apparently, one of Stiles' friends, we should know how to contact each other. For situations like today."
"Good idea," Derek said calmly, and this whole faux-pleasant conversation thing was creeping Stiles the hell out.
When they finished, they both pocketed their phones and then Dad was gesturing towards the sofa. "Have a seat, Derek. Are you staying for dinner?"
Okay, now Dad was doing this deliberately just to mess with him. Clearly.
Derek looked at Stiles.
Stiles shrugged.
Derek shrugged. "Sure."
"Stiles?" Dad asked politely. "You still feeling okay?"
"Uh." This was a trap, surely. "Yes?"
"Good." Dad's expression darkened. "You're making dinner."
Yep. He was right.
And that was how he ended up sitting around the counter in the kitchen, eating pasta with Dad and Derek. There was conversation but nothing particularly personal or enlightening - just what each of them had done during the day. Well, he said each of them when he really meant just himself and Dad. Derek may have seemingly opened up more with Stiles, but not around others. Of course, Stiles couldn't be truly honest about his day, either - not with trying to hunt down information about Derek, and then discovering he'd performed magic, and then having missing memories forced back into his brain via different magic.
Honestly, lying all the time was completely understandable.
Mostly they just let Dad ramble on about work and some idiot administrator who had it in for him and every now and then Stiles would glance over at Derek. One time Derek caught him and Stiles rolled his eyes as if to say, Parents. And then Derek raised his eyebrows as if to say, You're lucky. And then Stiles nodded back as if to say, I know, and then they just kind of looked at each other until Dad pointedly cleared his throat.
Stiles found his empty dish fascinating after that.
It'd turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant evening, despite the way the day had gone previously. Was this what life was like before? Moments of thorough, nearly unbearable intensity followed by moments that were actually pretty enjoyable? There couldn't have been many of these enjoyable moments, surely, not with the threat of death always hanging over their heads. But there had been some, definitely been some, like the memory he'd had earlier. Derek had been an idiot and Stiles had still had that underlying constant taste of fear in his mouth, but he couldn't deny that it'd been fun.
He wondered how he'd adjusted to that, the occasional sudden shift from OMGTERROR to hey, this is pretty fun because even now he was finding the disconnect pretty strange. No wonder he'd been see-sawing all over the place when it came to wanting/not wanting to remember everything.
Eventually, Dad parked himself on the sofa with the remote, leaving them to deal with the dishes. Derek actually seemed to know what a dishwasher was used for, and after the two of them had loaded it up Stiles escorted him to the porch, pointedly closing the door behind them.
"Thanks for that," he said immediately, folding his arms across his chest. "I know it was probably...awkward, but-"
"I wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to," Derek interrupted, facing him, looking stupidly good in the ugly yellow glow of the porch light. "Your pasta's pretty good."
Stiles pursed his lips together for a moment. "Not just staying for dinner. But staying...before. That was..." Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. "Thoughtful."
Derek glanced down and away, actually shifting on the spot. That absolutely wasn't adorable, either. "I should go." He didn't leave immediately, though, instead looking back at Stiles and announcing, "I dealt with Deaton. What he did was..."
"Potentially kind of useful?" Stiles felt the need to point out, and he wasn't even sure why until he recognised the concern Derek was trying to mask and realised that he didn't want Derek to have to do that - even though Stiles was the one who'd actually had his mind whammied. "It, um. Could've been a good thing."
"It could've been useful," Derek agreed, watching him carefully. "With full and frank permission."
Derek moved to leave and when the instinct came, Stiles just went with it, unfolding his arms to grab Derek's wrist. Immediately turning back around, Derek stared down at their hands.
"What were we? Or...you and him?" Stiles asked, while he was still feeling brave enough. "Before?"
Slowly sliding his gaze all the way along Stiles' arm, up over his shoulder, on to his face, Derek's gaze settled deliberately on Stiles' mouth.
And Stiles knew then, without a doubt (but hadn't he known already? Hadn't he secretly known all along?). Isaac was right. Erica was right. Whether anything had actually happened or not, the feelings were there on both sides, and they were real.
Only that'd been between Derek and Previous Stiles. Not him.
"A work in progress," were all the words that Derek produced, the sound of them making Stiles open his hand instinctively and then Derek was leaving, turning, and walking away.
TBC
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