Trees are always a relief after dealing with people (except when they aren't)(For lenfantsavage) par
Title: Trees are always a relief after dealing with people (except when they aren't)
Author:ravelqueen
Recipient:lenfantsavage
Pairings: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: ~ 16.000
Warnings: fluffiness, slight wing!kink, oral
Summary: Derek Hale decides to turn into a hermit before he reaches 25. Too bad he picked Beacon Hills as his retirement home.
(Or the one where Stiles is a wood nymph/pixie/human hybrid who falls in love with his new grumpy werewolf neighbour)
Author's Notes:*looks at the word count*, uh I don't know what happened? You said creature!Stiles with a high rating would make your Christmas. Merry Christmas! I hope you like your gift^^
A super extra special thanks goes out to Julie, who was the fairy godmother of this fic. Not only did she come up with the idea, but she was a cheerleader, enduring all my panic attacks and doing a super fast beta.
Title inspired by a quote from David Mitchell
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Stiles is furious. Stiles is inconsolably angry, infuriated, enraged, spitting mad.
“Dude, you are turning green. Are you alright?” Scott asks concerned, pausing the game.
“I am not alright, I am aflame with anger, red with rage!” Stiles spits out.
“No, I mean you are literally turning green. And I think your wings are starting to come out?” Scott says. He's trying to get a look at his back, where sure enough his wings try to flicker into existence.
Stiles tries to get himself under control, because he likes this T-shirt, but it's no use. With a loud ripping sound his stupid girly fairy wings tear through it. This is just the icing on that particular cake. He lets out a scream, but with him nearly fully transformed, it sounds more like a bird call mixed with the sound of leaves rustling.
He gets a grip into his now-longer hair and tugs. “I can't even have one manly shout about this and I'm going to have to shave my hair again, this is officially the worst day, the worst of all the possible days!”
“What even happened dude?” Scott asks, “One minute you were fine and suddenly your eyes started glowing and you transformed.”
“Werewolf.” he hisses.
“What? There aren't even any werewolves in this game, what -” Scott turns to him.
“Not plural, a werewolf, here in Beacon Hills, in my territory.” Stiles really can't believe it, but the feeling is unmistakable, the way the forest is singing about a predator, about something wild and primal, finally returning to it.
“Wait a second, werewolves are real?” There is a look of unholy glee on Scott's face, “Oh my god, that's awesome, why did you not tell me about that before! Do they look like in that movie you showed me? Who is it?”
“I don't know Scott, probably someone who is new in this town and it isn't cool at all.” Stiles is still seething a bit, but he can't really keep up the same level of anger with Scott's excited face in front of him.
“How can you say that?” Scott cries, “especially because just last week, you totally held a 30-minute presentation on why werewolves are better than vampires. There were pictures!”
“Ok, first of all, that was totally different. It was about how, clearly, werewolves are the superior species in a fight,” because they are, Team Jacob all the way, “but that doesn't mean I want one here.” Just the thought of it makes him uncomfortable. Werewolves may be awesome in theory, but they are also dangerous. Having one around, in the vicinity of Scott, of his dad, makes shivers run down his spine.
“Is it like a home turf thing?” Scott asks.
“Kind of. But it's more than that. It's… I don't know, ‘home turf’ makes it seem so trivial.” And it's really not.
“Is it like that time in second grade when that one kid asked to be my partner for that project and you started hiding all his stuff?” Scott is idly playing with his cell phone, looking at pictures of Allison, no doubt.
Bless Scott and his moments of insight. He remembers that incident and though it sounds like two different things the wrongness, that sense of invasion is exactly the same. He feels as if he could go out of his skin, high strung and exhausted at the same time.
“Yes, it's a bit like that.” He has calmed down enough that he could transform back, but he doesn't feel like it; the energy is just bursting out of him. Though judging by the way the tree in front of Scott's room is trying to crawl its way inside, he really does need to calm down.
That had been the cause for one of the many lectures he had gotten from his mom on controlling his instincts and not abusing his powers. He feels her absence the most in these moments, when his nymph side starts acting up and he has no idea what to do. He can only guess at what feels right, but he is, in this at least, on his own now.
“So what are you going to do?” Scott asks.
“Do?” Stiles stares at him.
“I mean, you hid that kids shoes and then you started to play pranks on him” - oh yes, Stiles remembers; some of those pranks were golden - “till your mom told you to stop it and took us on that bonding camping trip.” That memory hurts, but he's starting to finally be able to look at those times with a bit of fondness mixed in.
“So the question is, what are you going to do with this werewolf?” Scott is looking at him with wide eyes, and Stiles has the best best friend in the world. Not completely alone after all.
*********************************************************************
After everything happened, Derek just… leaves. He is well and truly alone now; with Laura and Peter dead and gone, and New York as well as his childhood home in Oregon only full of bad memories, he just doesn't care to try anymore.
His family has a property in a little town called Beacon Hills. He visited it once when he was small, and it's perfect for his purposes. The community is small enough to be sleepy, and large enough that no one is going to care about him. The house is in the middle of the forest that his family… that Derek owns, so he won’t be disturbed - or at least he can call the police if he is.
He is not even 25 yet, and he's going to become a hermit. Derek is totally fine with that. Clearly he has done enough, destroyed enough, fallen in love, gotten his heart broken, survived everyone in his family. Now it is time to hunker down and move as little as possible so his bad karma doesn't infect anyone else.
To this end, he even sent in an official request to the Alpha Council that they let him live out his days in peace. The Hale Tragedy must have still been reverberating there, because it didn't take long at all to get it approved, as long as he promised not to turn anyone.
He is also totally fine with that. He doesn't need a new pack, a new family to make everything complicated.
In some way he knows that Laura would hate it - she always tried to keep him from shutting himself away from the world - but Laura isn't here anymore. The only thing that is here is an old house with nearly no memories, himself and a sleepy town that smells peculiar but unthreatening.
The house is a mess, to put it bluntly. It's still standing, but it's clear that nobody’s looked after it in the past six years. Derek had completely forgotten about it; Laura had handled all their assets, and it seems like she forgot as well.
It doesn't matter so much. There are still enough rooms that are fine, and he doesn't mind having a project while he's getting settled. He'll have enough time to do nothing after he finishes with it.
He better get some tools, though. He’s never done home repair, but really how hard can it be? He'll get the right materials, figure it out from there and if he messes up, he'll just start over. Not like anyone will die horribly if he screws up the wiring. Or at least no one aside from himself.
He's just left the house with some vague plans to get some plumbing equipment when he hears it. It's subtle, if he wasn't always slightly on edge he probably wouldn't even have noticed, but the rustling of leaves he hears is just slightly different from the normal sound of a forest.
He has just enough time to get a whiff of something smelling like water, pine and honey before he is suddenly encased in a cocoon made out of wood, leaves and branches. It happens so fast, he only just gets his claws out, but it's no use; thorny branches appear out of nowhere and bind them behind his back so tightly they draw blood.
It takes less than 20 seconds and he is fully enclosed, only his mouth and nose being left free. He uses all his strength to try and twist free, snapping his teeth, because he will not be made helpless, not again. This prison made out of wood may have surprised him, but it's not going to hold him forever.
“Stop squirming, I only came to talk, furball.” The voice comes from his left and it startles him into stillness. It isn't harmonious, not like something made to enchant man, but it makes the hair on Derek’s arms stand up. It's a human's voice, but the sound of birds and rushing water and the distinct echo of the forest are mixed with it, making it sound alien. It's not beautiful, not like a song, but soothing in some strange way, like sitting in a clearing in the middle of the woods on a sunny day.
Get a grip, this isn't the time to think about the merits of some weirdos voice. He renews his struggles, spitting out. “Is that how you start all your conversations?”
“Not usually, but normally my conversation partners are a bit less fangy.” The voice is in front of him now, sending a wave of that same odd smell at him, breaking his concentration once again. “My, my, what big teeth you have.”
“Really, now?” Derek doesn't care what part of other worldly power is in front of him; that was just lame.
“Oh I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I had such a discerning audience. You'd rather I started with a Twilight reference?” Derek can hear the wide smile in the comment, what a little shit.
“How about, no references, you just tell me who and especially what you are, seeing as you’ve obviously already worked out what I am. Then you can tell me what you came here to say and then you leave me alone.” He sags in his bonds. He really doesn't have the nerves for this type of crap, he moved into the middle of the forest so he wouldn't get any trouble, wasn't that far enough?
“So you are the ‘all work, no play’ type? Works for me, I guess.” Derek imagines the shrug that goes along with it, because whoever this guy is, he seems like the type of person given to emphasize everything with his body even if no one is there to see it.
“My name is Stiles; I'm half human, part wood nymph, part pixie, part some other crap, I'm not giving you my whole pedigree, because the important part is, this town is my territory and you are in it.” All the teasing is gone from his voice and Derek doesn't think he imagines the way his wood prison tightens around him.
“I don't like it, I don't like some strange werewolf just moving into my town and I'm here to find out just exactly what you think you are doing here.”
*******************************************************************
Silence. Dead silence. And after what Stiles is proud to say was a pretty awesome speech. But the werewolf guy is just quiet, though at least he has put away his rather… impressive teeth, which make Stiles extremely glad that the forest is on his side enough to have let him execute his sneak attack, because he has actually no desire to get all close and personal with them.
This is getting ridiculous, it's been like, at least 5 minutes, isn't he going to say anything?
“Cat got your tongue?” Damn it, he wanted his captive to crack first, but Stiles has never been that good with charged silences.“Or whatever the canine equivalent is.”
The guy just shifts. Testing to see if he can get out?
“And you can just stop with the escape plans,“ because the hell is that overgrown mutt getting away until he tells Stiles everything.
“How about just cooperating with me so we can both just go about our respective ways, because I have all day to keep you in there.” Which is a bit of a lie; his dad is expecting him for dinner, but it's not like the guy knows that.
“From the way your heartbeat picked up just now, I'd say that is a lie,” the guy huffs out and damn it, what they say about werewolf hearing seems to be true, “but I don't actually want any trouble, so fine, what do you need to know so you'll let me out of this.”
He lets out a small sigh of relief, because finally they are getting somewhere,“Let's start with something easy like your name.”
“Derek,” he answers.
“Just Derek?” Stiles asks skeptically.
“You don't need to know more, it doesn't make any difference anyway.” One step forward and two steps back with this guy, but whatever, Derek is right after all; he can't actually do too much with his name, and if he actually plans to live here and not just squat in a cave town gossip is going to take care of finding out that bit of information anyway.
“Fine. What are you doing here?”
“I'm being held captive and interrogated by a supernatural crossbreed,” Derek snipes back.
“Real cute, Lassie,” Stiles chuckles out, and is that the barest hint of a smirk on those actually quite attractive lips now that they aren't obscured by the massive fangs? Concentrate, Stilinski. “I mean, what are you doing here in Beacon Hills, what is your purpose here? Especially alone, shouldn't you be living in a huge werewolf commune?’
And just like that all the humor that’s been softening Derek's face slightly is gone.
“This house belongs to me. I came to live here, which is entirely my right. I'm not out to make any trouble, so you don't have to worry about things like territory, but I don't owe you an explanation for my actions.” Derek's voice is a monotone and Stiles isn't sure what he did, but he feels oddly guilty all of a sudden.
He shakes it off, because it doesn't matter what he just said wrong, what matters is making sure his people are safe.
“Maybe you don't owe me one, but I'm still going to demand it. Because I may not know everything there is to know about werewolves,” though that is going to change and fast. It's Friday, he'll have the whole weekend to research, “but I'll be damned if I'm going to let you endanger anyone here.”
And this seems to be the day where he unintentionally steps in it, because he definitely doesn't image the slight wince and the way he just sags a bit into the trees holding him, radiating misery and defeat.
“I promise you, I'm no danger.” Derek says, “No, that's wrong. He shakes his head as much as he is able, “I am, you are right to be wary. But I'm not here to start a territory war or stake the place out for a pack or hunt humans or whatever else you may have come up with.” Man, the guy is good, because Stiles did think of all of those scenarios and his possible counter strategies on the way up here.
“I just want…” Derek breaks off, seems to gather himself, “I just want to live here in my house.” He sounds so sad and kind of lost that Stiles involuntarily loosens his hold on him.
Which Derek apparently notices instantly, because not only does he renew his struggles, but he actually gets one clawed hand out of the encasement before Stiles can tighten the branches around him again.
“What now, just let. Me. Out,” Derek growls, actually growls, at him.
“Well, I was just doing that before you decided to go ballistic again, which doesn't really help me believe your claim that you are just here to enjoy the forest air.” Stiles is breathing faster, because damn, that scared him, Derek is fast.
“I told you everything you wanted to know, I can't make you believe me, so what, you are going to keep me in here forever? You can't force me out of this town, I'm stronger than you,” Derek says arrogantly.
Stiles hesitates, because Derek is right, he will have to decide what to do now, if he can take him at his word. Because whatever Derek might think about his physical prowess, Stiles can make his stay very uncomfortable. Trees and nature listen to him, most of the time anyway; this is his forest and as long as they’re here, Derek can't touch him.
But if he's honest with himself, he does believe Derek. Something in his voice when he said that he just wants to live here was so raw and hurt, it just didn’t sound like a lie.
“Say I believe you, I'd still need…” Stiles breaks off.
“Need what?” And oh the growl is back, and man, he didn’t think a fully human throat could even produce a sound like that. It's weirdly…sexy?
“A promise,” Stiles says, “I'll need a promise that you won’t hurt anyone in this town, that you accept the fact that this is my territory, meaning any problems around here are my problem and get reported to me.”
“What does my word mean to you?” Derek sneers, “you don't know me, you can't trust me to actually keep it, even if I give you this promise.”
“That's true,” Stiles concedes, “but I have just about as much reason to trust you as not to trust you and so I'm going with my instincts to trust you for now. If you break your promise, I'll know your word isn't worth anything and I can make you get out of here without a guilty conscience.”
“That's stupid. You are stupid.” Derek snaps.
What!? “What the hell man, that's not the way to get yourself out of this situation, you do realize this,” Stiles says.
Derek visibly grinds his teeth, but can't seem to stop himself. “You can't just trust the word of a stranger on the off chance he'll keep it; that's not how you keep your people safe, in what type of dreamland are you living?”
“Wow, it looks like I found the topic that you can't keep yourself from talking about, I'm a genius.” Stiles is still stunned by the very unexpected reaction, but he can't keep himself from smiling, because this shouldn't be charming, but it kind of is.
“Shut up,” Derek says, and is he sulking?
“Are you sulking?” Stiles talks right over the shouted No.
“You are totally sulking, man,” Stiles crows happily.
Derek clamps his lips together and his nostrils flare slightly with his huffed out breath.
“Oh, now don't go back to giving me the silent treatment,” Stiles says. “Anyway, your little performance helped me make up my mind.”
“So what, you are going to lock me up, is that it,” Derek says with a resigned air and oh my god he's ridiculous. After all this is over Stiles totally needs to invite him to a coffee or something, because Stiles reckons Derek will probably manage to be world-weary and tragic over coffee and it's going to be hilarious.
“No, you are going to give me that promise, and then I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing before. Which I hope was renovating, by the way, because your house doesn't look structurally sound at all,” Stiles says happily.
“What?” Derek asks incredulously. His voice is really high when he does that. Stiles notices these things, because he is a Noticer of Things. Not because it's cute. Nope. Stiles is just Observant.
“Well, anybody who is actually so bad at tactics that they start playing devil's advocate to the supernatural entity holding him inside a woody prison, just when he was about to be let go… let's just say I don't expect an elaborate trap from you,” Stiles chuckles. “I think if you decided to go against your word, I'd have plenty of warning.”
“I could be playing you,” Derek says. “Maybe this is all a ruse to make you trust me.”
“There you go again!” Stiles cries. “Do you actually want to be stuck here?”
Silence answers him.
“Didn't think so. Now, oh tactical genius,” Stiles says with a small mocking bow, that he makes sure Derek can see by shifting a few of the branches in front of one of his eyes, “do you promise?”
Derek glares at him, and says through gritted teeth, “I promise.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?” Stiles asks impishly, because man Derek's one visibly eye actually glints, how does he do that.
“Stiles.” It's said with exasperation, but Stiles likes to think he doesn't image the small glint of humor in Derek's eye and voice, which is just as it should be, because Stiles is hilarious.
“Alright, alright.” Stiles says agreeably while he loosens his hold, making the trees vanish back into the earth.
Now to get a good look at my new supernatural buddy, he straightens up and stops short
Damn. It.
***********************************************************
Derek doesn't know what he expected Stiles to look like now that he finally gets a chance to look at him full on. But it certainly wasn't that.
Through the tiny hole he could squint through at the end, he did notice that Stiles appeared to be green, but seeing the whole picture he still didn’t think he'd be quite so green. The moles that are scattered all over his face make the color seem even more pronounced.
It fits into the forest surprisingly well, which explains why he was able to hide from Derek so effectively. But it's still inhuman and it throws him. Are those wings poking out of his T-shirt? The pointy ears he was kind of expecting, but wings, fairy wings?
At least he's not the only one staring, because for some reason Stiles has finally fallen silent, mouth open and he's just staring at Derek’s chest. Gives me time to pull myself together, Derek thinks. It would not do after all to have this interloper see him rattled.
“What?” he asks. He may be thankful Stiles gave him some time to pull himself together for whatever reason, but that doesn't mean Stiles has to know that.
“I - that is I -” Stiles stutters.
“Speechless suddenly, Tinkerbell?” Derek throws back with a satisfied smirk. Whatever threw Stiles, please let it continue. He feels on safer footing already, gaining back the upper hand. Good. He stretches his arms over his head, now that he can move them freely again. “That doesn't seem like you at all. But then I should probably be thankful I got as many coherent sentences out of kid as I did. What are you, twelve?” Because after getting a closer look, Stiles really looks ageless at the same time as painfully young.
Stiles flushes, tearing his eyes away from him, and his wings slowly go see through and vanish, his skin color changing into a more human color.
“Don't even start with the fairy jokes, you ass. I've heard them all and they aren't that funny,” Stiles bites out, “And for your information, I'm 18. Nice and legal.” And for some reason that's the moment he looks up again, though his flush only gets worse, more pronounced by his lighter tint.
Derek snorts, “Maybe that, but you are still stupid. Putting your mystical powers away before you are out of reach?” He looks into Stiles' big, open eyes. “What's to keep me from just tearing out your throat here and now, just so I don't have to deal with you anymore?” he challenges. Because Stiles can say what he wants, he's still young, where it counts.
Stiles swallows, but he makes himself stand straighter and looks at him levelly. “Just try it. You don't know half of what I'm capable of.”
The wind is carrying Stiles' scent over to him and it's nearly human now, just the faintest traces of the strange mix from before, still detectable now that Derek knows what to look for. What it doesn't contain is fear, only a grim determination to protect, to fight and… arousal? Teenage boys.
“Whatever.” Derek shakes his head. He's going to stop arguing, it's not his responsibility to prepare this barely grown up for the real world, for the way people and things are always out to hurt you if you don't stop them. “Actually, now that you mention it, how am I to know I'll be left alone in my house, since as you so aptly put it this is your forest.”
“Psh, don't worry about it. As long as you keep your nose clean I promise I wont pry.” Stiles says distractedly. “I'm not saying I won’t be around, but I won’t come into your house or anything.”
“Trust you?” Derek thinks the skepticism comes through loud and clear, but just for extra emphasis he raises his eyebrows, because what's with this guy, was he raised in a Disney movie?
Or maybe he's just a bit slow, because it takes another few seconds till he answers with slightly glazed over eyes, “I guess you don't have choice, now do you?”
Derek crosses his arms, because that may be true but he doesn't have to like it. And for some reason Stiles still isn't leaving, seemingly content to just stand around and gape some more. Is his mouth always open?
“Is there something else you wanted?” Derek asks impatiently. Normally he would just leave himself, but he doesn't trust Stiles enough to show him his back, let alone let him out of his sight around his house, “Because otherwise, I still have things to do today.” Hopefully this is enough of a hint.
“Oh,” Stiles exclaims, and the flush is back, “Right, go home, I should probably do that, I'll do that then…” he trails off, seemingly spellbound by something again, but then he physically shakes his head, walking backwards while shouting out, “Just don't forget our promise, Derek No-Last-Name.” And with a wink and an impish grin, he steps behind a tree and vanishes.
How does he do that?! Derek had never personally run into either a nymph or a pixie, let alone a weird mix of both with human. His mother used to tell some stories of them that he's now desperately trying to remember. Because of course he choose the one town where he has to deal with someone like that.
And he does need to know about him, because Stiles was right, damn it, he had no idea what Stiles can do. And this last parting shot has certainly proven that in these woods he'd never see him coming. He hates the feeling that someone could just show up behind him at any time without him noticing.
Which means he’d better get caught up on what Stiles is likely to be able to do and, more importantly, how to keep him out. He just can’t get a read on him. At first he threatened Derek in a way that made him expect someone much older, someone more jaded, someone who knew how the world worked.
But then he went through with that ridiculous promise farce. Derek wasn't going to do anything to the people of Beacon Hills, but Stiles couldn't know that, not for sure. That he still seems content to take his word for it… Derek just doesn't know what to make of it. Because that seems more like the actions of the naive teenager he looks like.
Still, he will need to find out what he can about his possible capabilities, just to be sure. But for that he'll need to look through the laptop Peter left him, and for that he needs electricity. Which the house doesn't have.
Though the way he's feeling, it's probably not a good idea to call the power provider now. For good reason, Laura was the one who handled all the service-related phone calls, because Derek gets impatient, and when he gets impatient he gets snappy, and when he gets snappy he gets hung up on.
To the hardware store it is. They should have some generators, and he wants to pick up some materials for renovating anyway. How hard can that be, after all.
*************
As it turns out, it is very hard. He's standing in front of rows and rows of tools and materials that all look exactly the same to him, proclaiming to be the best at what they do, whatever that is. At least he found the generator he needed, as well as a camping grill.
The employee of the section looks ready to pounce at any second - probably the way he's been standing in front of the same row of… are those screwdrivers? - tipped her off that he may need help.
He's just reaching for something - it looks like a torture device, what is it - when she seems to lose patience, walking up to him with a wide smile on her face saying: “Hello my name is Allison, can I help you with anything?”
“No,” he answers brusquely, because her name stops him short for a second, It may have been years, but… Kate had a niece called Allison that she sometimes talked about.
“Allison” doesn't seem to be offended though, because her smile never falters when she says, “Are you sure? Because I don't want to be rude, but you have been wandering around for 30 minutes and you seemed a bit lost. We are here to help after all. You should take advantage of it.”
“It's fine.” Derek says, decisively picking up another… whatever it is in front of him. He'll be damned if the first gossip about him in this town is going to be about his utter incompetence at knowing simple home improvement tools.
He knows that gleam in her and the eyes of the other employees that miraculously have found things to work on in his general vicinity while he was trying to find anything that looked familiar. There will be gossip. And now it will probably be about how he's unsocial, but that is a) true and b) it will keep people away from his house. They don't know his name, but Beacon Hills is small enough that they will probably connect the guy moving into the Hale house with him.
“Oh,” Allison says, looking slightly taken aback and finally losing a bit of her wide service-industry smile. He suddenly feels a bit bad, because it's not her fault exactly, and she is being paid to be helpful. He hates feeling guilty about those things, but her slightly downtrodden expression forces him to say:
“If you could tell me where the power drills are, that would help, I guess,” he growls out. Her face lights up with an even wider smile, and with a wave she calls over another employee who walks behind them - what is it with people always wanting to walk behind him - while chattering away about something, her family or pets or possibly her boyfriend.
He's distracted - having someone at his back where he can't see them is making him uneasy -when she asks: “What about you?” and Derek is stumped, trying to remember what the last thing she said was, something about where she lives in Beacon Hills?
“The old house in the woods,” he says, taking the risk of appearing mentally challenged if that has nothing to do with anything, great way to make an impression, but by the look in her eyes it actually was the right answer. He exhales in relief, when he realizes that not only did he give her personal information - forget connecting the dots, he might as well have put an ad into the paper now - he gave her a conversational in, and not answering her question of “Oh wow, that thing is falling apart, what made you move there?” would be extremely rude.
“It's a family heirloom,” he says in a way he hopes will shut down any further questions. There must be something in his face, because she just makes a small noise in the back of her throat, before stopping in front of a corridor.
“Here we are. I really hope you'll like it in Beacon Hills,” she says, “Oh and a tip? I've seen the Hale house a few months ago, you might want to invest in some plywood, a saw and lots of nails.” She seems to be suppressing a smile. Well so much for looking like he knows what he's doing.
He waits for her to leave before grabbing a few random things from all over the store, including plywood and a saw, but he'll be damned if he gets blankets here. Thankfully the store delivers the bigger stuff, because he doesn't actually know how to transport the wood otherwise.
But he got what he needs most of all right now, which is a generator. Time to get out the laptop and research. He doesn't know what or how much he'll find or how it will apply to Stiles, but if there is anything he’s learned in the last few years is that it's always, always better to be prepared and that you can never be prepared enough.
***********************************************************************
Stiles is floating. Well, not literally - he checks just to be sure, because outing himself on the way to Scott's place would be a very bad idea - but he might as well be! The world is a beautiful, amazing place and he needs to share those news with his bestest friend.
He lets himself into the house - during the romantic tragicomedy that was their freshman year, with Scott sometimes refusing to come out of his room for days because Allison wouldn't speak with him, Stiles had made himself a key, just so he could bug Scott into moving at all - and walks up the stairs, too happy and involved in thinking up ideas to even be embarrassed by the fact that he's chirping a bit.
He throws open the door and is greeted with the sight of Scott, surrounded by bandages, antiseptic, a pot of tea, chocolate, a stress ball and a whole bunch of pillows. He thinks he even spies some of Scott's handmade pb&j sandwiches - Stiles go-to comfort and stress relief food since Scott made it for him every day of sixth grade.
Basically, Scott has apparently prepared himself and his room for any type of werewolf-inspired meltdown and Stiles didn't think he could feel better, but he's suddenly bursting with affection for Scott, who just never fails to have his back in the best and most unexpected ways.
He throws himself at Scott bodily, because he's just the greatest friend to have and he'll be cushioned by a lot of pillows anyway. He hugs him tightly and then says: “I'm in love!”
He feels Scott stiffen slightly and stop patting his back in what was surely supposed to be a consoling motion but actually just felt very weird, because his wings have been trying to take corporal form since he left the forest. Scott takes him by his shoulders, shoving him back a bit and says “What?” with this befuddled look on his face that always makes Stiles think of a puppy.
“Well, in lust-like. Like-lust. But I can already feel it morph into something else,” Stiles proclaims, because it's true, he can feel it in his bones.
“How did that happen while seeing a werewolf? How was he? Was he an actual wolf?” Scott asks
“No he wasn't, he was growly, extremely paranoid, witty and the best looking guy I have ever seen in real life and how do you think?” Stiles shoots back. He's twitchy, but he can't help himself, he needs to move, he needs to plan. He tries to get off the floor, but Scott's arm holds him back.
“Wait, so the guy you are in love with is that werewolf?” Scott asks, “You can't have been talking to him that long. How did that happen?” He suddenly gets a horrified look on his face. “Did he magic you? With his mystical moon powers? Do you need to, like, detox?” Scott shakes him with a bit of a maniacal look on his face as if that could get rid of an enchantment.
“Mystical moon powers?” Stiles asks skeptically, untangling himself from Scott. “Have you been watching Sailor Moon again? Why would he have something like that?”
“Because werewolves and the moon, they’re like a thing!” Scott says, “If you aren't being controlled, what is going on?”
“What is going on is that the most fascinating, drop-dead gorgeous supernatural creature has moved into our boring backwater town and you have to help me woo him.” Because if he got anything out of that conversation, than that it wouldn't be easy to get close to Derek, but he just knows he has to try.
“Uh oh,” Scott says, seeming to have an epiphany, “Is that like a Lydia thing?” He gets up and starts rooting through his drawers.
“This is nothing like the Lydia thing. Also there is and never was a ‘Lydia thing;’ I had a crush, it wasn't a thing. Also, what I feel for Derek is totally absolutely different, I am meant to put my hands all over his body, I'm calling dibs by the way, because I'm not confident if you and Allison see him you wont want to invite him for a threesome and - what are you looking for?” Because Scott hasn't stopped tearing through his room.
He finally comes up with some crumpled pieces of paper and a little “ha” of triumph. He looks at Stiles apologetically and says: “This sounds a lot like the Lydia thing - which was totally a thing. And you gave me this for exactly such an occasion.”
It’s a list, written in Stiles’ handwriting, with the certain type of messiness that means he was spectacularly drunk while writing it. Which is also supported by the fact that he doesn't remember writing it at all. He tries to get it away from Scott, but he's moving away from him, frowning down at it in concentration.
“You gave me this after Lydia rejected you -”
“I thought we agreed never to speak of the day, that day shall not be mentioned ever, ever again.” Stiles shudders. He still has the mental scars from that day.
“Yeah, anyway, you gave me this so I would stop you from ever developing an unhealthy and crushing fixation on another person again,” Scott reads off the paper. Past-Stiles had surprisingly good grammar for being as drunk as he must have been.
“Well, this doesn't apply to this situation in any way, so you don't have to stop me, what you have to do is be a good bro and wingman and help me figure out how to bag a guy that is about six years older than me and also hotter than the sun,” Stiles says. He may like a challenge, but this is probably going to be one for the record books.
“It says here: I will probably try to convince you that the situation that has made you pull out this is nothing like what happened with Lydia. For this contingency I have prepared a handy list of question you will ask me to ascertain weather or not my new crush is anything to worry about.” Past-Stiles is a shitty smartass. No wonder he doesn't have more friends.
“We are not doing this! I will not be questioned by a drunk sixteen year old!” Stiles says.
“Well, I'm not helping you until we do this. You were very clear,” Scott says. His jaw has locked down in that particular way he has, when he decides to be stubborn. It doesn't happen very often, but when it does it is nigh impossible to convince him of something else. Stiles groans and throws himself down on one of the cushions, because he may not have a choice, but that doesn't mean he's going to like it.
“Ask away,” he says, waving a hand magnanimously. He grabs one of the sandwiches though, because those have gotten him through times much worse than this.
“Ok, first question.” Scott says, getting settled into a cushion across from him. His face is gullible and soft again, as if he'd never dream of forcing his best friend to confront the totally legitimate and not at all obsessive feelings he has developed on a werewolf an hour ago. Traitor.
-----
An hour of sometimes painfully embarrassing questions later - he must be a masochist for having written some of these down, he still can't decide which one was worse, how many sex scenarios did you plan out? (seven, it's only been an hour, ok?) or Have you already decided on a retirement location, how many kids you want to have, what method you'd want to use if the new crush is a guy, and what color scheme their bedroom should have (Florida, two or three, probably a surrogate but if Derek would want to adopt he'd also be fine with that, and either blue or green) - they aren't much further than when they started.
Scott is still convinced it's like Lydia all over again, but Stiles knows it isn't. His control questions may make it seem like it, but there is just something about Derek that calls to Stiles in a way similar, but at the same time not at all. Derek is lonely, Stiles can feel that, but whereas Lydia hasn't ever needed someone to help her with her loneliness, something about Derek's eyes says he does.
And it's different than the Lydia-thing for another reason. There had always been the possibility that even if she'd wanted him, she maybe wouldn't have been able to want all of him. Or that she wouldn't have been able to understand. But Derek. Derek is also more and at the same time less than human. Just like Stiles. This is the first time since his mom died that someone else who isn't normal has lived in Beacon Hills, and it makes the forest rejoice.
He can still hear it, can still feel it; half of his restlessness comes from the fact that the plants, the very earth is chattering, excited, thrilled, sweeping its mood outwards from that lonely house in the forest, and it makes Stiles want to laugh, to dance.
Scott has stopped talking and is looking at him oddly. “Dude, do you realize you are making a kind of chirping, cawing sound? Also, your smile is starting to creep me out.” Stiles tries to tamp it down, but just then he gets another wave of that same feral energy from the direction of the Hale house and he can't.
Scott gets this resigned look on his face, slumping deeper into his cushion.
“You really wanna do this?” he asks
“I do.” he does. He does. Maybe past-him is right and he's fallen into the same trap that had made him moon over Lydia from third grade onwards. It had been the first math class of the year and she'd made the teacher leave the classroom in tears and Stiles had been entranced. He couldn't stop looking at her, at the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she seemed confident, but also desperately, achingly alone.
He went home that day and told his mom all about her, about the house they'd have together, what their children would be named. She smiled at him and asked all the right questions at the right times. And when his dad looked slightly concerned when he blithely told them that he'd met Lydia for the first time today and no they hadn't talked (yet, his eight-year-old self had loudly proclaimed), she told him it was fine: “We feel things differently. We just know who'd fit us.”
Though she did take him aside later and had a talk with him. He remembered four things that had been a mantra for him, probably the reason he was finally able to let Lydia go: 1) You may know, but to the other person you are a stranger, so don't let their initial indifference hurt you. 2) Never under any circumstances make someone like you 3) Try with everything you have and don't give up. 4) But if they decide against being with you, you have to accept it.
She explained that it wasn't a destined or sure thing. It was like full humans, meeting someone they click with and then things not working out. The difference was that he could look at someone, meet someone and instantly know that there was a potential for forever.
He enjoyed speaking with Derek, who clearly hid a dry wit under all those ripped muscles. But when he finally looked him in the eyes he knew, knew as he knew every tree surrounding his house that here he’s met someone who he could potentially have forever with.
“Maybe it's like with Lydia, but don't you see Scott? He's not Lydia,” Stiles says. He can't think of another way to say it, to make Scott understand.
Though something in his face or in his eyes must be enough, because Scott sighs and says: “You probably already have a plan, so what is it you need me to do?” Stiles shoots up and grins. Best. Friend. Ever.
On to Part 2
Author:ravelqueen
Recipient:lenfantsavage
Pairings: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: ~ 16.000
Warnings: fluffiness, slight wing!kink, oral
Summary: Derek Hale decides to turn into a hermit before he reaches 25. Too bad he picked Beacon Hills as his retirement home.
(Or the one where Stiles is a wood nymph/pixie/human hybrid who falls in love with his new grumpy werewolf neighbour)
Author's Notes:*looks at the word count*, uh I don't know what happened? You said creature!Stiles with a high rating would make your Christmas. Merry Christmas! I hope you like your gift^^
A super extra special thanks goes out to Julie, who was the fairy godmother of this fic. Not only did she come up with the idea, but she was a cheerleader, enduring all my panic attacks and doing a super fast beta.
Title inspired by a quote from David Mitchell
**************************************************************************
Stiles is furious. Stiles is inconsolably angry, infuriated, enraged, spitting mad.
“Dude, you are turning green. Are you alright?” Scott asks concerned, pausing the game.
“I am not alright, I am aflame with anger, red with rage!” Stiles spits out.
“No, I mean you are literally turning green. And I think your wings are starting to come out?” Scott says. He's trying to get a look at his back, where sure enough his wings try to flicker into existence.
Stiles tries to get himself under control, because he likes this T-shirt, but it's no use. With a loud ripping sound his stupid girly fairy wings tear through it. This is just the icing on that particular cake. He lets out a scream, but with him nearly fully transformed, it sounds more like a bird call mixed with the sound of leaves rustling.
He gets a grip into his now-longer hair and tugs. “I can't even have one manly shout about this and I'm going to have to shave my hair again, this is officially the worst day, the worst of all the possible days!”
“What even happened dude?” Scott asks, “One minute you were fine and suddenly your eyes started glowing and you transformed.”
“Werewolf.” he hisses.
“What? There aren't even any werewolves in this game, what -” Scott turns to him.
“Not plural, a werewolf, here in Beacon Hills, in my territory.” Stiles really can't believe it, but the feeling is unmistakable, the way the forest is singing about a predator, about something wild and primal, finally returning to it.
“Wait a second, werewolves are real?” There is a look of unholy glee on Scott's face, “Oh my god, that's awesome, why did you not tell me about that before! Do they look like in that movie you showed me? Who is it?”
“I don't know Scott, probably someone who is new in this town and it isn't cool at all.” Stiles is still seething a bit, but he can't really keep up the same level of anger with Scott's excited face in front of him.
“How can you say that?” Scott cries, “especially because just last week, you totally held a 30-minute presentation on why werewolves are better than vampires. There were pictures!”
“Ok, first of all, that was totally different. It was about how, clearly, werewolves are the superior species in a fight,” because they are, Team Jacob all the way, “but that doesn't mean I want one here.” Just the thought of it makes him uncomfortable. Werewolves may be awesome in theory, but they are also dangerous. Having one around, in the vicinity of Scott, of his dad, makes shivers run down his spine.
“Is it like a home turf thing?” Scott asks.
“Kind of. But it's more than that. It's… I don't know, ‘home turf’ makes it seem so trivial.” And it's really not.
“Is it like that time in second grade when that one kid asked to be my partner for that project and you started hiding all his stuff?” Scott is idly playing with his cell phone, looking at pictures of Allison, no doubt.
Bless Scott and his moments of insight. He remembers that incident and though it sounds like two different things the wrongness, that sense of invasion is exactly the same. He feels as if he could go out of his skin, high strung and exhausted at the same time.
“Yes, it's a bit like that.” He has calmed down enough that he could transform back, but he doesn't feel like it; the energy is just bursting out of him. Though judging by the way the tree in front of Scott's room is trying to crawl its way inside, he really does need to calm down.
That had been the cause for one of the many lectures he had gotten from his mom on controlling his instincts and not abusing his powers. He feels her absence the most in these moments, when his nymph side starts acting up and he has no idea what to do. He can only guess at what feels right, but he is, in this at least, on his own now.
“So what are you going to do?” Scott asks.
“Do?” Stiles stares at him.
“I mean, you hid that kids shoes and then you started to play pranks on him” - oh yes, Stiles remembers; some of those pranks were golden - “till your mom told you to stop it and took us on that bonding camping trip.” That memory hurts, but he's starting to finally be able to look at those times with a bit of fondness mixed in.
“So the question is, what are you going to do with this werewolf?” Scott is looking at him with wide eyes, and Stiles has the best best friend in the world. Not completely alone after all.
*********************************************************************
After everything happened, Derek just… leaves. He is well and truly alone now; with Laura and Peter dead and gone, and New York as well as his childhood home in Oregon only full of bad memories, he just doesn't care to try anymore.
His family has a property in a little town called Beacon Hills. He visited it once when he was small, and it's perfect for his purposes. The community is small enough to be sleepy, and large enough that no one is going to care about him. The house is in the middle of the forest that his family… that Derek owns, so he won’t be disturbed - or at least he can call the police if he is.
He is not even 25 yet, and he's going to become a hermit. Derek is totally fine with that. Clearly he has done enough, destroyed enough, fallen in love, gotten his heart broken, survived everyone in his family. Now it is time to hunker down and move as little as possible so his bad karma doesn't infect anyone else.
To this end, he even sent in an official request to the Alpha Council that they let him live out his days in peace. The Hale Tragedy must have still been reverberating there, because it didn't take long at all to get it approved, as long as he promised not to turn anyone.
He is also totally fine with that. He doesn't need a new pack, a new family to make everything complicated.
In some way he knows that Laura would hate it - she always tried to keep him from shutting himself away from the world - but Laura isn't here anymore. The only thing that is here is an old house with nearly no memories, himself and a sleepy town that smells peculiar but unthreatening.
The house is a mess, to put it bluntly. It's still standing, but it's clear that nobody’s looked after it in the past six years. Derek had completely forgotten about it; Laura had handled all their assets, and it seems like she forgot as well.
It doesn't matter so much. There are still enough rooms that are fine, and he doesn't mind having a project while he's getting settled. He'll have enough time to do nothing after he finishes with it.
He better get some tools, though. He’s never done home repair, but really how hard can it be? He'll get the right materials, figure it out from there and if he messes up, he'll just start over. Not like anyone will die horribly if he screws up the wiring. Or at least no one aside from himself.
He's just left the house with some vague plans to get some plumbing equipment when he hears it. It's subtle, if he wasn't always slightly on edge he probably wouldn't even have noticed, but the rustling of leaves he hears is just slightly different from the normal sound of a forest.
He has just enough time to get a whiff of something smelling like water, pine and honey before he is suddenly encased in a cocoon made out of wood, leaves and branches. It happens so fast, he only just gets his claws out, but it's no use; thorny branches appear out of nowhere and bind them behind his back so tightly they draw blood.
It takes less than 20 seconds and he is fully enclosed, only his mouth and nose being left free. He uses all his strength to try and twist free, snapping his teeth, because he will not be made helpless, not again. This prison made out of wood may have surprised him, but it's not going to hold him forever.
“Stop squirming, I only came to talk, furball.” The voice comes from his left and it startles him into stillness. It isn't harmonious, not like something made to enchant man, but it makes the hair on Derek’s arms stand up. It's a human's voice, but the sound of birds and rushing water and the distinct echo of the forest are mixed with it, making it sound alien. It's not beautiful, not like a song, but soothing in some strange way, like sitting in a clearing in the middle of the woods on a sunny day.
Get a grip, this isn't the time to think about the merits of some weirdos voice. He renews his struggles, spitting out. “Is that how you start all your conversations?”
“Not usually, but normally my conversation partners are a bit less fangy.” The voice is in front of him now, sending a wave of that same odd smell at him, breaking his concentration once again. “My, my, what big teeth you have.”
“Really, now?” Derek doesn't care what part of other worldly power is in front of him; that was just lame.
“Oh I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I had such a discerning audience. You'd rather I started with a Twilight reference?” Derek can hear the wide smile in the comment, what a little shit.
“How about, no references, you just tell me who and especially what you are, seeing as you’ve obviously already worked out what I am. Then you can tell me what you came here to say and then you leave me alone.” He sags in his bonds. He really doesn't have the nerves for this type of crap, he moved into the middle of the forest so he wouldn't get any trouble, wasn't that far enough?
“So you are the ‘all work, no play’ type? Works for me, I guess.” Derek imagines the shrug that goes along with it, because whoever this guy is, he seems like the type of person given to emphasize everything with his body even if no one is there to see it.
“My name is Stiles; I'm half human, part wood nymph, part pixie, part some other crap, I'm not giving you my whole pedigree, because the important part is, this town is my territory and you are in it.” All the teasing is gone from his voice and Derek doesn't think he imagines the way his wood prison tightens around him.
“I don't like it, I don't like some strange werewolf just moving into my town and I'm here to find out just exactly what you think you are doing here.”
*******************************************************************
Silence. Dead silence. And after what Stiles is proud to say was a pretty awesome speech. But the werewolf guy is just quiet, though at least he has put away his rather… impressive teeth, which make Stiles extremely glad that the forest is on his side enough to have let him execute his sneak attack, because he has actually no desire to get all close and personal with them.
This is getting ridiculous, it's been like, at least 5 minutes, isn't he going to say anything?
“Cat got your tongue?” Damn it, he wanted his captive to crack first, but Stiles has never been that good with charged silences.“Or whatever the canine equivalent is.”
The guy just shifts. Testing to see if he can get out?
“And you can just stop with the escape plans,“ because the hell is that overgrown mutt getting away until he tells Stiles everything.
“How about just cooperating with me so we can both just go about our respective ways, because I have all day to keep you in there.” Which is a bit of a lie; his dad is expecting him for dinner, but it's not like the guy knows that.
“From the way your heartbeat picked up just now, I'd say that is a lie,” the guy huffs out and damn it, what they say about werewolf hearing seems to be true, “but I don't actually want any trouble, so fine, what do you need to know so you'll let me out of this.”
He lets out a small sigh of relief, because finally they are getting somewhere,“Let's start with something easy like your name.”
“Derek,” he answers.
“Just Derek?” Stiles asks skeptically.
“You don't need to know more, it doesn't make any difference anyway.” One step forward and two steps back with this guy, but whatever, Derek is right after all; he can't actually do too much with his name, and if he actually plans to live here and not just squat in a cave town gossip is going to take care of finding out that bit of information anyway.
“Fine. What are you doing here?”
“I'm being held captive and interrogated by a supernatural crossbreed,” Derek snipes back.
“Real cute, Lassie,” Stiles chuckles out, and is that the barest hint of a smirk on those actually quite attractive lips now that they aren't obscured by the massive fangs? Concentrate, Stilinski. “I mean, what are you doing here in Beacon Hills, what is your purpose here? Especially alone, shouldn't you be living in a huge werewolf commune?’
And just like that all the humor that’s been softening Derek's face slightly is gone.
“This house belongs to me. I came to live here, which is entirely my right. I'm not out to make any trouble, so you don't have to worry about things like territory, but I don't owe you an explanation for my actions.” Derek's voice is a monotone and Stiles isn't sure what he did, but he feels oddly guilty all of a sudden.
He shakes it off, because it doesn't matter what he just said wrong, what matters is making sure his people are safe.
“Maybe you don't owe me one, but I'm still going to demand it. Because I may not know everything there is to know about werewolves,” though that is going to change and fast. It's Friday, he'll have the whole weekend to research, “but I'll be damned if I'm going to let you endanger anyone here.”
And this seems to be the day where he unintentionally steps in it, because he definitely doesn't image the slight wince and the way he just sags a bit into the trees holding him, radiating misery and defeat.
“I promise you, I'm no danger.” Derek says, “No, that's wrong. He shakes his head as much as he is able, “I am, you are right to be wary. But I'm not here to start a territory war or stake the place out for a pack or hunt humans or whatever else you may have come up with.” Man, the guy is good, because Stiles did think of all of those scenarios and his possible counter strategies on the way up here.
“I just want…” Derek breaks off, seems to gather himself, “I just want to live here in my house.” He sounds so sad and kind of lost that Stiles involuntarily loosens his hold on him.
Which Derek apparently notices instantly, because not only does he renew his struggles, but he actually gets one clawed hand out of the encasement before Stiles can tighten the branches around him again.
“What now, just let. Me. Out,” Derek growls, actually growls, at him.
“Well, I was just doing that before you decided to go ballistic again, which doesn't really help me believe your claim that you are just here to enjoy the forest air.” Stiles is breathing faster, because damn, that scared him, Derek is fast.
“I told you everything you wanted to know, I can't make you believe me, so what, you are going to keep me in here forever? You can't force me out of this town, I'm stronger than you,” Derek says arrogantly.
Stiles hesitates, because Derek is right, he will have to decide what to do now, if he can take him at his word. Because whatever Derek might think about his physical prowess, Stiles can make his stay very uncomfortable. Trees and nature listen to him, most of the time anyway; this is his forest and as long as they’re here, Derek can't touch him.
But if he's honest with himself, he does believe Derek. Something in his voice when he said that he just wants to live here was so raw and hurt, it just didn’t sound like a lie.
“Say I believe you, I'd still need…” Stiles breaks off.
“Need what?” And oh the growl is back, and man, he didn’t think a fully human throat could even produce a sound like that. It's weirdly…sexy?
“A promise,” Stiles says, “I'll need a promise that you won’t hurt anyone in this town, that you accept the fact that this is my territory, meaning any problems around here are my problem and get reported to me.”
“What does my word mean to you?” Derek sneers, “you don't know me, you can't trust me to actually keep it, even if I give you this promise.”
“That's true,” Stiles concedes, “but I have just about as much reason to trust you as not to trust you and so I'm going with my instincts to trust you for now. If you break your promise, I'll know your word isn't worth anything and I can make you get out of here without a guilty conscience.”
“That's stupid. You are stupid.” Derek snaps.
What!? “What the hell man, that's not the way to get yourself out of this situation, you do realize this,” Stiles says.
Derek visibly grinds his teeth, but can't seem to stop himself. “You can't just trust the word of a stranger on the off chance he'll keep it; that's not how you keep your people safe, in what type of dreamland are you living?”
“Wow, it looks like I found the topic that you can't keep yourself from talking about, I'm a genius.” Stiles is still stunned by the very unexpected reaction, but he can't keep himself from smiling, because this shouldn't be charming, but it kind of is.
“Shut up,” Derek says, and is he sulking?
“Are you sulking?” Stiles talks right over the shouted No.
“You are totally sulking, man,” Stiles crows happily.
Derek clamps his lips together and his nostrils flare slightly with his huffed out breath.
“Oh, now don't go back to giving me the silent treatment,” Stiles says. “Anyway, your little performance helped me make up my mind.”
“So what, you are going to lock me up, is that it,” Derek says with a resigned air and oh my god he's ridiculous. After all this is over Stiles totally needs to invite him to a coffee or something, because Stiles reckons Derek will probably manage to be world-weary and tragic over coffee and it's going to be hilarious.
“No, you are going to give me that promise, and then I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing before. Which I hope was renovating, by the way, because your house doesn't look structurally sound at all,” Stiles says happily.
“What?” Derek asks incredulously. His voice is really high when he does that. Stiles notices these things, because he is a Noticer of Things. Not because it's cute. Nope. Stiles is just Observant.
“Well, anybody who is actually so bad at tactics that they start playing devil's advocate to the supernatural entity holding him inside a woody prison, just when he was about to be let go… let's just say I don't expect an elaborate trap from you,” Stiles chuckles. “I think if you decided to go against your word, I'd have plenty of warning.”
“I could be playing you,” Derek says. “Maybe this is all a ruse to make you trust me.”
“There you go again!” Stiles cries. “Do you actually want to be stuck here?”
Silence answers him.
“Didn't think so. Now, oh tactical genius,” Stiles says with a small mocking bow, that he makes sure Derek can see by shifting a few of the branches in front of one of his eyes, “do you promise?”
Derek glares at him, and says through gritted teeth, “I promise.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?” Stiles asks impishly, because man Derek's one visibly eye actually glints, how does he do that.
“Stiles.” It's said with exasperation, but Stiles likes to think he doesn't image the small glint of humor in Derek's eye and voice, which is just as it should be, because Stiles is hilarious.
“Alright, alright.” Stiles says agreeably while he loosens his hold, making the trees vanish back into the earth.
Now to get a good look at my new supernatural buddy, he straightens up and stops short
Damn. It.
***********************************************************
Derek doesn't know what he expected Stiles to look like now that he finally gets a chance to look at him full on. But it certainly wasn't that.
Through the tiny hole he could squint through at the end, he did notice that Stiles appeared to be green, but seeing the whole picture he still didn’t think he'd be quite so green. The moles that are scattered all over his face make the color seem even more pronounced.
It fits into the forest surprisingly well, which explains why he was able to hide from Derek so effectively. But it's still inhuman and it throws him. Are those wings poking out of his T-shirt? The pointy ears he was kind of expecting, but wings, fairy wings?
At least he's not the only one staring, because for some reason Stiles has finally fallen silent, mouth open and he's just staring at Derek’s chest. Gives me time to pull myself together, Derek thinks. It would not do after all to have this interloper see him rattled.
“What?” he asks. He may be thankful Stiles gave him some time to pull himself together for whatever reason, but that doesn't mean Stiles has to know that.
“I - that is I -” Stiles stutters.
“Speechless suddenly, Tinkerbell?” Derek throws back with a satisfied smirk. Whatever threw Stiles, please let it continue. He feels on safer footing already, gaining back the upper hand. Good. He stretches his arms over his head, now that he can move them freely again. “That doesn't seem like you at all. But then I should probably be thankful I got as many coherent sentences out of kid as I did. What are you, twelve?” Because after getting a closer look, Stiles really looks ageless at the same time as painfully young.
Stiles flushes, tearing his eyes away from him, and his wings slowly go see through and vanish, his skin color changing into a more human color.
“Don't even start with the fairy jokes, you ass. I've heard them all and they aren't that funny,” Stiles bites out, “And for your information, I'm 18. Nice and legal.” And for some reason that's the moment he looks up again, though his flush only gets worse, more pronounced by his lighter tint.
Derek snorts, “Maybe that, but you are still stupid. Putting your mystical powers away before you are out of reach?” He looks into Stiles' big, open eyes. “What's to keep me from just tearing out your throat here and now, just so I don't have to deal with you anymore?” he challenges. Because Stiles can say what he wants, he's still young, where it counts.
Stiles swallows, but he makes himself stand straighter and looks at him levelly. “Just try it. You don't know half of what I'm capable of.”
The wind is carrying Stiles' scent over to him and it's nearly human now, just the faintest traces of the strange mix from before, still detectable now that Derek knows what to look for. What it doesn't contain is fear, only a grim determination to protect, to fight and… arousal? Teenage boys.
“Whatever.” Derek shakes his head. He's going to stop arguing, it's not his responsibility to prepare this barely grown up for the real world, for the way people and things are always out to hurt you if you don't stop them. “Actually, now that you mention it, how am I to know I'll be left alone in my house, since as you so aptly put it this is your forest.”
“Psh, don't worry about it. As long as you keep your nose clean I promise I wont pry.” Stiles says distractedly. “I'm not saying I won’t be around, but I won’t come into your house or anything.”
“Trust you?” Derek thinks the skepticism comes through loud and clear, but just for extra emphasis he raises his eyebrows, because what's with this guy, was he raised in a Disney movie?
Or maybe he's just a bit slow, because it takes another few seconds till he answers with slightly glazed over eyes, “I guess you don't have choice, now do you?”
Derek crosses his arms, because that may be true but he doesn't have to like it. And for some reason Stiles still isn't leaving, seemingly content to just stand around and gape some more. Is his mouth always open?
“Is there something else you wanted?” Derek asks impatiently. Normally he would just leave himself, but he doesn't trust Stiles enough to show him his back, let alone let him out of his sight around his house, “Because otherwise, I still have things to do today.” Hopefully this is enough of a hint.
“Oh,” Stiles exclaims, and the flush is back, “Right, go home, I should probably do that, I'll do that then…” he trails off, seemingly spellbound by something again, but then he physically shakes his head, walking backwards while shouting out, “Just don't forget our promise, Derek No-Last-Name.” And with a wink and an impish grin, he steps behind a tree and vanishes.
How does he do that?! Derek had never personally run into either a nymph or a pixie, let alone a weird mix of both with human. His mother used to tell some stories of them that he's now desperately trying to remember. Because of course he choose the one town where he has to deal with someone like that.
And he does need to know about him, because Stiles was right, damn it, he had no idea what Stiles can do. And this last parting shot has certainly proven that in these woods he'd never see him coming. He hates the feeling that someone could just show up behind him at any time without him noticing.
Which means he’d better get caught up on what Stiles is likely to be able to do and, more importantly, how to keep him out. He just can’t get a read on him. At first he threatened Derek in a way that made him expect someone much older, someone more jaded, someone who knew how the world worked.
But then he went through with that ridiculous promise farce. Derek wasn't going to do anything to the people of Beacon Hills, but Stiles couldn't know that, not for sure. That he still seems content to take his word for it… Derek just doesn't know what to make of it. Because that seems more like the actions of the naive teenager he looks like.
Still, he will need to find out what he can about his possible capabilities, just to be sure. But for that he'll need to look through the laptop Peter left him, and for that he needs electricity. Which the house doesn't have.
Though the way he's feeling, it's probably not a good idea to call the power provider now. For good reason, Laura was the one who handled all the service-related phone calls, because Derek gets impatient, and when he gets impatient he gets snappy, and when he gets snappy he gets hung up on.
To the hardware store it is. They should have some generators, and he wants to pick up some materials for renovating anyway. How hard can that be, after all.
*************
As it turns out, it is very hard. He's standing in front of rows and rows of tools and materials that all look exactly the same to him, proclaiming to be the best at what they do, whatever that is. At least he found the generator he needed, as well as a camping grill.
The employee of the section looks ready to pounce at any second - probably the way he's been standing in front of the same row of… are those screwdrivers? - tipped her off that he may need help.
He's just reaching for something - it looks like a torture device, what is it - when she seems to lose patience, walking up to him with a wide smile on her face saying: “Hello my name is Allison, can I help you with anything?”
“No,” he answers brusquely, because her name stops him short for a second, It may have been years, but… Kate had a niece called Allison that she sometimes talked about.
“Allison” doesn't seem to be offended though, because her smile never falters when she says, “Are you sure? Because I don't want to be rude, but you have been wandering around for 30 minutes and you seemed a bit lost. We are here to help after all. You should take advantage of it.”
“It's fine.” Derek says, decisively picking up another… whatever it is in front of him. He'll be damned if the first gossip about him in this town is going to be about his utter incompetence at knowing simple home improvement tools.
He knows that gleam in her and the eyes of the other employees that miraculously have found things to work on in his general vicinity while he was trying to find anything that looked familiar. There will be gossip. And now it will probably be about how he's unsocial, but that is a) true and b) it will keep people away from his house. They don't know his name, but Beacon Hills is small enough that they will probably connect the guy moving into the Hale house with him.
“Oh,” Allison says, looking slightly taken aback and finally losing a bit of her wide service-industry smile. He suddenly feels a bit bad, because it's not her fault exactly, and she is being paid to be helpful. He hates feeling guilty about those things, but her slightly downtrodden expression forces him to say:
“If you could tell me where the power drills are, that would help, I guess,” he growls out. Her face lights up with an even wider smile, and with a wave she calls over another employee who walks behind them - what is it with people always wanting to walk behind him - while chattering away about something, her family or pets or possibly her boyfriend.
He's distracted - having someone at his back where he can't see them is making him uneasy -when she asks: “What about you?” and Derek is stumped, trying to remember what the last thing she said was, something about where she lives in Beacon Hills?
“The old house in the woods,” he says, taking the risk of appearing mentally challenged if that has nothing to do with anything, great way to make an impression, but by the look in her eyes it actually was the right answer. He exhales in relief, when he realizes that not only did he give her personal information - forget connecting the dots, he might as well have put an ad into the paper now - he gave her a conversational in, and not answering her question of “Oh wow, that thing is falling apart, what made you move there?” would be extremely rude.
“It's a family heirloom,” he says in a way he hopes will shut down any further questions. There must be something in his face, because she just makes a small noise in the back of her throat, before stopping in front of a corridor.
“Here we are. I really hope you'll like it in Beacon Hills,” she says, “Oh and a tip? I've seen the Hale house a few months ago, you might want to invest in some plywood, a saw and lots of nails.” She seems to be suppressing a smile. Well so much for looking like he knows what he's doing.
He waits for her to leave before grabbing a few random things from all over the store, including plywood and a saw, but he'll be damned if he gets blankets here. Thankfully the store delivers the bigger stuff, because he doesn't actually know how to transport the wood otherwise.
But he got what he needs most of all right now, which is a generator. Time to get out the laptop and research. He doesn't know what or how much he'll find or how it will apply to Stiles, but if there is anything he’s learned in the last few years is that it's always, always better to be prepared and that you can never be prepared enough.
***********************************************************************
Stiles is floating. Well, not literally - he checks just to be sure, because outing himself on the way to Scott's place would be a very bad idea - but he might as well be! The world is a beautiful, amazing place and he needs to share those news with his bestest friend.
He lets himself into the house - during the romantic tragicomedy that was their freshman year, with Scott sometimes refusing to come out of his room for days because Allison wouldn't speak with him, Stiles had made himself a key, just so he could bug Scott into moving at all - and walks up the stairs, too happy and involved in thinking up ideas to even be embarrassed by the fact that he's chirping a bit.
He throws open the door and is greeted with the sight of Scott, surrounded by bandages, antiseptic, a pot of tea, chocolate, a stress ball and a whole bunch of pillows. He thinks he even spies some of Scott's handmade pb&j sandwiches - Stiles go-to comfort and stress relief food since Scott made it for him every day of sixth grade.
Basically, Scott has apparently prepared himself and his room for any type of werewolf-inspired meltdown and Stiles didn't think he could feel better, but he's suddenly bursting with affection for Scott, who just never fails to have his back in the best and most unexpected ways.
He throws himself at Scott bodily, because he's just the greatest friend to have and he'll be cushioned by a lot of pillows anyway. He hugs him tightly and then says: “I'm in love!”
He feels Scott stiffen slightly and stop patting his back in what was surely supposed to be a consoling motion but actually just felt very weird, because his wings have been trying to take corporal form since he left the forest. Scott takes him by his shoulders, shoving him back a bit and says “What?” with this befuddled look on his face that always makes Stiles think of a puppy.
“Well, in lust-like. Like-lust. But I can already feel it morph into something else,” Stiles proclaims, because it's true, he can feel it in his bones.
“How did that happen while seeing a werewolf? How was he? Was he an actual wolf?” Scott asks
“No he wasn't, he was growly, extremely paranoid, witty and the best looking guy I have ever seen in real life and how do you think?” Stiles shoots back. He's twitchy, but he can't help himself, he needs to move, he needs to plan. He tries to get off the floor, but Scott's arm holds him back.
“Wait, so the guy you are in love with is that werewolf?” Scott asks, “You can't have been talking to him that long. How did that happen?” He suddenly gets a horrified look on his face. “Did he magic you? With his mystical moon powers? Do you need to, like, detox?” Scott shakes him with a bit of a maniacal look on his face as if that could get rid of an enchantment.
“Mystical moon powers?” Stiles asks skeptically, untangling himself from Scott. “Have you been watching Sailor Moon again? Why would he have something like that?”
“Because werewolves and the moon, they’re like a thing!” Scott says, “If you aren't being controlled, what is going on?”
“What is going on is that the most fascinating, drop-dead gorgeous supernatural creature has moved into our boring backwater town and you have to help me woo him.” Because if he got anything out of that conversation, than that it wouldn't be easy to get close to Derek, but he just knows he has to try.
“Uh oh,” Scott says, seeming to have an epiphany, “Is that like a Lydia thing?” He gets up and starts rooting through his drawers.
“This is nothing like the Lydia thing. Also there is and never was a ‘Lydia thing;’ I had a crush, it wasn't a thing. Also, what I feel for Derek is totally absolutely different, I am meant to put my hands all over his body, I'm calling dibs by the way, because I'm not confident if you and Allison see him you wont want to invite him for a threesome and - what are you looking for?” Because Scott hasn't stopped tearing through his room.
He finally comes up with some crumpled pieces of paper and a little “ha” of triumph. He looks at Stiles apologetically and says: “This sounds a lot like the Lydia thing - which was totally a thing. And you gave me this for exactly such an occasion.”
It’s a list, written in Stiles’ handwriting, with the certain type of messiness that means he was spectacularly drunk while writing it. Which is also supported by the fact that he doesn't remember writing it at all. He tries to get it away from Scott, but he's moving away from him, frowning down at it in concentration.
“You gave me this after Lydia rejected you -”
“I thought we agreed never to speak of the day, that day shall not be mentioned ever, ever again.” Stiles shudders. He still has the mental scars from that day.
“Yeah, anyway, you gave me this so I would stop you from ever developing an unhealthy and crushing fixation on another person again,” Scott reads off the paper. Past-Stiles had surprisingly good grammar for being as drunk as he must have been.
“Well, this doesn't apply to this situation in any way, so you don't have to stop me, what you have to do is be a good bro and wingman and help me figure out how to bag a guy that is about six years older than me and also hotter than the sun,” Stiles says. He may like a challenge, but this is probably going to be one for the record books.
“It says here: I will probably try to convince you that the situation that has made you pull out this is nothing like what happened with Lydia. For this contingency I have prepared a handy list of question you will ask me to ascertain weather or not my new crush is anything to worry about.” Past-Stiles is a shitty smartass. No wonder he doesn't have more friends.
“We are not doing this! I will not be questioned by a drunk sixteen year old!” Stiles says.
“Well, I'm not helping you until we do this. You were very clear,” Scott says. His jaw has locked down in that particular way he has, when he decides to be stubborn. It doesn't happen very often, but when it does it is nigh impossible to convince him of something else. Stiles groans and throws himself down on one of the cushions, because he may not have a choice, but that doesn't mean he's going to like it.
“Ask away,” he says, waving a hand magnanimously. He grabs one of the sandwiches though, because those have gotten him through times much worse than this.
“Ok, first question.” Scott says, getting settled into a cushion across from him. His face is gullible and soft again, as if he'd never dream of forcing his best friend to confront the totally legitimate and not at all obsessive feelings he has developed on a werewolf an hour ago. Traitor.
-----
An hour of sometimes painfully embarrassing questions later - he must be a masochist for having written some of these down, he still can't decide which one was worse, how many sex scenarios did you plan out? (seven, it's only been an hour, ok?) or Have you already decided on a retirement location, how many kids you want to have, what method you'd want to use if the new crush is a guy, and what color scheme their bedroom should have (Florida, two or three, probably a surrogate but if Derek would want to adopt he'd also be fine with that, and either blue or green) - they aren't much further than when they started.
Scott is still convinced it's like Lydia all over again, but Stiles knows it isn't. His control questions may make it seem like it, but there is just something about Derek that calls to Stiles in a way similar, but at the same time not at all. Derek is lonely, Stiles can feel that, but whereas Lydia hasn't ever needed someone to help her with her loneliness, something about Derek's eyes says he does.
And it's different than the Lydia-thing for another reason. There had always been the possibility that even if she'd wanted him, she maybe wouldn't have been able to want all of him. Or that she wouldn't have been able to understand. But Derek. Derek is also more and at the same time less than human. Just like Stiles. This is the first time since his mom died that someone else who isn't normal has lived in Beacon Hills, and it makes the forest rejoice.
He can still hear it, can still feel it; half of his restlessness comes from the fact that the plants, the very earth is chattering, excited, thrilled, sweeping its mood outwards from that lonely house in the forest, and it makes Stiles want to laugh, to dance.
Scott has stopped talking and is looking at him oddly. “Dude, do you realize you are making a kind of chirping, cawing sound? Also, your smile is starting to creep me out.” Stiles tries to tamp it down, but just then he gets another wave of that same feral energy from the direction of the Hale house and he can't.
Scott gets this resigned look on his face, slumping deeper into his cushion.
“You really wanna do this?” he asks
“I do.” he does. He does. Maybe past-him is right and he's fallen into the same trap that had made him moon over Lydia from third grade onwards. It had been the first math class of the year and she'd made the teacher leave the classroom in tears and Stiles had been entranced. He couldn't stop looking at her, at the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she seemed confident, but also desperately, achingly alone.
He went home that day and told his mom all about her, about the house they'd have together, what their children would be named. She smiled at him and asked all the right questions at the right times. And when his dad looked slightly concerned when he blithely told them that he'd met Lydia for the first time today and no they hadn't talked (yet, his eight-year-old self had loudly proclaimed), she told him it was fine: “We feel things differently. We just know who'd fit us.”
Though she did take him aside later and had a talk with him. He remembered four things that had been a mantra for him, probably the reason he was finally able to let Lydia go: 1) You may know, but to the other person you are a stranger, so don't let their initial indifference hurt you. 2) Never under any circumstances make someone like you 3) Try with everything you have and don't give up. 4) But if they decide against being with you, you have to accept it.
She explained that it wasn't a destined or sure thing. It was like full humans, meeting someone they click with and then things not working out. The difference was that he could look at someone, meet someone and instantly know that there was a potential for forever.
He enjoyed speaking with Derek, who clearly hid a dry wit under all those ripped muscles. But when he finally looked him in the eyes he knew, knew as he knew every tree surrounding his house that here he’s met someone who he could potentially have forever with.
“Maybe it's like with Lydia, but don't you see Scott? He's not Lydia,” Stiles says. He can't think of another way to say it, to make Scott understand.
Though something in his face or in his eyes must be enough, because Scott sighs and says: “You probably already have a plan, so what is it you need me to do?” Stiles shoots up and grins. Best. Friend. Ever.
On to Part 2