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Bloodbond

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My hands are trembling, and my heart is almost exploding out of my chest. Fuck, I'm nervous. But I'm determined: I'm finally going to ask him out, after all these years of pining and stalking. Well, not that heavy stalking, but that following him to protect him. And watch him. And... Okay, maybe I'm a legitimate stalker.

But today is the day. Today I'm going to ask Stiles to go on a date with me.

I like him. Like- like him. Okay, I'm in love with him. For several years now.

Yeah, I'm pathetic, I know.

First, I denied it. Second, I tried to make up reasons why he shouldn't be mine. Then, I just chickened out, thinking that he didn't see me that way, that he couldn't see me that way. And when Scott told me that Stiles is bi, I had no more reasons to think of.

I step out of my bed, and immediatly get rid of my wet boxer briefs. Wet? Yes. I had a dream, okay? A dream about Stiles and his long fingers, his perfect shaped mouth, his thick and flushed cock...

So I get rid of my boxers, and step inside the shower, thoroughly cleaning my hair with my favourite shampoo, and clean the dried cum off of my stomach. When I'm finished, I wrap a towel around my waist and grab some clothes.
When I'm dressed and I start to make breakfast, my mind wanders of to Stiles again.

He's twenty-two now, and is back in Beacon Hills for over a month now. He finished college suma cum laude on three majors, and he's staying with Scott and Kira, whom have their own apartment now.
People finally start to notice his beauty. Yeah, maybe it's weird to call a man beautiful, but there's no other way to describe him. The constalation of moles across his body, the golden eyes, his broad and strong body, his perfect lips that you just want to lick and kiss... Everything about him is beautiful and perfect.
So when people look at him like he's the best thing after sliced bread, I get a little jealous. Just a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

What doesn't help either are the beanies that he wears, the tight shirts and jeans (Lydia helped him shop for his new wardrobe), and the glasses. God, those glasses. He doesn't wear them often, but when he does, I almost get an instant boner.

Fuck, I got it bad, and I've known it for a long time.

The smell of burned toast infiltrate my nose, and I get pulled out of my daydream. I growl low in my chest at the smell, it still reminds me of the fire. I've got over it with help from Stiles, but when he's not near me when I think of that night, I sometimes wolf out comepletely and want to rip things apart.

I grab the burned toast and fling it in the trashbin. My appetite is lost, so I settle on the couch and grab my phone. I'm gonna text him. Right now. Now. C'mon, Der, text him! Now!

"Fuck it!" I mumble out loud and I press the call button.

"Hey, Derek! Everything alright?" His voice startles me, and I freeze, not able to form any word or sound.

"Der?" Fuck, I'm not able to handle that nickname. I hang up.

"Ugh," I grunt when I stand up and I don't know what to do.

I chickened out, again. And without a reason. Even that his dad's the sheriff isn't a reason: yesterday I asked him if I was allowed to date his son. The only he said was: "You know that he's an adult now, right? Just make him happy," he said when I nodded.

A car startles me out of the memory. It sounds like Scott's, so I walk out of the loft, and into the carpark. Maybe he has some advice, since he was also the one to finally convince me of my feelings for his best friend.

But when the car stops and a guy with a beanie steps out of it, my heart stops. Stiles wears a dark, long sleeved shirt that hugs his muscles perfectly, and a denim, skinny jeans that makes his legs look longer. The beanie is grey, and the glasses match the dark blue of his shirt. He has these worn, brown leather Dr. Martins on his feet, that just do things to me. He hasn't shaved this morning, so my eyes got pulled to the sight of light stubble on his face.

I finally meet his eyes, and the worry in them makes my heart skip.

"I thought something was wrong, asshole! Why did you call me and then hung up! That's like really rude, Derek!"

"I... Sorry?" I look down to my phone, like it is its fault. My eyes catch the numbers on the screen, and I see that merely half an hour has passed after I hung up on him.

"Yeah, be sorry! I called three times, and you didn't pick up!"

"Everything is fine, Stiles. You can go again." No! This is your chance! My wolf whines.

"Why did you call me?" Stiles asks, calmed down again. His eyes still project concerned, and my wolf (and me) is almost jumping from happiness, because our mate is concerned! He cares about us! Yes, mate. Don't judge.

Now or never, I tell myself. "I, uh... Wanted to ask you something, actually." Okay, I'm halfway.

"So there was something," Stiles says, smug and amused.

"Yeah. I... Doyouwantogooutonadatewithme?" I mumble, looking to the ground.

"What?"

"Forget it, it was a stupid question," I say, a whole lot dissapointed. I turn around and start walking back to the loft, but a firm hand closes around my wrist and turns me around.

"Did you mean that?" Stiles asks, his brown eyes wide and filled with... Disbelief?

I shrug, and look to the ground again. His hand is still closed around my wrist, and it feels like his touch is burning me. But the good kind.

"Derek?"

"Yes! Okay? How could I not mean that? I mean, I've been trying to built up some courage to actually asks you, and I get that you want to say no, and I'm just in love with you for a while..." I stop when I realize that I'm rambling out of nervousness, and what I've said. I look up through my eyelashes, and see Stiles blushing, his mouth hanging open and his eyes still wide.

"I'm sorry, that just slipped..."

"Yes," Stiles breathes out.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Yes?"

"Yes. I'm free tomorrow, text me the time you come pick me up, okay?" He worries his lower lip between his teeth, and when he releases it, it is plump and swollen and pretty.

I nod, and wave at him when he turns out of the parking lot.

My face hurts because of the smile that won't leave, and I may have or haven't did a victory dance when I entered the loft again.

Chapter Text

"Scott, I need your help," I say through the phone.

"Is something wrong?" he asks concerned.

"No, no! Actually, the total opposite of wrong. I asked Stiles out and he said yes..."

"That is great, Derek!" he exclaims.

I hear the muffled voice of Kira in the background, asking what is great.

"Derek asked Stiles out on a date, and he said yes," Scott explained happily.

"Finally!" I hear Kira exclaim. I roll my eyes, chuckling softly.

"So, do you know what kind of flowers he likes," I ask, a bit bashfully.

"That's so cute, Derek!" Kira says. Speakerphone, really Scott?

"Well, I know his mom loved orchids... I think he would appreciate that."

"Thanks, Scott."

"You're welc-"

"Where are you taking him?" Kira interrupts, really enthusiastic.

"That new Italian place-"

"There is a new Italian place? Where?" Scott asks. "Not on main street, right?"

"No, just out of town, like a thirty minute drive."

"I know that place! Fancy, Derek! He's gonna love it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he likes Italian. It's his favorite food. Besides curly fries, of course," Scott adds.

"Okay, that's a relieve," I breathe out. I was worried that Stiles wouldn't like it, that it wouldn't live up to his standards. He deserves the best, period.

"So, at what time are you picking him up?"

"Seven, I think. I still have to text him to let him know."

"Okay, we'll be out by then. Take care of him, will you?"

"Are you threatning him, Scott?" Kira asks.

"No. Maybe. A little? Just, good luck."

"Thanks," I snort.

"Derek?"

"Yeah, Kira?"

"He likes you too, you know. So you don't have to worry about that."

"Thanks, Kira."

I hang up and look around the flowershop. Orchids, my mom loved them too.

I let the assistant make a pretty bouquet of the flowers and the greens and let her have the change.


Almost skipping to my car, I sent Stiles a text

To Stiles:
I'll be there @ 7. Wear something chique ;-)

Almost immediatly I get a text back, and smile when I read it.

From Stiles:
Chique? Like casual chique, or like black tie chique? Where r u taking me?! God, Im nervous!

From Stiles:
Shit, I didn't mean to send that! Ignore the last part! I'm as calm as one can be...

I grin and open the the door to lay the flowers on the backseat. I walk around the car and get in. I reply with a painful smile on my face.

To Stiles:
Don't worry. Casual will do. See you at 7.

From Stiles:
Great, be waiting 4 you then!

My heart stutters when I read the message. I drive to the loft and change clothes, putting on dark jeans, a white button up and a dark blue blazer. But when I look in the mirror, I begin to hesitate. Will Stiles like this? Maybe I look better in dark green? Laura used to say that my eyes look different, but pretty with that colour...

Yes, dark green it is. I change my shirt and blazer to a dark green and black. But when I look in the mirror again, I see only dark. And Stiles doesn't like all dark, right? He isn't a dark person. He's all light and beautiful and smart...

I change back in my white button up, but put on a dark green blazer. In this life you have to compromise sometimes, right?

I look on my silver watch and see that it's almost six-thirty. The drive to Stiles, Kira and Scott's apartment  is like 20-ish minutes, so I have some time to style my hair. I make it less spikey, a bit more chique. I check myself over and nod. I hope Stiles likes this.

I grab the flowers and my keys and drive towards Stiles. My heart is fluttering in my chest and my knuckles are white because of the death grip on the steering wheel. I breath in through my nose, and out through my mouth.

Don't ruin this, Derek! This has to be perfect. Everything has to be perfect for Stiles.

Stiles, my wolf whines. Mate, love, Stiles, mine!

Why has my wolf to be so posessive, for fuck's sake?!

It's six-fiftyseven when I pull up in front of the apartment, next to Stiles' SUV. A birthday gift from Lydia, because Roscoe 'died' when witches came to town. Stiles probably took the wrong keys yesterday, when he rushed to mine.

I grab my phone and put on the playlist I made for the drive to the restaurant, all of Stiles' favourite songs. How I know that? Well, I did admit that I stalked him, didn't I?
A lot of the songs are from a band called 'Slow Kids at Play', and I actually like a good amound of the music they make. They're not really famous, but upcoming musicians, discoverd by Simon Cowell. That man has ears for good music. I often wonder if he is a were-creature, and if he hears heart brake when he turns someone down.

I get out and grab the flowers. I knock on the door and wait for Stiles to open it.

"Be there in a minute! Oh, fuck!" I hear something fall and than another curse. I smile fondly.

"No hurry! We have plenty of ti..." My voice trails of when Stiles opens the door. He's wearing light blue, tight jeans, a dark blue button up, and a gray blazer. His hair is styled and his stubble is just prefect. The glasses he's wearing are black, and the sparkle in his eyes makes him look more beautiful than he already is. He is breathtakingly perfect.

"Der, you okay?"

I shake my head to try to clear my mind. "Y-yeah. Wow, you look... Wow."

He blushes and looks down. He actually is blushing. And I find it way too adorable than it probably is, but I'm in love with the guy, so don't blame me.

"You think I'm adorable? Great, perfect for my manly-ness. Thanks, Derek."

Fuck, did I say that out loud?!

"Yeah, you did. I don't mind it. I'll take it as a compliment," he giggles.

He fucking giggles! The evening hasn't even started. I'm so screwed.

"So, uhm, you want to come in?" Stiles asks, stepping away from the door to let me in. I nod and walk past him, letting our shoulders brush slightly. I'm glad when I don't feel him tense up.

"I bought you these. Scott said your mom loved them," I say, and I present the flowers to Stiles. He nods and a smile appears on his face.

"You picked the right color, too. She loved purple. You asked Scott..."

"No, I just picked out the most beautiful ones. I mean, you deserve that..."

"Well, thanks. I uh..." He trails off and his gaze slides down to the floor.

"What is it?" I ask as I sniff the air for emotions. First I get his own scent, which is almost intoxicating, smelling like a thunderstorm and autumn rain, sunlight and damp earth, like Stiles. The scents and smells of the room, Kira and Scott are merely present. But then his emotions hit me: a bit sad, embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Shit. I blew it already.

"Well, I didn't went to her grave this week..." He says, and I am actually glad that the sadness, embarresment and uncomfortablement aren't caused by me. Well, not directly.

"We can go now, if you want? I reserved for eight, and it's a thirty minute drive. I know the owner, so when he sees that Hale is late, they'll wait a bit longer." I know the question isn't really a question, and I would like to go to the graveyard, too. It's been a while since I visited my family.

"You sure? I mean, I don't want to ruin the night by visiting dead people," he says hesitantly.

"I'm sure. I wanted to visit it this week, you know. It isn't a burden, I swear. And besides, you can't ruin anything, even if you tried."

"I... Thanks."

"You're welcome. Shall we?" I hold out my arm, so he can hook his around mine. But he just grabs my hand and pulls me out the apartment, quickly grabbing a coat along the way to the front door.

My heart tumps louder and harder when he intertwines our fingers when he locks the door, and I turn my head to hide the gigantic smile that is plastered on my face.

"Don't hide a smile, Der. It suits you," Stiles says when he pulls me to my own car. A blush creeps on my cheeks, and I feel warmth spread through my chest.

The way to the cemetery is quiet, but not awkward. The music is playing silently, and the windows are open. Stiles has his eyes closed, and absently licks his lips.

"You know," I begin. With Stiles nearby, I always tend to talk more, and sometimes I even start the conversation. "Use your words, big guy," he used to say, and I listened to him. I continue, "My mom loved orchids too. She always grew them in the front yard, as well as red roses and white tulips. The tulips reminded her of Holland, where she met dad when she visited family for pack stuff. Every other week I visit the family grave, and bring purple orchids, bright red roses and pearly white tulips. It hurts every time I see the gravestone, but every time it gets better too."

"I understand. Is that why you picked purple flowers? They remind you of Talia?"

"I think so. I didn't really think it through when I picked them."

"Oh."

Silence, aside from Coldplay on the background. I park the car at the gate, and step out. Before I can walk around to open the door for Stiles, I hear it shut. Next time better, Der, I tell myself.

First we walk to Claudia Stilinski's grave, which is pretty far to the end of a bush of wild roses. Stiles stops in front of a gravestone, which reads

Claudia Stilinski - Brown

1963-2004

Beloved daughter, friend, 

wife and mother.

I love you, mom.

My heart breaks when I read the bold sentence, knowing that Stiles had said that when he was young, little and innocent. Tears gather in my eyes, but I blink them away. Then I hear a silent sniffle and I smell salt and grief, and I turn around.

Stiles is standing there, his broad shoulders sagged in sadness, a single tear sliding down his cheek. His eyes shine from the tears, and it makes him look beautiful in such a wrong way.

My wolf whines when it sees its mate sad and crying. My instict is telling me to pull him close, scent mark and love him untill he is happy again, but I hold back, only rubbing my thumb in soothing circles on his knuckles.

Then he speaks up. "Hey mom. Sorry for not stopping by earlier. This is Derek, he brought you flowers." He places a few flowers and greens from the bouquet on the grave. "I uh... I'm going on a date with him later, and I thought you would like to meet him. I think you would've adored him. We have to stop by his family as well. I'll be here next week. And the next, and the one after that. I love you, mom." It doesn't go unnoticed that he ends with that sentence.

He grabs my hand and leads me toward the Hale family grave. The whole time I stare at the grass we're walking on, not wanting Stiles to see how weak I am. That is a wolfy thing, yes, but also a Derek thing.

We stop when we reach the grave, and we stand there, silently, hand in hand. I don't say anything, not like Stiles. When I look at him, he smiles softly and bends down to lay the orchids on the white pebbles. He also lays a red rose next to the flowers. When he stand up again, he mumbles, "Took them from the rosebush."

I squeeze his hand in a silent thank you.

We walk back to the car, but Stiles stops when we are almost at the fence. "Do you mind?" he asks.

"Of course not," I smile reassuringly at him, and he grimaces back. I know where we're heading. I knew it when I noticed that Stiles still had some wild roses in his hand.

We stop at a black stone, and Stiles places the roses on top of the gray, big rocks which mark the length of the grave. We stand there, my arm around his shoulder, his hand bleeding a little from the thorns of the red flowers.

After a while we head back to the car, and I look back one last time. The last thing I see is the engraved headstone, which reads Allison Argent

Chapter Text

"Here," Derek says and hands me his handkerchief.

"What for?" I ask in confusion, but I take it anyway. When I extend my hand to grab the light green fabric, I see the red on my palm. The wild roses, of course. "Thanks," I mumble. "But I don't want to ruin it..."

"Remember what I said? You can't ruin anything, even if you tried," he says seriously, his eyebrows scrunched in a scowl, like he's angry that I even dare to think it.

"Yeah, but..."

"But nothing, Stiles. Take it."

"Thanks again."

Derek just nods.

It's quiet, except for the music in the background. I don't pay attention to it, but when I'm done cleaning my hand, relieved that it isn't bleeding anymore, I hear the familiar beat of one of my favorite songs.

"I didn't know you liked 'Slow Kids at Play'?" It's not really a question, but Derek answers with a slight smile on his lips.

"I knew you liked them. I actually am starting to appreciate their music since I've heard it for like the sixth time now. I want to like the things you like, and so far it is working."

I make a surprised noise, looking at Derek. Why would he want that? It's not like I'm special, or anything.

"What?" He asks, eyeing me warily.

"Nothing. Where are you taking me?"

"Not saying anything," he smiles and looks briefly at me before returning to watch the road again. I saw something glimmer in his eyes, something like contentment, and... Adoration?

"But come on! You have to tell at least what kind of food they have! Is it a steakhouse, that fancy one on 3th and 4th?"

"Nope."

"Uhm... The Thai, how is it called again?"

"Thai Palace?"

I slap my hand against my forehead. How could I forget such a stupidly easy name? "Yes, that one. It's pretty chique as well, right?"

"Yes."

"Yes? So we're heading for Thai food? Man, I love Thai." I look over to my left, and see Derek practically beat himself up from the inside out.

"We can go there, if you want," Derek says, his voice tight.

"No, I want to go where you want to  take me, okay? I'll stop asking if you really want to not say anything."

"I want to go where you want to go..." he starts, but I interrupt him.

"And I want to go where you made that reservation. I'm sure I will love that place."

He nods, and I faintly hear a, "Fuck you, Scott".

After a thirthy minute drive, we ride into the next town, Beacon Valley. It's the expensive and chique part of Beacon County, and I know Derek has a apartment here, but he's never there.

"Beacon Valley? The cheapest restaurants here have fifty dollar dishes, and those are the smallest ones! Derek, I really apreciate that you took me here, but I can't afford it."

"You really think I'll let you pay? Stiles, I asked you, not the other way around. I'm paying."

"But..."

"No buts, Stiles."

"Okay," I mumble and play with my glasses a bit. "I should've wore my contacts," I mutter. I hate my glasses, they make me even more a nerd than I already am. But I was in such a hurry, I just didn't have the time to put them in.

"Why?" Derek asks.

Shit, forgot about the supernatural werewolf senses.

"Well, it makes me look like a giant nerd..."

"It's sexy."

"Wait, what?" I gape, and I feel heat creep up my cheeks. I look at Derek through my eyelashes, my gaze incredious.

"Fuck, I have to stop thinking things like that. But uhm... Well, I think you're sexy. And the glasses make you look sexy in another way?" He lingers, not sure if he said it right.

Holy fuck. Derek thinks I'm sexy. Why?

"Why would you think that of me?" I ask him genuinly.

"Are you kidding me?" He sounds incredious. What the hell?

"I'm not the only one thinking that, though," he adds.

"You." I point at him. "You are a funny man, Derek Hale. Really, truly, funny."

"It's true!" he exclaims. "Last week, when we were with the pack? You know, at the diner on Main, right after the movie, that group of girls at the table next to us?"

"Yeah?"

"They were all talking about you. Said you were cute, and sexy. Funny..." His voice is thight. Jealousy? Holy shit, Derek has it bad. For me. Derek has it bad for me?! The fuck is going on?

"And even the old lady with her granddaughter at the table at the window said that college did the sheriff's son really good. Her granddaughter only nodded, and the rest of the time she was only drooling. When the waiter-guy brought the bill, I quickly took it away, because he wrote his number on it."

"Who says that was meant for me? I mean, come on! I was sitting at a table with supernatural people, all georgous! Only the grandma said something directly about me. The girls..."

"The girls were chatting about the guy with the beanie. You were the only one with a beanie, Stiles. And the waiter wrote something above his number, idiot. It said: 'text me, cute-mole boy."

"That is an awful nickname," I chuckle. "Wait..." I say when something dawns to me. "Why would you snatch that bill away so quickly if he only wrote his number on it?"

"BecauseIwasmaybealittlebitjealousandIfinallywantedtoaskyououtsoIcouldn'tlethimhaveyou."

The fast ramble catches me off guard, and I furrow my brow when I don't understand a single thing of it.

"Say it again, slowly. I won't judge," I say with a smile, and lay my hand on Derek's, where it is been resting on the gearshift.

"I wanted to ask you out, and I was jealous, and my wolf thinks you're mine. Oh fuck, I didn't mean to say that!"

I giggle. He is actually an adorable puppy when he acts like this. "And I thought I didn't have a brain-to-mouth filter."

"Well, you do that to me." He visibly relaxes when he notices that I don't mind the possessiveness of his wolf. "We're here," he says when he pulls up at a parking lot. He hurries out of the car and opens my door. I'm a bit taken aback by his gentleman-ness, mostly because of the stern and brooding thing he normally has going on. But I like this side of him. A lot.

"Thanks." I smile up at him before grabbing his hand. He helps me get out of the car, and shuts the door behind me. Then I look at the name of the retstaurant.

"Did you just take me to the new and famous Italian restaurant in Beacon Valley? Oh my God, Derek! You shouldn't have done that!"

"I'm glad you like it..."

"I love it. This is way better than Thai!"

He huffs a relieved "Thank you, Scott" before he takes my hand. But he quickly pulls his hand away and looks at it like it doesn't belong to him.

"Hey," I say and wait untill he looks at me. When he does, I give him a reassuring smile before I take his hand again and squeeze it a bit. My smile brightens when he does the same.

Once in the restaurant, a waitress walks over to us and asks if whe had a reservation. I let Derek handle this and he leads me to the table while I look around. It isn't as enormous as it looked on the photo's I saw on internet, but definitly more romantic. The room is a dark red, with little fire places scattered around the room and in the middle of every table. The people who are already eating, have some delicious looking dishes in front of them, and it smells as good as it looks.

Derek pulls a chair from the table and gestures for me to sit down. I smile when I sit down, and look at the table. A single white rose lays on top of my plate, but when I look at Derek's, I notice that there isn't one. The corner of my lips twitch when I pick up the rose, and I can't help but smell it. When I look up again, I see Derek staring at me, his eyes nervously searching my face for any sign of distaste.

"I love it, Der. Stop worrying and relax," I reassure him, and he nods, his gaze getting softer and his lips forming a tiny smile.

"How did you know that I love Italian?" I ask him when I stare at the menu. There isn't much choice, but everything sounds really tasty.

"Scott," he answers.

When I look up, I see that he's staring at me, his mouth slightly open and his eyes are twinkling. I smile at him, and turn back to the menu, trying to hide my blush. "You already know what you're gonna get?"

"I always liked pesto. And I think I get the salmon one," he says when he looks back at the menu.

"Ooh, great choice! I think I'm gonna get the... Uhm..." I close my eyes and twirl my pointer finger in front of the menu. When I place it on the paper and open my eyes again, I chuckle.

"What?"

"I already know what I'm getting for dessert. Chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake sounds good, right?"

"That one is like heaven, I swear," Derek moans. He moans. Oh. My. God. Would he moan like that in bed, when I...

Oh my god, Stiles! Stop it! This has to be a carefree, romantic dinner date, not a pornvideo!

"Great," I say. "Then I'll take the... Pasta Carbonara," I decide with my best Italian accent. Derek chuckles.

"Hello, I'm Samantha."

I look up and she a cute girl. She stares at me with her mouth agape, her eyes not blinking. I look back to Derek and raise my eyebrows. He clears his throat and Samantha snaps out of her thoughts.

"You okay," I ask.

"Y-yeah." She shakes her head a bit, blinks, and her smile returns. "What can I get you?"

I smile hesitantly in return, and her eyes widen slightly. I look back to my menu with confusion, but point out the dish I want. Derek does the same, and orders a bottle of red wine, probably very expensive.

It feels good, having someone other than family who cares about you, who wants to provide you, who wants to love you. My stomach clenches - in a good way - when I realize that Derek's in love with me. He likes me. He wants to be with me, in another way than pack and friends. I smile.

"So, uhm," Derek begins, nervous. He is cute like this, and I may be falling even more in love with him. Just a bit though. Okay, maybe a lot.

"I just want you to know that I really like you, and my wolf does too. I mean... I'm trying to make you feel good, and..."

Yep, there is the socially awkward Der-Bear. Still not really good with words. "You don't have to try," I reassure him.

"What?"

"Well, Kira told you that I like you, too, right?" He nods, but his eyes are narrowed. He doens't know what I'm trying to say. "She wasn't wrong. Okay, maybe a bit, though..." I trail off, my gaze sliding over Derek's face to see what my taunting did to him. He looks sad, maybe a bit hurt, but after a second, he returns to stoic Derek, his grumpy face on point. He's blocking his emotions.

"...but that's because I more than like you, Der. I've been in love with you for a while now, too." It's the first time I admit that out loud. That's why Kira said I liked him, but I love him. I love him. God, that feels good.

"I... Wait, really?" He looks at me suspiciously. "Stop fucking with me, Stiles! I'm being deadly serious."

How can I stop fucking you if I didn't even begin? He would look really good, naked on bed, his hole a pretty shade of pink and ready for my cock...

No, I wouldn't go there tonight.

"Didn't you hear my heartbeat? I'm being serious too, Derek. I want to be with you, even though this is our first date."

"But you know how to control your heartbeat! I mean..."

"Pasta Carbonara, and Pesto Salmon?" A new voice shuts us up, and our heads whip almost synchronicly to the side, where another girl is standing. She looks at Derek, than at me, and than she sighs. She mumbles something, but it's so low I can't hear it. Derek just smiles.

"I'll have the pesto, thanks," he says.

The waitress - Kelly - nods and places the food on the table. A guy - Sam - places a bottle in a cooler next to our table, and two glasses are set on the table. He pours some of the red liquid in the wine glasses, and waits untill we've tasted it. We nod in approval, and he leaves.

"What did she say?" I ask as soon as Sam is out of hearing range.

"Ssh." Derek holds up his hand, and I see his ears twist a bit. He's eavesdropping on the waiters and waitresses. A smile is slowly taking claim of his lips, and he chuckles when he shakes his head and picks up his fork and knife.

"What? You know, Sparkly human here, still not able to hear like you do."

"They were gushing about us, mostly you."

"Very funny, Der. Bu-"

"It's like I explained in the car. You are really smart, but also really oblivious to anything that has to do with you. What that girl mumbled? She said that it wasn't fair."

"What wasn't fair?"

"Two goodlooking guys at one table, and none of them would want to come home with her."

"Now you've made me feel guilty!" I say and pout my lips accusingly. Derek stops dead in his tracks, his eyes on my mouth. I lick my lips: they suddenly feel dry under his gaze.

"Okay, well, buon appetito," I say and raise my glass. Derek does the same, and it looks like he forgot about our conversation from earlier.

The pasta is really good, and after I got a bite from Derek's I decide that this is a place that I'll visit frequently.

"Oh my god, that was so good!" I groan when I shove my very empty plate away. I took me a lot of afford to not lick the plate completely clean.

"I'm glad you liked it," Derek smiles when he takes his last bite.

"Liked it? I loved it, Derek! I don't think I can handle a dessert, now." I pout again, and I pretend that I don't notice his knuckles going white with the tight grib he has on the fork and knife. He breathes in and out, and is able to speak then.

"We could share that cake?" he suggests.

"You are my hero today, Derek Hale," I silently exclaim. He laughs, like a real, open mouthed and loud laugh. A smile tugs at my lips. I could get used to this.

We order the cake, and fall in small talks like college. When he asks about the friends that I'd made and the things I did when I had spare time, I begin to feel uncomfortable. Luckily, he leaves it alone.

"God, this restaurant is definitly the best one on earth. Thanks for taking me here, Derek," I say when I stand up to put on my coat. We walk toward the door after Derek paid, but before we leave the building I mumble a quick, "Wait!" and jog back in the restaurant. When I get to the table, I grab the thing I forgot and return to the exit. Derek is waiting for me with raised eyebrows, and I smile a bit ashamed when I show the rose Derek brought me. I just loved the idea.

We walk back to the car, when I remember I didn't brought any keys with me. "Shit," I mumble when we sit inside the car and I searched my pockets. The rose lays securely on my lap.

"What is it?" Derek has started the engine, but doesn't drive away.

"I didn't bring any keys from the apartment," I say. But then I realize something. "And we don't have any in some secret spot outside, and I don't want to disturb Kira and Scott on their date..."

Derek seems to pick up the hint, and he smirks when he starts the car. "Well, I have an apartment downtown. We can go there and go back to BH tomorrow?" It isn't really a question, but I smile and nod as an answer.

Derek's apartment isn't really far, it's like a ten minutes drive. When he parks in front of the building, I glance sideways at him. He looks nervous again, like he isn't sure if this is right.

I reach out for his hand, which lays on his thigh. I place my hand over his, and say, "If you don't want to have me here, you could just bring me back to my place. Or I could call Scott and ask him to pick me up?"

He jerks his hand away, like it got burned with me touching it. But then he looks guilty, and I guess that's because the hurt's showing on my face.

"No! I mean, this is been a dream for far too long, but I don't want to ruin it, you know? I never felt so certain about anything but this, and I just want this to work out."

I smile, reassured by his words. I squeeze his hand and climb out of the car (he replaced the Camaro with a giant BMW two years ago, just so you know), and patiently wait for Derek to get out as well. We walk to the building, up the stairs and to the huge apartment on the highest floor. Derek opens the door and let me walk in first.

My chin almost reaches the floor when my jaw goes slack with awe. The apartment is indeed huge, but also warm and inviting, totally different form his loft back in Beacon Hills. The walls are white, but various picture frames and paintings are decorating them. He has a open kitchen, which is tied to the immense living room by a long dinner table with different kind of chairs, and large lamps hang form the ceiling above the table from chains, giving it an industrial look. The living room has a very fuzzy and big chair, and a large 'L' shaped couch. Between the tv (almost looking like a cinema screen) and the couch is a low, wooden coffee table, with some books piled up on one corner. There are a few doors, probably leading to bed- and bathrooms. But the best thing of the whole apartment is the wall covered with books and dvd's and cd's, a piano in the corner and the roof, which is almost entirely made of glass, and is connected to the glass outside wall, overlooking on the trees of the forest.

"Woah," I breathe out. "This is amazing! Why don't you live here? This is the most beautiful view ever!" I walk to the piano, opening the wing to check the wires connected to the tiles. "You play?"

"No, never got the chance to learn. It was almost the only thing that survived the fire," he answers on the silent question. "Do you play?"

"Well, I did before mom died. But it's like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it," I shrug. I sit down on the piano stool. I begin playing, and to my content, I'm not as rusty as I thought I would be. And the piano is tuned just right, like it hasn't been standing here for over a decade, untouched.

I close my eyes at a certain point, and see the music notes dance before my eyelids. The music is carrying me away, the reason I don't notice that Derek is sitting next to me.

I play the last note, let it linger like it supposed to be lingering. When I open my eyes, I suddenly feel Derek's side pressed up to mine. I look at him, searching his face. His eyes are big and shining, but not from tears. He leans closer, his breath ghosting over my lips.

"That was beautiful. Who wrote it?"

"Me. It was a way to handle the ADHD," I tell him, and my gaze lowers to his lips.

That's the moment Derek kisses me. Soft and hesitant, and he pulls back when I don't respond to it.

"I- I shouldn't have done that," he mumbles, and starts to stand up.

But I grab him by the back of his neck and pull him against me, my lips touching his desperatly. He moans when I bite at his lower lip, and he opens his mouth to invite me in. I obligue happily, lapping with my tongue at his teeth, exploring his mouth, fighting with his tongue.

God, I needed this badly. It feels like a knot in my chest finally is loosend, spreading warmth through my whole body, letting my cheeks flush a dark pink.

I pull back, panting. "Enough evidence that I was telling the truth?" I manage to get past my swollen lips.

"Definitly," Derek says with a happy glimmer in his green-ish eyes. He stands up, holding his hand out for me to take. When I do, I let him pull me up. He cups my face with his free hand, carressing my flushed cheekbone with his thumb.

"God, I have waited for this for three years," he sighs before leaning in again, and this time he takes the lead.

My arms are around his neck, one hand tugging at his hair. His hands are on my hips, his thumbs making small circles under the hem of my button up. We kiss more dirty now, and I feel that my jeans are getting a bit too thight.

Shit! Maybe he wants this to be just sweet, and... Oh!

His hands cup my ass, pushing my clothed erection against his, making us both gasp in pleasure. When his hands roam a bit lower, slowly stroking the backside of my thighs, I jump and let Derek hoist me up.

We Derek stumbles through a door, and throws me on a giant, and really soft bed. He looks down at me with blue rimmed eyes, and he lets his claws extent.

I'm not scared, not even nervous. I trust him. I love him.

He slices through my shirt, and helps me get both that and my blazer off. He carefully lifts my glasses off my nose, and sets them on the bedside table. Then he just looks at me, his eyes the weird but pretty green color again, his fingernails blunt and human.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he mumbles before he devours my lips again. He slowly descents from there, sucking, licking and kissing his way from my mouth to my ear, biting my earlobe before leaving a mark underneath it. He bites with his human teeth at the skin of my collarbone, and I almost fall apart right then and there.

He sucks on my right nipple while playing with the other with his fingers, and my hands find their ways to his hair, tugging at it, petting it. I moan unbashfully when he pulls away, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin. He lowers further, leaving a mark under my pecs, and another one on my stomach. My hips buck upwards, trying to find some friction beside the awkward feeling of underwear and denim.

I open my eyes and look down. Derek's gaze slides over my body, his mouth slack with awe when he sees the love-marks painting my skin.
His shirt is off, probably my doing, and my button and fly are undone, my straining cock ready to burst out of my black boxer briefs.

His eyes flick up to mine, him silently asking permission to keep going. I barely nod before he pulls off my shoes, socks and jeans, leaving me only in my too thight underwear.
He toes his own shoes off too, gets rid of his socks and jeans, and I can't help the moan that leave my lips when my eyes travel up and down his body.

And that's probably the worst moment to say something, but hey, it is me, Stiles Stilinski. "Three years, huh?"

Derek smiles fondly, shaking his head, leaning forward to kiss the skin on my neck.

"I think more," he says between kisses. "But it was three years ago that Scott convinced me of my feelings, and I was ready to admit to them."

"Hmm," is the only thing I can bring out, before gasping loudly when Derek palms me through my boxers.

His fingernails extent again, tearing them apart, leaving me fully naked. He takes both of our dicks in his hand (when did he get rid of his underwear?), and starts stroking them.

"Fuck, Derek," I gasp, and I hear Derek making a rumbling sound deep in his chest.

Derek comes first, with a breath hitching, "Stiles." And I follow short after with a swear.

He collapses on top of me, nuzzling my neck, leaving stuble burn all over my throat.

"Two years," I say in honesty when my breath is slow again.

"We're idiots," Derek mouths at my skin.

"We are, but I don't care."

"Neither do I. Not anymore."

We fall asleep not long after that. Derek spooning me from behind, our bodies still sticky from the drying cum, our lips still swollen from the kissing, our body's still buzzing with pleasure.

 

Chapter Text

I wake up from Derek humping my ass from behind, and it dawns to me that yesterday wasn't a dream. I wiggle my ass against Derek's morning wood, laughing cheekily when I hear him moan my name. I turn my head around, and see that Derek is still half asleep. I turn around and kiss his neck, making my own love-bite, which disappears rather quickly. I frown and suck at the same spot while rubbing my palm against Derek's erection, my fingers curling around the base of his dick.

He moans delisciously, and the sound travels straight to my own semi-hard cock. He opens his eyes, and smiles lazily. He leans forward, kissing me when he turns us so he is straddling me.

"Fuck me," Derek asks while he looks at me tentatively. I moan at the thought, and notice that my dick is now fully hard.

"Yeah, okay," I breathe out, and whine when Derek stands up, looking for lube. When he returns, I ask, "No condoms?"

"Well, since I'm a werewolf, I don't get STD's, thus I can't give you one, and I would like you to fill me up. But if..."

"God, come here," I moan and pull him in for a hard and long kiss. The thought of filling him up, him coming untouched with me still in him, makes me almost come undone.

"It's still Derek, although it is a better nickname than cute mole guy, ungh," He grunts when I roll us over, so I'm hovering above him.

"Seriously," I ask when I slick up my fingers with lube. "That is such a mood-killer." I chuckle softly when Derek's back arches when I carress his hole. "Beautiful," I whisper in his ear when my first finger slides in his pucker.

"Fuck, Stiles, get on with it!" he exclaims when my second finger is halfway.

"So impatient," I laugh, but it turns into a moan when Derek's fingers close around my dick.

I scissor my fingers to add a tird and a fourth one, just to tease him.

"Hands and knees?" I ask before getting my dick lubed up.

"No, want to see you."

"Fuck, Derek, the things you do to me." My breath hitches when I push the head of my cock to his hole, and Derek pushes back impatiently. I bite my lip when I thrust inside, slowly, letting him adjust to all of glorious little me.

"God, you're big." Okay, not so little me. I knew I had a long and thick dick, but Derek is not so far behind.

"Yeah, definitly a way better nickname." And after that I thrust forward, already hitting Derek's prostate.

"FUCK!" he yells, and his eyes fly open, blue ringed and beautiful.

Now that I've found his sweet spot, I start thrusting relentlessly, hitting it every time.

Sweet pressure is building up inside me, starting low in my back, radiating to my stomach and balls.

"Derek, I'm gonna..."

"Good, me too," and after three more thrusts, he spurts creamy white cum all over our belly's. He rakes his clawes over my back, not hard enough to hurt, but good enough to let me come. "Derek!" I exclaim when I release myself in him. I slump forward, burrying Derek under me, him nuzzling my neck.

"That was... Wow," he states, letting me nod in agreement.

"So far for lazy morning sex," I mumble before rolling off of him. "Where's the bathroom?"

He smirks. "I'm coming with you."

Once in the ensuite bathroom (which is enormous, and has four gigantic showerheads and a two-persons sink), Derek starts kissing me lazily and lovingly. He turns the shower on, letting the water run warm before we get under it. We wash eachother off, washing our own hair with Derek's shampoo (what I secretly love, smelling like Derek, that is), and toweling ourselves dry.

"Since you went all clawy on me yesterday," I begin, "I need to lend underwear and a shirt."

"Did I rip your shirt? But that looked really good on you!" He pouts. "But besides, I really like you without it as well. Maybe even better... Wait," he frowns, grabbing my shoulders and turning me around, so I'm facing the mirror. "What is that?" He touches my right shoulder, tracing the rows of theeth-marks on my bare skin. "I know about the one on your stomach" -Nogitsune, just to be clear- "but I haven't seen this one."

That is the reason why I didn't get shirtless during training sessions, because I didn't want Derek to see it.

"Well, uhm..." I hesitate. I know he won't judge, basically claiming self-defense right away, just like everyone else, Scott left aside. But I decide to tell him anyways.

"So, it was during senior year, you know, Theo and Dread Doctors and Chimeras?"

I see his reflextion nod, but he is still looking at the scar, tracing it with his fingers.

"Well, the Dread Doctors made a wendigo, and Theo sent it after me to hurt my dad for locking Donovan away. Donovan was the wendigo, by the way. I was trying to repair the jeep, near the school, and then this pain takes over. Starting at my shoulder, and just radiating through my whole body. I turned around and saw Donovan. I hit him with a wrench, and ran to the library to hide. He... He followed me, saying things to make me scared, but pissed too. He found me again, but I managed to get away again. I-I..."

"Shh," Derek says. His hands find mine, prying them open, and I don't remember when I clenched them into fists. He intertwines our fingers together and rubs his thumbs reassuringly over my skin. He rests his chin on my shoulder, and cold droplets of water meet my skin, dripping from his hair.

I take a deep breath, and continue. "I climbed up a scafolding, but he came after me and grabbed my leg. I... I couldn't get away, but then I saw a pin that was holding it all together. I pulled it out, and some of the beams fell. I was pretty relieved when I didn't feel his hands on my leg anymore, but when I looked down... A beam had went straight through him, letting him stand upright. He was still looking at me. I just ran to my jeep, not knowing what to do, and then I saw a deputy's cruiser pull up. I put on the radio, the police one I had placed in the jeep. They said that there was nothing. Nothing. I was so confused... I went inside again, and someone cleaned it up. But when I ran my fingers over one of the beams, they got wet from the blood."

Derek folds our arms around me, and he nuzzles my cheek with his nose, sometimes giving little kisses.

I tell him the rest, about Theo lying to Scott, Scott's reaction (Derek growls, and says he's going to kill him, but nods when I say that it isn't necessary), and about my dad, how certain he was about my innosence.

"I would've believed you," Derek murmurs against my shoulder, sending sparks along my spine.

"Thanks," I mumble, and let me be kissed senseless by him.

During breakfast, wearing sweats, but no shirt (breakfast courtesy, Derek said. I didn't mind that much, since Derek is shirtless too. I even catch him checking me out sometimes), I realize something, making me jump up.

"Fuck! Pack meeting today! What time is it?"

Derek jumps up as well, and searches his phone. "Fuck, it's half past two." He rushes back to the bedroom, and returns with my remaining clothes, and two extra shirts. He throws me one and I put it on, and my shoes too.

"Those shoes, Stiles..." But he doesn't finish it.

"You don't like them?"

"God, they're doing things to me."

"Derek, they are shoes..."

"I know!"

We finally make it to my apartment (Scott texted me that I dropped the keys last night, and that he left them under the dwarf), so I can change in a different shirt for the training, but when I want to pull off my shirt, strong arms trap mine against my body, and a stubly face nuzzles my neck, a growl escaping Derek's lips.

"Der? We need to hurry up..."

Another growl.

"Hey, use your words, big guy. What's wrong? Derek!"

He licks my ear, then bites it. He smells it, and then does it again, five times.

"Derek! Get off of me!" I start to wriggle in his arm-cage, but being werewolf and all, it doesn't help. So I place both my palms against his thighs, and sent a little shock through him using my power.

He jumps back, his ass hitting the ground, and when I turn around, he frowns.

"What the hell was that?!" I ask him when I finally can get my shirt off. I put on a black, long sleeved shirt, and start packing my back pack with my two laptops, some files and research, and weapons for the training before the meeting.

"Sorry," he mumbles and I turn around again, seeing that Derek is standing up, his hands in his pockets and his gaze on his shuffling feet. "My wolf... He smelled our scents being mixed together, and it can have a big effect on the wolf. I didn't mean it to happen. I think I couldn't control when you wanted to get your shirt off, it was just like you wanted to get rid of our scents being mixed together. I'm..."

"Oh, shut up," I say and pull him in for a quick but deep kiss.

We finally get to the loft, where the pack is waiting, with knowing smirks on their faces. I blush, but can't manage to hide my own smile.

"Fucking finally," I hear Lydia mutter, but I nod, which makes her smile even more. "Finally, yeah."

"Derek!" I hear Scott yell, and a hard thump, and I look over. Derek has Scott against the wall, his clawed hand on his throat.

"How could you?!" Derek growls. "How could you betray him like that?!"

Scott eyes get wide with understanding, but also red and he demands Derek to back off. Derek seems to struggle, his eyes blue, but he still has a firm grip on Scott.

"Hey, Derek," I say when I walk towards the two. When I'm standing next to Derek, I reach out for his hair, and I soothingly run in through it. "Der, it's okay," I mumble in his ear. "We went over this this morning, we are good."

Derek seems so fight a battle with himself, but eventually he looks at me. I smile at him and press a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips. His claws turn back to his blunt nails, and he quickly drops his hand from Scott's neck.

"I... I'm sorry," he says, but not looking at Scott.

"It's okay, man. I totally get it. If I were you, I already..."

"O-kay, and back to the happy times!" I exclaim and clap in my hands. "So, training..."

"Inside or ouside?" Kira asks, and I look outside. It's raining.

"Definitly outside," I say with a smirk.

"But it's raining!" Lydia whines, looking at Scott with pleading eyes.

"Yes, that's why! I want to show you guys something," I say before I grab the weapons out of my bag.

"Sorry Lyds," I say over my shoulder and grab her hand to drag her with me. When everyone is outside, I walk a bit further away from them, but motioning them with my hands to stay there.

"Okay, after this we can go back inside if you want, but I've been working on this for a while, and I finally managed to control it," I say while I raise my arms to my side, palms up. I slowly close them, and I feel the Spark in me grow to a fire. When my hands are finally closed, I let them relax again.

I stopped the rain. Midair. The droplets are just hanging there, all formed like a ball, but the water is still sort of moving. In a 1 mile radius this is happening.

"Wow," I hear Kira breathe out.

I walk towards them again, the waterdroplets that hit me leave wet, tiny stains on my clothes. "Cool, huh?" I say nonchalantly when I reach them. Scott is poking a few droplets, letting them burst into tinier ones, but they still stay afloat.

Lydia is still looking around her, her genius brain calculating how this is possible, even after all the things I've shown her previous to this.

Kira is just like Scott investigating the water balls, even going as far as poking it with her tongue. I snort.

Derek is looking at me. Just openly staring.

"What?"

"You're amazing," he says, like it is the most normal thing to say.

Grass is green, the supernatural exists, I am amazing.

The sky is blue, my dad's the sheriff, I am amazing.

Derek and I had sex, Derek has a secret boot kink, I'm blushing.

No, wait! I was amazing. Not blushing. Definitly not. No blushing going on on Stiles' face.

But I don't care. I'm amazing.

"That's what she said," Scott exclaims, snorting.

"Fuck you," I say. I raise my hands again, but with another purpose this time. I make a huge ball of rain water from the flying droplets, and push it towards Scott. The force topples him over, and the ball of water explodes when it hits him. He is lying on the ground, soaking wet.

I can't stop the laugh that excapes my mouth, and soon everyone is laughing and wiping tears of joy of their faces.

"Touché," Scott says and he tackles me to the ground. My concentration was already lost when I was laughing, so it's raining again. My back hits a muddy puddle of rainwater, and I shiver unwillingly.

I grab Scott's sides and roll us over. I grab his wrists and pin them above his head. I let tree roots sprout from the earth, and send them towards Scott and I. They circle his upperarms and wrists, and his shins and chest.

I stand up, and blow him a kiss.

"Okay, I get it, Stiles."

"You get what?"

"I... Don't actually know?" he says hesistantly.

"It's for training purposes, Scotty," I say with a smile, and turn to walk away.

"Hey, Stiles? Stiles! You're not going to leave me here, are you? Stiles!"

"Are you really leaving him there?" Derek asks amused.

"Nah, can't let him catch a cold, can I?"

Derek snorts and shakes his head fondly. "So, uh..." he starts.

"What is it, big guy?"

"Stiles! Come on, man! Didn't you train enough, now?" Scott exclaims a bit panicky.

I wave my hand, and the roots loosen before making their way back into the earth.

"Thanks, bro!"

I give him a salute in return. I look at Derek again, expectantly.

"So, I was just curious how you thought the date went?" he asks with his eyes downcast, his cheekbones reddening.

"You didn't get my reward?"

"Wait, what?"

"Well, I didn't mind kissing you, or the events after that, but if it were a terrible date, I wouldn't have done that."

"Really?" He's looking at me this time, his eyes hopeful.

"Really," I reassure him, but before I can kiss him, I here a branch cracking. Kira. I pretend to not notice it, but I slowly reach for the knife I hid in the waistband of Derek's sweats I'm still wearing. When I hear the whoosh of her katana sweeping through the air and rain, I raise the knife and use it to block the attack.

We fight for a while, no magic though, I can't always relay on that.

When we've spent two hours training, we go back to the loft to shower and change our clothes. I don't bother to ask Derek to lend me some clothes. Instead I go to his room and start the shower. I pull out a dark jeans and a white wifebeater, and when I'm finished with the shower, I notice how well it actually fits me all.

I start up the laptops and get the files.

"What are those?" Lydia asks when I pull them out of my bag.

"My dad dropped them of this morning, he wanted me to have a look at it, you know, to determine if it has a supernatural cause, or if I can figure it out."

After finishing high school and college, I helped my dad a lot with some cases, and I managed to solve some of them. Which made me feel a bit proud of my self.

"Hmm," she hums, and sits across from me to work on some job applications.

I finally open the files, and my heart almost stops when I see the photo's of the crime scenes and victims. This is way to familiar.

The first one is a girl, dead on a table, definitly one of a pathologist. She has a burn mark under her left collarbone, a number and a rectangle underneath it. In the rectangle is a scar, caused by a knife. It is a streched out x, with one... Dot, I think is the best way to explain, in every open area of the cross. Under her right collarbone is another burn mark, this time a circle with some picture in it, like a family weapon. Her mouth is sewn shut.

When I read the note attached to the photo, it says that all the blood was removed from the body.

I swallow. There are three more files, and when I go through them, I see that all four of them are between 16 and 25, all empty from blood removal, all a number and a rectangle with an x and dots under their left collarbone and all another family weapons under their right one. All their mouths sewn shut.

"Shit." I know where I have seen this before, last year in college. Three girls and one guy went missing, and two of the girls were found exactly like this.

This is a international threat, I remember my father said. The CIA and the FBI are working on it, but they want all the help they can get. Everywhere over the world 16 'till 25 year olds were kidnapped, and never returned home. A few of the victims were found, dumped with burn marks and mouths closed with threath and needle, lack of blood.

I begin to furiously type away on the laptops, one containing the beastiary, the other one some illegal hacking programs. Thanks to good ol' Danny.

I open all the programs  and type all the numbers that are burned on the victims. After a few minutes and reading the beastiary on vampires, I get a hit. A super secret website, demanding a password. Opening another program to hack into the site, I read further about the vampires. They have some sort of eye kink, something with color or something, and don't drink blood from any supernatural creatures, but they do drink the blood of...

My laptops beeps when the site opens up, letting me know the program did it's job. I read the page and my mouth falls open when I get the point of this website: it's an auction.

"Fuck," I mumble before turning back to the beastiary, reading the last paragraph.

 

Vampires can consume every mundane food, but they do not feed of it. The only thing that keeps the children of Lilith alive, is blood from humans. Supernatural blood will kill them, however, Spark's blood is a delicasy. Vampires are well known for their cruel way of consuming the blood of the Spark, and will do anything to hunt one down and keep them for their nursering, even though a Spark is extremely rare.

 

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..." I mutter when I read the paragraph over and over again. "Fuckshitshitfuck!"

"Stiles, what is it?" Lydia asks worried. I look up at her, and then around me. Everyone is staring at me, concern written across their features.

"Stiles?" Derek asks.

"The... The files... Vampires..."

I take a deep breath and try again.

"The files my father gave me, all these people whom are kidnapped, all those victims found with no blood... They're all food sources for vampires. They... The vampires can buy them on some kind of auction. The beastiary..."

My hands are shaking, but I keep myself from giving in on the panick that's building up inside my chest.

"... The beastiary says that they only drink human blood, so you're all save..."

"Wait, what do you mean with 'you', and not 'we'?" Lydia says with caution in her voice.

I take a deep breath again, and read the last paragraph of the old book.

I hear gasping sounds around me, and someone's Derek's arms encircle me, but the only thing on my mind is one thing.

...Vampires are well known for their cruel way of consuming the blood of the Spark, and will do anything to hunt one down and keep them for their nursering...

I'm so fucked.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

"What do we do now?" Scott asked, maybe a bit scared.

"Nothing," Stiles shrugs, coming to his senses again. "They didn't find me yet, even though I'm the only Spark alive, currently. And even though we want to take that auction down, it will never work. From what I've seen on the website, it is an immense, international business. We'll never be able to accomplish something like that."

"You just want to do... Nothing?" Kira says incrediously, looking at Stiles with furrowed eyebrows.

"How can we do nothing? We can't just wait until they find you, and we..."

"And we'll inform the sheriff, let him know what we're up against, and let him decide what he'll tell the feds. We just have to look around more wearily than before, making sure they won't take Stiles," I finish for her.

"It helps that he is the most powerfull Spark that ever existed," Lydia adds. I nod at her to thank her.

"We just have to make sure there's always someone with me, if that makes you happy," Stiles says. I rub his upperarms, comforting him, and it seems to works. He leans backwards, so his head lays on my stomach. He hums happily.

"Well, I don't think that'll be a problem," Scott says smirking as he looks at me, but I still feel the stress of my Alpha. "Take those hormones somewhere else, guys. It's disgusting."

"It's cute, and you think so too."

I lean over to kiss Stiles' hair, content that he's so calm after all this info.

"I'll search more on that auction and the history of vampires," he says, and he tilts his head backwards to kiss me brief on my lips.

I will never get used to the feeling of Stiles' perfect lips on my own, his breath ghosting over my skin and him in my arms.

I walk back to the sofa, and take my place again to go over some info of packs from outside Beacon Hills with Scott, but I always manage to loose my concentration to Stiles. He's typing pretty fast with his long fingers, and his mouth is slighty agape. His eyes are shining like ever, and he's worrying a pen between his teeth. I'm almost sure he has a oral fixation. I'm not complaining.

"Stop drooling," Lydia says. She puts her index- and middlefinger under my chin to close my mouth. I didn't even notice that she moved next to me.

I shake my head to clear my mind, and return my gaze back to Scott, who smiles at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Can I talk to you for a minute," he asks, and he stands up, not waiting for my answer.

I stand up too, following him and glancing over my shoulder to look at Stiles for a second. My heart flutters painfully before I turn around again.

I raise my eyebrows to let Scott know that I'm ready.

"Okay, so... Yesterday, when you called to ask me about the flowers? I actually was sort of threatening you. I mean, he's my best friend, my brother, and I know you would never intentionally hurt him, I mean, I smell your love for him and I encouraged you myself to make a move, but if you hurt him, I will kill you, True Alpha status be damned."

"Got it," I say. "So, do you maybe have an idea for another date?" I feel my cheeks begin to redden.

"Well, he likes it casual. Maybe take him to go picknick or something. Make some things for him."

"But I'm a terrible cook!" I huff out. "Do you think he'll like it if I bring Thai?"

"Sure. Make him happy, Derek. He deserves that after what he's been through. You deserve that."

"Thanks. I just realized something lately..." I look at our feet, not knowing if I actually should say it.

"What? You're not breaking up with him, are you?"

"I'm not even sure if we're there yet, but my wolf reconized him as his mate."

"That exists?!" Scott exclaims.

"Ssh! Yeah, it does. It isn't very common under changed wolfs, so you don't have to freak out."

He nods, relieved. "You should tell him."

"I'm going to, I promise."

"You really like him, don't you?"

What a stupid question. "I love him, Scott. I will do anything to make this work, to make him happy."

"Okay, good talk. Kira and I should head home, we'll take Lydia with us. Let Stiles know that he makes sure to call me if he comes home or not, okay?"

"Of course."

We walk back together, an awkward silence surrounding us. When we walk back into the living room, Stiles looks up, eyebrows raised. He definitly knew what Scott was up to.

"I found some more, but not really important things," he says. "I can't figure out where the auction place is, only that vampires are really in to dark magic stuff, and that blood tastes the best when the bloodsource is in pain." A shudder takes claim of his body. "They only drink from the torso area, the neck, arms, and sometimes face. They don't mate with their food," he makes a disgusted face everytime he uses the term 'food'. I totally get it. "Because they die pretty quickly. They use them for only a week, sometimes two. There is some weird ritual that makes sure that a heart still produces blood when the food source dies, so they don't really need the body anymore. It is done twice, and both times it didn't work.

"About the auction, I can only access the photos and prizes that are paid. It varies between 1.000 and 3.000, and the younger ones are cheaper than the older ones. That's the only thing I've got."

"Good job, bro. We should get going, huh? Come on, Lyds, you can ride with us again."

She nods and winks at Stiles. He doesn't see it, deep emerged in research again.

I need to get his mind off of this.

"You wanna go on another date?" I blurt out. Sure, Derek. Smooth.

Stiles turns around, a mischievious glint in his eyes. "Isn't it my turn to treat you on one this time?"

"No. I want to. When do you want to go?"

"Tomorrow? I mean, if that's okay with you?"

"Perfect," I answer and kiss him.

#

My hands are trembling, and my heart is almost exploding out of my chest. Fuck, I'm nervous. Just like when I wanted to ask Stiles out.

But I don't have to worry, and I know I don't have to. But my subconscious is playing games with me.

Just take deep breaths, Derek. Last time went well. Very well, according to Stiles' reward he gave me.

I walk up to the apartment and ring the bell. I hear Stiles yell something to Scott and Kira, probably about seeing them later. Then the door opens, and my breath catches in my throat.

He looks perfect. He's wearing dark jeans, and a white button up with a red hoodie, and red converses. He has glasses on, the black ones.

"You look perfect," I tell him.

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. He ducks his head away, and I reach my hand out to his chin to lift his head.

"I mean it. You always look beautiful." I lean in to kiss him. He kisses back, shyly.

"Go on your date already!" Scott yells through the door. "Kiss there, not here!"

"Speak for yourself, Scott! Kira and you are always eye fucking, so shut up!" I yell back, and when I look at Stiles again, his eyes are big with surprise, but his lips are quirked up in a grin.

"Shall we?" he asks, and I nod, reaching out for his hand. He grabs it, and smiles again.

How did I ever end up with this perfect human-being? How did he ever said yes to me?

I stop the car at the edge of the preserve, a few miles away from the place where we're heading.

"Becoming one with nature, huh?" Stiles smirks, and he lets a few low hanging branches move out of our way.

"Funny," I reply, and look up to the sky, noticing that the sun is setting. Perfect.

"Okay, I want you to close your eyes," I say when we're a few feet away from the spot, but still behind some trees so Stiles doesn't see it yet.

He nods and moves in front of me, his back facing my way. He reaches for my hands and places them on his hips. "Okay, don't let me fall."

"I would never." I push him forward, and I walk a bit longer than necessary. Stiles, the impossible smart guy that he is, notices.

"Der, where are you taking me?"

"Surprise," I say. "Stiles?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it weird that I get turned on when you say my name like that?"

He laughs, hard. When it dies into chuckles, his hands sneak up to mine and he squeezes. "When I call you Der?"

"Well, not all the time, but sometimes when you say it in a specific way."

"Like when you say my name all growly? I like it when you do that," he admits.

I lean closer to his ear, and do exactly what he likes. He gasps, and slaps my hand with his.

"You're such a tease," he grins. "When are we there? You know I'm curious, and I can't keep my eyes closed for long..."

"Well, good thing that you can open them now," I say when I let him stop at the picnic place.

He opens his eyes, and his mouth falls open when he takes everything in. There is a thick blanket spread out on the forest ground, a few containers and tupperware boxes littering the checkered blanket. Two wine glasses and two sorts of wine and some beers in a cooler next to the strawberries covered in Nutella.

But his eyes widen when he sees the view. It is all of Beacon County, Beacon Hills closest, and the other towns in the distance. All turning their lights on with the fast approaching night.

My wolf bounces happily inside my chest when it's mate turns around and kisses the hell out of me.

"Jeez, Derek, you're such a sap."

I blush, and quickly sit down on the blanket. Stiles follows me a nit hesitantly.

"You did brought lights, right?"

"Fuck." I didn't think of that at all. My wolf-vision improves my sight when it's dark, and I didn't...

"Hey, it's okay..."

"No, it's not! How did I forget such a thing?! God, I'm so sorry!"

"No, no! Don't apologise! It's okay, I swe-"

"But you can't see a thing!"

He smiles, and suddenly his skin lights up. He rolls up his sleeves, and the light forms into balls above his skin, leaving him glowing for a few seconds before returning normal. The light balls float through the air so the fly above and around us, illuminating us enough so Stiles can see properly.

"You won't ever stop amazing me, will you?" I ask, my eyes big in amasement.

He just rolls his eyes, but I see the blush creeping up his face. Fuck, he's beautiful.

"So, I have to tell you something..."

"Okay, why does it sound like a bad thing?"

"Well-"

"Oh shit," he says, and I can smell his panic. "You don't want to see me anymore, do you? I fucked up already, like I always do, huh?"

He's rambling, and everytime I want to open my mouth to say something, he starts to vomit words out of his mouth.

"You know, all that 'close your eyes' and those sweet kisses yesterday aren't making this easier. It was a shitty move, Derek! And all that flirting we did on the way here..."

With every few sentences, a light ball quivers and then pops, just like a real light bulb. I can smell his insequreness, his dissapointment in himself and the sadness.

"And I get that you don't want to be with me, I mean, why would anyone want to be with me? Look at you, and it's not just the outside, damn it. I'm such a fuck up!"

He finally stops to take a breath, and I take the opportunity immediatly.

"Stiles, you're not a fuck up, and what I don't get is that you think so lowly of yourself! You're the best that ever happened to me, and we've been dating for two days! And all those kisses and flirting? I meant it, Stiles. And if you want, because I want it so bad... I want us to be in a relationship. What I wanted to say is, you're my mate, Stiles. And I want this to work, and I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy with me."

Then it's quiet. He looks at his hands, a few shaky breaths escape his lips.

"You know I'm not a werewolf, right? I don't know it when you're lying." He looks up, his eyes shining and hopeful.

"Do you trust me?" I just ask him. He nods.

"Then you have to trust me that I'm telling the truth." And I lean forward, capture his lips in a sweet and chaste kiss. I'm really relieved when his lips pout to kiss me back.

Chapter Text

It's been two months, a week and three days since our first date, and Stiles practically lives at my place. He wears my clothes, and I wear his, he has a toothbrush in the bathroom, and he has a second pillow here, because he can't sleep really well with another one. Well, he does sleep pretty well when he uses my chest as one. Not complaining though.

Now, he is doing exactly that. His eyes are still closed, and I feel his chest expand against my ribs when he takes breaths. My hand wanders through his thick hair, and he sighs happily when nuzzling farther in my chest.

He took the news on the mate thing pretty well. He just didn't believe it. He believed that werewolfs, especially born ones, have mates, he just didn't believe that someone would choose him as one. And it made me angry.

I yelled at him. Pretty hard, but I just couldn't let him think he didn't deserve this, that he wasn't worth anything. He made it clear that he thought the opposite, but after me yelling at him, and then kissing him fiercely, he shut up. I don't really know if it changed his mind.

Four more people went missing in the US, and twenty more all around the world. Six were found the exact same as the other ones, drained of blood, mouth stitched shut, burn marks littering their bodys. It was a relief that none of those people went missing or were found in Beacon Hills and towns close by. Stiles was safe, and I tend to keep it that way.

I hear Stiles' heartbeat increase its speed, and I feel his eyelashes flutter against my skin. I look over at him, smiling when his beautiful eyes settle on me, still half closed because of sleep. He smiles back, and kisses my chest.

"Morning," he says, and my heart flutters when I hear his raspy, sleepy voice.

"Hey," I say back, and kiss him on his head.

"Want me to make pancakes? Or want to go to the diner?" He asks as he sits up, his fists rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, just like a toddler.

"Pancakes sound good. Yours are way better than Sally's."

He smirks. "Just want another round, huh?"

"Maybe, your pancakes are a turn-on."

"Pff," he huffs, and laughs when he jumps off the bed as I reach for him.

I hear the clangs of pans, and the cupboards and fridge open and close a few times, and then the smell of pancakes and strawberries fill my nose. When I inhale deeper, the smell of mate, of Derek&Stiles, of pack linger in my nostrils.

And I realize something. Something pretty important.

I am happy.

I jump out of bed, put on some flannel pajama pants without bothering to put any underwear on, and I rush toward Stiles.

He stands there, flipping pancakes, wearing his own sweats and one of my henlys, his bedhead adorable, his glasses askew on his nose.

I wrap my arms around his waist, and burry my nose in his neck where his hairline is. I hum, and just keep scenting him.

"Derek, are you purring?"

"No, I am happy."

"You said what now? Did the big bad wolf just said he was happy..."

"Is," I interrupt him. "Is, all because of you."

He sighs, and opens his mouth as if to say something, but I lay my hand over his lips and he can feel him rolling his eyes.

My chin rests on his shoulder, and I admire how his long fingers are wrapped around the spatula. I reminds me of last night, and the night before, and of the first night together.

"I'm so lucky," I murmer against his ear, and he shivers. He hums against my hand, and I chuckle. "I didn't know that I could have this, ever. This is different than all the others,
better than all the others. Thank you."

He wraps his free hand around my wrist, pulls my hand away. "It has nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you."

"God, you're such a sap, Derek. Now, get the plates and tea, pancakes are almost ready."

"Sir, yes, Sir," I yell in his ear, and he jumps in my arms before hitting me. I chuckle again, and turn away to set the table.

When Stiles places the plate with pancakes on the table, just like the strawberries, I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"What? Do I stink?" He sniffs his armpits, and I quirk my other eyebrow.

"Breakfast dress code?" I ask him, and he laughs, open mouthed and hard.

"Dude, I'm wearing your shirt. I thought you liked that?"

"Of course, but I like you even better without."

He huffs and rolls his eyes before ripping the shirt off and throwing it at my head. I smirk at him, but he ignores me (with a smile on his face, doesn't go unnoticed), and he starts to get some pancakes and strawberries.

After breakfast Stiles lets me clean up the table while he showers. And when he walks in the room, all naked and wet, smelling of arousal, I drop a plate.

I pick him up and throw him over my shoulder, and fuck him senseless after I dropped him on the bed. We both shower afterwards, and lay lazily on the couch while watching Batman, The Dark Knight.

After an hour, the alarm of the building startles us fully awake. We both jump off the couch, ready to fight.

The door slams open, and gas fills the room. I wrap my arms around Stiles, keeping him close. I look around, but can't see a thing. Then Stiles gets pulled out of my grasp, and I can't do anything about it. The gas is somesort of mistletoe, making me as weak as a human.

What concerns me the most is that Stiles can't use his powers when he's in touch with mistletoe as well.

I get pushed to my knees, and when the fog clears, I see a circle of mountain ash surrounding me.

Fuck.

Stiles is a couple of feet away, just like me on his knees, but his hands bound behind his back, and his nose bleeding. A man holds him down, an empty syringe in his right hand, his left hand thightly wound in Stiles' hair.

"So, you're the Spark, huh? You don't disappoint me. Not at all."

My head whips to the right, where a female is sitting on the sofa like she fucking owns this place.

I growl at her, and she just tsks at me before turning to Stiles again, her eyes raking over his face. Then she stands up, and stalks over to him. She wipes the blood from his face, and licks it off her thumb. "I'm not a vampire, but you do taste deliscious."

"You do know how creepy that sounds, right? It does suit your bitch face, though. It's just a shame that you're not accomplishing anything with it."

It earns him a smirk, and a, "It's a shame we have to stitch your mouth shut, isn't it, Wolfy? It's just that those bloodsuckers don't like their donors to speak."

Stiles mimicks my scowl, but he doesn't say anything. His head is yanked back, and the woman shines a blue-ish light in his eyes, and her mouth opens in a silent 'o'.
Then she trails a finger down his chest, and up again but now taking the hem of his shirt with it.
"Perfect," she mumbles when she smooths her hand over his muscled stomach and chest.

"Get the fuck away from him," I growl.

"Ha, you're pretty funny, Eyebrows. Do you know how many he's worth? Thousands, thousands of dollars. I'm not going to let that go." She pouts her lips, clicks her tongue again. "Unfortunatly, I can't keep you myself, Handsome."

Stiles huffs and glares at her, and the man yanks his head back.

"Fuck you," Stiles spits at the guy. He starts to struggle against the grip and rope, but it earns him a punch on his jaw, making him fall and spit blood.

The woman takes his glasses, tosses them in my direction, but not far enough to brake the line of mountain ash. Then she nods at the man, and he takes a cloth and bottle out of his pocket.

Chloroform.

I start to slam against the invisible barrier, shouting Stiles' name, howling for the pack to come and help, but it doesn't help a thing.

"Get the hell off of me!" Stiles yells when the woman gets a grip on his hair, pulling him up again. The man puts the cloth against his mouth and nose, and I hear Stiles holding his breath. The woman isn't happy, and kicks him in the stomach, and Stiles gasps for air. Then his eyelids start to droop, his heartbeat slowing down. Eventually he goes limp, and the guy picks him up and swings him over his shoulder.

The woman winks, and lets another mistletoe bomb go off.

The last thing I notice is the smell of burned popcorn, like fire.

How fucking ironic

#

"Derek? Derek, come on, man! Wake up!"

I bolt upright, my eyes frantically searching the room for my mate, but I already know I won't find him here.

"Fuck," I gasp when realisation hit me. He is gone.

Stiles is gone.

"Derek! Hey!"

I look up in Scott's red eyes, filled with worry and confusion. Rage too, probably because of the strange scents in the loft.

But... There are no scents accept for the ones of the people here, not even Stiles'.

"No, no... NO!" I slam my clawed hand hard against the floor, eyes tearing up.

"They took him! Two fucking humans took him to that auction..." I whisper, a lump forming in my throat. I stand up, too fast, but I don't really care. "We have to find him!" I yell, turning around where the whole pack is standing.

"We will," Scott says.

I huff, tears now steadily leaking from my eyes. The seperation is killing me.

"We will, Derek. We will do everything to find him."

I nod.

"I know. I just want to find him alive..."

 

Chapter Text

Wake up, Handsome," I hear someone shout in my ear before a bucket of ice cold water get dumped above my head. I gasp, water filling my nose, mouth and eyes, and I panick for a second. Then I remember what happened, and I am determined to not show them my panick, my fear.

I finally catch my breath, and open my eyes. The blonde woman is standing before me, and a few men and women are standing behind her, staring at me. I look down, and see that I'm strapped to a chair, a metal one. It seems to be some sort of advanched dentist chair, one that can recline. That doesn't really sooths the panicky feeling in my chest. The cuffs are patted ones, like the ones in Eichen House.

I'm also strapped from my shirt, and my feet are still as bare as they were when they took me. My sweats are changed to dark blue skinny jeans, and I can't see really well because of the lack of glasses or contacts.

Fucking perfect.

I shiver when cold water droplets roll down my bare torso, drenching my jeans and hair.

"Not so talkative, are we now?" The woman says, and I shoot her a with hate filled glare. "It is still a shame to ruin those pretty lips," she says, and she strokes my bottom lip with her thumb. I turn my head away, but she gribs my jaw and forces my mouth open, and pushes a ball of cloth inside.

"We can't have it that you tear those stitches, can we? Don't worry, you'll get them when we're done with this."  She pats my cheek, and motions to a few people behind her to come closer. One of them tilts my chair backwards, so I'm lying flat on my back, and another brings a bucket forward, steam coming out of it.

Shit, they're going to burn me. I start to trash against the restraints, but a couple of men hurry towards me and hold me still. The iron is hovering in my sight, and then hot pain is surging through my body. Tears well in my eyes, and broken screams and sobs are muffled by the gag.

But it isn't over: they only burned the rectangle in my skin.

I hear the sissle of hot iron meeting water, and before I know it, the numbers are burned into my skin. I get dizzy, and fear strikes me when snot gathers in my nose. I'm going to black out.

Yep, there it is. Darkness. And I welcome it willingly.

#

When I open my eyes again, dull pain pulses from every inch of my body. My head is thumping in sync with my heart, and it seems that at every beat, my head hurts more.

I shake my head a bit, trying to get rid of the cloudy vision, but it doesn't help. I want to lick my lips, but pain errupts from my lips when my tongue isn't able to escape my mouth. I taste blood, and dread built in my stomach.

They did it.

They shut me up with fucking needles and treaths.

Didn't know it was possible to actually let me stop talking.

Now I notice the cloth around my mouth to catch the blood from the little punture wounds, and when I look down to my shoulder, I see gauze covering the burns.

I'm sitting on my knees, my hands cuffed behind my back around a pole. When I look around, I see other people sitting just like me, white cloth around their heads and gauze on their shoulders. There are three girls and one other guy, all looking at me.

I almost greet them, but when I want to open my mouth, I groan in pain. I look around me again, but don't notice anything to help me escape. I look for my powers deep inside me, but all I feel is emptyness, void.

How ironic.

A door to my left opens, and I whip my head to the side. The woman walks in, an IV in hand. She stalks over to me, ruffles my hair. Then she lines up the IV and connects it to my artery in my elbow.

I raise my eyebrows at her, demanding answers. And to my surprise, she does answers me. "We have a specialist in herbs and spells. Not a Spark, since you're the only one alive, but like a Druid. He stuffed you up with potions and poisons and herbs and spells, making sure you can't use your magic, that you won't have needs to eat or drink, nor need bathroom breaks. You will stay exactly like you are now, like the time stops. We also made sure your troath won't ever heal again. You are not able to speak ever again." She looks at me, caresses my cheekbone, and slides a necklace around my neck. I look down, and see a name on the metal square. I looks a bit like a soldier's chain with their info on it, but now it is to show others to whom I 'belong'.

"I'm really glad I found you, you know? I'm already getting looks from others, jealous and admiring. You're going to earn me some money, Handsome." She pets my cheek and leaves the room. When she walks by the others, they flinch away. When she turns and waves at me, I just roll my eyes.

#

I don't know how many days and nights go by, I just sleep restlessly, not really resting because of the constant pain. Sometimes the woman pays us a visit to change the IV bag, which contains the poison that leaves me weak and unable to use my Spark.

I often dream of the pack, my dad and Melissa, Derek. I'll always have hope that they'll find me, that they'll save me and take me back home. But everytime I wake up, a little bit of hope seems to fade away.

The woman pulls me out of my thoughts. "Goodmorning, Handsome. You healed beautifully. So it's time now. Make me proud!"

Chapter Text

Two months. Two months since they took Stiles. And we haven't found anything that can lead us to him.

I'm going out of my mind. My wolf is restless, whining and bouncing relentlessy against my chest, trying to escape and take over my sanity. It succeeds sometimes.

When it happens, I howl and growl and run through the woods fully shifted, going crazy with pain that is taking claim over my heart. I won't return for over two days, and I'll be exhausted when I return to the loft.

Sometimes I go back to the apartment in Beacon Valley, sitting on the piano chair, letting my fingers brush the keys, remembering the beautiful song Stiles played the night of our first date.

Or I'll go to his apartment, sniffing his clothes and bed, scent almost gone after such a long period of time.

Other days I just lie in my bed, hugging his pillow and crying silently.

Lydia hasn't screamed yet, which is a relief and a burden. And confusing: he's been missing for over two months, but Stiles' research is saying that vampires don't let their human blood sources survive for over a week, two tops.

But today is a searching day. We all know that he could be anywhere, like Europe or Russia. We let Danny help, the sheriff makes sure every minute a police squad is still searching for his baby boy, the wolves, Malia and I run miles outside of town, desperatly searching for a scent.

But no avail.

Telling the sheriff was hard. Even though Stiles and I made sure to eat dinner twice a week with his dad and Melissa, it was hard to call him and say what had happened.

I heard sobs leaving his mouth, Melissa quickly coming to him, asking for a problem. I hung up then, being on the edge of tears myself. I couldn't bring myself to stop by, to leave the loft with Stiles' scent still lingering in the bedsheets, in his clothes, on my skin.

I couldn't bring myself to care for the emotions of the pack, to look if everything was allright, because I knew it wasn't. It still isn't.

When Lydia is around, everyone is even more on edge, looking at her every now and then. She has a emotional tether with Stiles, and sometimes a tear slips past her eyelids, and she just shakes her head, let us know that it isn't Stiles' pain she feels, just her own regardinghis kidnapping.

I just feel so empty, incomplete, void. I know Stiles will never forgive me if I won't get over it someday. I know he will haunt my dreams, like he does every night, but then angry and sad, and not smiling and laughing like he does now.

I won't give up. Lydia hasn't screamed, so hope is still there.

And if she does scream, I won't stop looking for his body, I won't stop my wolf from taking over.

I won't stop myself from killing myself, even though I'm slowly dying already.

This is how heartbrake feels like, doesn't it?

Chapter Text

Before the woman slips a blindfold on, I get a glance at her digital watch, and see the date. I suck in my breath when I count in my head how long I've been here.

Two months. Two fucking months.

I get restless when the cloth around my mouth gets removed and I get hauled up on my feet.

"So, the blindfold is for the surprise. The vampires have some sort of sick eye fetish." Was that where the light was for? "It is always fun to watch their reactions when we pull it off. Just like the blood reveal; they smell the blood faintly because of the mistletoe barrier, but when we cut the donors, the bids will always end up higher. The pretty face and body help as well, of course."

I get manhandled through a door, my now healed shoulder bumping the doorpost. My toes catch on a bump in the floor, and I almost trip over it. Someone with strong hands - definitly a guy whom I didn't notice walking with us - grabs my biceps and prevents me from falling.

A few minutes later I get pushed to the floor again, and my wrists which were still bound behind my back, are chained to the floor behind me. The woman leans over to whisper in my ear.

"So, we're going to get the others, and then the fun will start!"

'The fun' is, like everyone would have espected , is not quite fun. I hear people walk by, appreciating noises coming out of their mouths, camera's clicking, and pens scribbling down on paper.

I also hear people talking, some American or British, but also some other languages, like German I think: "Hij is perfect! Hij zal toch niet-?"

"Volgens mij wel. Zijn bloed ruikt veel beter and lekkerder dan die van de anderen. Hoeveel wil je aan hem uitgeven?"

"Zoveel als nodig is."

And why does German always sound so threatening and angry? But after a few more people, I realize it wasn't German, but Dutch. It would just be really helpful to know what everyone is saying.

My knees are killing me. The weight that they are supporting on the hard ground is only making it worse. The constant pain and throbbing of my whole body isn't really getting better.

As I'm sitting there, I start thinking. It's been two months. Two months since I saw the pack last, including Dad, Melissa and Derek. Two months since I had real food, water. Since I could us my magic. Since I could still talk and move.

Since I could do anything at all.

What still worries me, is that it's been two months, yes, but that I haven't been found yet. Derek and Malia are great searchers, the best of the pack. Maybe they didn't find a scent trail. Maybe I'm underground.

Maybe I'm being held abroad.

I suddenly get pulled upright, and I sway a little because of my knees and my sleeping feet.

"Oh, come on, Handsome, no need to exagerrate. Ready to earn some money?"

A hand slips in my hair a grips tight around the strands, and steers me to another room. I hear a lot of mumbling and I can practically feel the anticipation humm in the air.

"17 year old female, white." I hear. A man with a typical auction leader voice is peaking in a microphone, and the room falls silent. "Bloodtype B postive. Scars on left hipbone from a hockey incident. We start at 100..."

She finally gets bought for just 500, which is weird, because most people got bought for a 1000 or more, 3000 the max. But when the man said, "Blindfold!", the bids got higher.

"24 year old male, black. Bloodtype O. 300?"

"700!"

"700? 900! Yes, that man there! A 1000? No? Blindfold!"

Approving mumbling fills the silence.

"1200? 1400? Last change! Sold to number 340, Redrick Clan!"

Some more mumbling, shuffling, and then a hand closes around my bicep. I get lead up a few steps, and then pushed to my knees again. My wrists are buckled to the ground as well, and the hands that gripped me are gone, but I feel the presence still behind me.

"22 year old male, white. Bloodtype AB negative. Only living Spark..."

A lot of gasps fill the room, and I just let my head hang, my chin to my chest.

"...Wendigo scar on right shoulder, slice scar on abdoman. Nogitsune survivor."

My head snaps up, and my heart skips several beats.

How?!

 

Chapter Text

"We'll start at $3000!"

"8!"

"12!"

I don't really pay much attention now, still in shock of them knowing me and the Nogitsune possession. Like, what??? How???

"Blindfold!" the guy yells, and I get startled out of my thoughts fast enough to remember shutting my eyes. Someone pulls it off, and I hear some snickers from the vampires for keeping my eyes closed.

"Smartass," someone says and he grabs my hair roughly and pulling on it, making my eyes open in surprise and pain.

Murmurs and more gasps fill the room, and the bids get higher and higher.

"20,000!"

"20,000 has been bidden. 50,000?"

"Here!"

"No! 75!"

Holy shit. My head is spinning with the numbers, and my eyes dart from one side to the other. The room is just as big as the lacrosse field at Beacon High, and it's packed. Every inch of the room is filled with vampires, lust and hunger in their eyes, all staring at me.

"75,000! Lets get a bloodsample, huh?"

Someone holds me down, firm hands pressing on my shoulders, making me unable to shift in my spot. I look and see a man walking toward me with a knife in his hand. He slowly lowers it, and then a hot sting is spreading through my shoulder. A cross is carved in my skin, and- holymotherofgod, that fucking hurts! The man is twisting the knife in my skin, making the dots in the empty places of the x.

"Let's see if we can bring some more money in! 8-"

"1,000,000!"

My head snaps up again, searching for the face that belongs to the voice.

What the actual hell is happening here?!

"I... Uh, 1,000,000. Anyone higher? One and a half?"

"Here!"

"1,750,000!"

No, no, no, no!

"1,750,000! Going once..."

No!

"Going twice..."

I start struggling again, and the burning heat in my gut, the feeling if my Spark, is starting to spread through my entire body. I have to use it now!

"Sold to Javish Clan for 1,750,000 dollars!"

Now-

A syringe is plunged in my neck, and I feel the electrifying liquid mix with my blood.

This had been my chance, and I couldn't use it.

Blackness is seeping in my vision, starting to blurr the edges before consuming my whole mind.

#

I wake up, not really awake. Not really rested. I'm not sleeping since I've been here, just falling in and out of consciousness.

I squeeze my eyes before opening them again, and I realize that I'm not in the same room that I'm used to. The walls are different, not as many chains and rings on the walls, and not as dark.

When I shift slightly, I feel my right shoulder burn. I look at it, and see gauze covering the skin under my collarbone.

They marked me again, now with a family weapon.

"Great, you're awake," the woman says when she enters my vision. "I want you to meet someone, Handsome. He paid some serious money to get to 'know' you, after all."

I just roll my eyes, but let my gaze slide to the very intimidating man standing next to the woman. I let my eyes project all the hate and fire I have in me.

"He has some fire in him, doesn't he?" the man asks, and I recognize the deep voice immediatly. God, I hate him already.

"Hell yeah. Before he got silenced, he had some wit and sarcasm ready to use."

"Cute." The man clicks his tongue before grabbing my chin forcefully, sniffing my neck, sliding his nose along my cheek. When he pulls away, his eyes are sickly dark red, not red like Scott's. His fangs are out, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. His hand disappears behind his back, to come back with a long and probably sharp. He smiles, looking feral and psychotic, and he gribs my hair.

Like, do they also have a hair-grib fetish or something?

The knife cuts in my left cheekbone, and I feel my blood seep from the wound. The man looks pleased, his gaze following the blood. My blood. He hands the knife over to the woman, and stalks back to me, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.  He crouches in front of me, places his hands on my neck and other cheek possessively. Then he licks the trail of blood from my neck, all the way to the torn open skin on my face. He sucks at it, and his fangs are digging in my skin. Pain radiates through my body, and my eyes roll back in my head as the man groans. His nails break my skin and if I could scream, I would. Icy painpricks start to stab me form the inside out, and I begin to black out. Luckily.

Chapter Text

I wake up from Danny gasping and mumbling, "Fuck, no..."

Lydia and Scott come running toward him, and both have tears in their eyes when they look at the laptop screen.

"Whazzit?" I ask while I rub my eyes. I walk toward the trio, and nearly collapse when I look at the screen. It has the auction site on it, and a photo of Stiles. Danny scrolled not far enough, so I only see the top half of his face. Next to the picture is a small text:

White male
22 years old
Bloodtype AB negative

"Scroll down," I order. There is a sentence beneath the last one, but I'm not able to read it.

"I don't thi-"

"Scroll. Down. Now."

Danny does, and my knees almost give out. Stiles' prefect, full lips, that mouth that's always laughing, smirking, is now sewn shot. It makes him look... Not like Stiles. His eyes are dull and he looks barely alive. Well, he looks well fed, still as muscled as he was. His face is clean shaven and his torso is bare. He got those burnmarks on both shoulders, and his hair looks as soft as always.

Wait! There! It is small, barely recognizeable, but still there: a glitter of hope, determined, but full of hate at the same time. But that little spark of aliveness in his eyes makes me believe that the old Stiles is still there, in the shell of his body and skin. My Stiles is still there.

The other sentences make me gasp again.

Only living Spark and Nogitsune survivor
Bought by Javish Clan
1,750,000 American dollars

Those numbers make me dizzy with confusion and dread. If they want him so badly, he is in danger. Even more danger than we thought he was.

I keep looking at that little spark in his eye, the Stiles-ness of it is so beautiful I want to cry. He wants to survive. He wants to come back to us. He isn't giving up. Thank god.

"Danny, find everything on that Clan. We need to find him."

"I know. And we will."

I nod curtly before rubbing my eyes to prevent the tears from falling. When I look up, I see them roll on Scott's and Lydia's cheeks. I step toward them and ingulve them in a hug, a Hale Hug, like the ones me and my family did before the fire.

#

I'm standing in front of the Stilinski house, gathering my courage to walk in and talk to the Sheriff. In the two months Stiles is gone, I visited him two times every week. We eat together and talk about the progress on the search of his son. But everytime I'm about to walk in, a silent fear to be rejected, to be looked at as if it is my fault, because it is. I mean, I couldn't protect our Stiles.

I shake my head and walk in without knocking, which is apperently a thing I can just do. I smell liquor, but not too much. Good. The sheriff told me that he used to drink a lot, enough to need Stiles to help in into bed. He says he's ashamed of it, that he wans't the father his son needed. But that Stiles has forgiven him, even though he doesn't really deserve it. But he doesn't want to dissapoint Stiles again, so he doesn't drink too much. I'm proud of him.

"Derek? Hello, son! Want to call for pizza?" The sheriff yells from upstairs.

"Sure! The usual?"

"Sure thing! I'll be down in a minute!"

"Okay, don't hurry!" I grab my phone, silently begging to have recieved a message of the pack, updating me on Stiles, but nothing. So I'll call for pizza, nodding to the sheriff when he walks in and to the kitchen. I hang up and walk to the kitchen as well, leaning against the counter.

"Pizza will be here in half an hour."

"Great. So, did you dream again? Yeah, me too," he says when I nod. We both suffer from Stiles-centric dreams.

"I need to tell you something. I can show you, but I don't think that's a good idea..."

"What is it?"

"We found a lead on Stiles."

"You did?" He asks as he falls down on a kitchen chair.

"Danny did. Well, Stiles did. Sort of. He was the one to find out about the auction because of the site. We've been keeping an eye on it, and this morning..."

"Stiles has been bought, hasn't he."

I nod. "Because he's a Spark, they paid a lot-"

"How much?"

"Sheri-"

"For God's sake, Derek! Call me John and for how much?!"

"1,750,000."

"And the normal was a 1,000 till 3,000. Jesus."

"We found out who bought him. A clan named Javish. Danny and Lydia are searching right now."

"Thank you, Derek. This means a lot to me."

"I know. I couldn't do it over the phone again. I'm still sorry for that."

"It's okay. I'm glad you didn't, son. Now, lets set the table before the game starts. Still a Mets fan?"

"Since Stiles 'insisted' on that I had to wear one of his blue and orange shirts."

"There's a story behind it, right?"

I sigh. "Yes, there is." There definitly is.

#

I get back to the loft late in the evening, but Scott, Lydia, Danny, Kira and Malia are still up. Wait, Kira and Malia?

"Hey Derek," Kira waves before turning back to her own laptop again. Malia doesn't even react, so I just nod to Kira before walking further in the loft.

Danny is still researching with Lydia. "Did you guys find anything?" Please, say yes!

"No. I'm sorry. Those vampires are all about privacy. I can't even find any bank records or phone data with that name. It's like they're invicible!" Danny huffs. His eyes are slightly drooping, and he has dark circles under his eyes, same as Lydia.

"You guys need to sleep," I say.

Lydis scoffs, and Danny rolls his eyes. "We haven't tried everything yet! Just give us-"

"No. You're tired, and you can't focus that well anymore. You can miss things. Just get some sleep and we'll continue tomorrow." My heart and wolf howl 'NO! We need to find him, NOW!', but my mind knows this is the best decision. I need some sleep too, to be honest.

They all nod, and stand up and walk to their bedrooms on the second floor. I wish them a good night before walking to my own bedroom, the one I shared with Stiles. I slip off my clothes and don't even bother to brush my teeth.

#

I don't remember waking up, but when Danny exclaims he knows where Stiles is being kept, I forget about it. We need to drive for five hours, amd we stop sometimes to rest and go for bathroom breaks, but after 15 minutes we are on the road again.

"How long again?" Scott asks for the 40th time or so.

"Half an hour," I say, sighing, and before I know it, I stop beside an abandoned building. How cliché.

I storm out of the car and into the building. It surprises me that there are no vampires in the building we have to fight off, but it doesn't really bothers me. I run through the house, searching for a basement. Then I find a stairwell, and I descent it with three steps at once. I open the door and my heart stops.

Stiles, slumped against a wall, chained up and bloody. He lifts his head, and his eyes become like saucers. Relief and disbelief dance in his eyes, letting his eyes brimm with tears.

I run toward him, falling to my knees in front of him. My hands cup his cheeks, and I let my forehead rest against his. Sobs leave my mouth, and I press a kiss on his temple before I lean over him to untie his wrists. He falls against me, his whole posture shaking.

I take his hands in mine, and it feels weird instead of reassuring. I look at our intertwined hands...

#

...and I shoot up in my bed, screaming. Sweat is running down my torso and temples, and tears are falling from my eyes. I look down at my hands, counting ten fingers instead of twelve.

Again.

 

Chapter Text

Everything hurts. What a surprise.

I'm here for a few weeks now, I think: minutes turn into hours, turn into days, into weeks, into months?

The feeding is terrible, and excruciatingly painful. I almost always black out in the middle of it, waking up clean and achy.

Today is no difference.

"My pretty boy," Charles, the guy who bought me, sing songs when he slams the door of the basement open. Like, how cliché can it gets? Chained up in a fucking basement. I swear if I could still talk, I would've been immediate friends with the spiders.

"Hey!" Myla, a girl around the age of seven, waves, and her aunt Stephanie just looks like she's going to devour me. Which she's probably going to do.

"I have to say, you're doing surprisingly well," Charles drawls and he kneels in front of me. They have me positioned just like I had been at the auction place, on my knees, wrists chained to the ground behind me. They have some weird magic I never heard of before, chanting some mysterious spell that made me freeze up, letting me sit up straight (except for my head: they like to tug painfully on my hair to let it tilt to a different side, so they can reach every part of my neck. Creepers), and never able to move, like, at all. I hate it.

Charles starts to stroke my jaw and the side of my neck while Myla latches on my left bicep immediatly, making swirling lines in my skin with her sharp nails and the butterfly knife she brought with her. Stephanie sits behind me, drawing symbols with her finger between my shoulderblades, and if I could shiver, I would do it violently.

"You've been here for like, five weeks? And you're still not dead. That's quite an accomplishment. You should be proud."

I roll my eyes before I groan of the pain that is Myla's doing. Fuck that kid, seriously.

"Nuh uh, not closing those golden eyes of yours," Charles mocks and slaps me hard across the face. "Good boy."

And why does this remind me of that weird sub and Dom culture from BDSM? Oh, yeah, because it is, just not with the sex. How could I forget?

Stephanie suddenly stabs me in the shoulder with what seems to be a freaking kitchen knife, tearing through muscles and skin, taking the knife out slowly and twisting. My grunts and moans of pain seem to fill the entire room, echoing of the wall and thrumming in my own ears.

"That's it," Charles chuckles. "My pretty boy." And he latches on my throat, licking and sucking a fucking hickey like the pervert he is before biting with his human teeth, drawing blood.

Yes, they do have fangs. And magical spit. Just like a musquito, drinking and giving pain instead of itching in return. The fluid feels like electricity and needles are walking hand in hand through your veins. Fantastic, isn't it?

No. It fucking isn't.

I feel the saliva of the vampires mixing with my blood, rushing to my heart to be pumped through my whole body. My head is pounding in sync with my heart, and it seems that each day it keeps getting worse, and at first I didn't believe that your head could explode, but it surely feels like it could at any given moment.

Myla stops, licking one last stripe from my elbow to my shoulder, almost like scent marking, and burps loudly. Like, seriously, manners?

"You were deliscious!" she exclaims and pets my head. Then she skips to the stairs disappearing to go sleep in her coffin or something like that.

Stephanie humms against my skin before licking her way to my lower back, nipping at the place between the two dimples on either side of my spine. It's her favorite place, I discoverd. She takes the knife with her, unfortunatly, and starts twisting it slowly in my back. The pain feels unbareable, mainly because Charles is cutting with his fangs in the skin covering my sternum now, and I close my eyes again.

Darkness seeps between my eyelids, swirling like smoke. Getting cloudier and cloudier until black is all I see. And then I see and feel nothing.

#

Two weeks go by, and I feel myself weaken by the very second. I can't feel my legs anymore, my muscles don't comply anymore (I always move them as much as I can, to not let them loose any function), and I can barely keep my eyes open. But when I wake up for the hundredth time again, and I hear stumbling and shouting and fighting, and I just know it isn't the pack, but I get new fevour and demand my body to work. After a few minutes I feel my fingers twitch, and I feel something sharp and cold on the ground. The butterfly knife that belongs to Myla!

I start struggling harder, almost knocking myself out with exhaustion, blinded by sweat that's rolling in my eyes, but I manage to get a grip on the knife, slicing a few fingers open, but I don't. Fucking. Care.

And suddenly I'm standing upright, amazed by my own willpower and strength.

Come on, Stiles! You need to get outta here, like, yesterday!

I take out the IV that fills me up with a blockage for my Spark, and then let my legs move slowly, and it's difficult, moving trembling legs and bending knees and walking in general for the first time in months. I lose my body to gravity sometimes, but I always get up. Shuffling to the door and seeing the never-ending stairs doesn't robb me of my determination to escape this hell hole, and I crawl up the stairs. With each step, my balance and footing gets better and it becomes almost like it was before, and before I actually know what's happening, I'm sprinting down a hall and run out of the house, into the woods.

Sticks and stones make their way through the skin under my feet, but I don't give a single flying shit. Running is my priority now, like it always has been before college. How sadly was I mistaking that it was different when I graduated university.

Wait! There! Are those tail lights? Oh my god! That's a road! A fucking road with cars then can bring me home!

I start to run harder, faster, pushing my legs to their limit, knowing I actually can get out of here. My escape it just there, maybe a few minutes away.

My lungs are burning and I have to take really deep breaths through my nose, and my head is at that point of exploding, and my knees and feet hurt and my fingers feel numb, but my freedom is there, just out of reach,, but getting closer every step I let my exhausted feet take.

And then I'm there, cold, wet form the rain, asphalt under my tortured feet. My toes curl with the weird sensation of feeling the rough underground, and it feels safe.

I demand my trembling knees to hold me up, to keep me standing, just there, in the middle of the road. And my eyes squint at the bright lights that are racing toward me in the dark and rainy night. They come closer, and even closer...

And then I'm grabbed from behind, my arms trapped against my body and my feet being swept from underneath me. A syringe is stabbed in my neck and the world starts to fade. The last thing I hear is a car slowing down but not even stopping, and a guy whispering, "Ik zei toch dat ik er alles aan zou doen om jou de mijne te maken?"

It's that fucking Dutch man. Just great.

Chapter Text

My phone is ringing, but I'm still half asleep. I dreamed a good dream tonight, and I don't really want to wake up. I'm afraid I'll forget it, or that it'll drift around in my mind and eventually shifts into a nightmare.

We were just laughing over nothing, probably some pun or joke Stiles had told me. He was giggling and his eyes were shining, just like always. He was beautiful. He'll always be beautiful.

"Fuck," I mumble when my phone starts ringing for the third time. I blindly search for it, sending Stiles' glasses to the floor. That wakes me up, and I ignore the Star Wars songtrack Stiles installed. I pick up the black rimmed glasses and inspect them, but to my relief nothing's damaged.

My phone rings again, and I'm pissed right now. It's 3 a.m. Who the hell calls at 3 in the morning?!
I don't even look at the ID, and almost shout into the phone, "What? It's 3 a fucking m!"

"Derek," the voice of the sheriff says excited. Excited? "A woman called to the police, saying she saw a young man standing in the middle of the road. He had no shirt on, moles all over his body and there was something weird with his lips!"

"You think-"

"Derek, she said he had moles! Moles!"

"I'm coming over, now!" And I hang up. I climb out of bed, throw on a henly and jeans and yell, "Everyone out of bed, NOW! Dressed and here in five! We're heading to John's!"

"What?" Scott comes stumbling down the stairs, rubbing his eyes.

"Derek, I need my sleep," Lydia yawns widely, not very lady-like.

"Why-" Danny starts, at the same time as Kira almost falls of the last steps of the spiral staircase.

"A woman caught sight of someone looking like Stiles. Car, now."

"I'll drive," Danny offers, immediatly awake. I nod, knowing he's the most aware and rational right now.

When we're at the Stilinski house, we all run to the door, almost ripping it from its hinges, and we pile in the kitchen. A bunch of deputies are there, recieving extra info. When I look around, I see only 'knowing' people, like Parrish. They all are aware of the supernatural, and that's probably why they're all here.

"We are heading out in ten, so get ready," John says with a raised voice. They all nod and go to their cars. John turns toward us and says, "It was around 1 a.m., nearby Vegas. She called the police and they informed the FBI, and it all went from there. There are some sandwiches on the counter. If we drive away in five, we'll be there in two hours or so. We'll find him."

#

The road is wet from the still falling rain, making it glisten and smell fusty. It irritates me, just like my own racing heartbeat.

It’s almost too good to be true; Stiles being seen. After more than three months, he is still alive. Okay, we knew that: Lydia didn’t scream, not yet, so it does make sense. The thing that doesn’t add up, is why he was standing on the road, and then suddenly disappeared. Just like that.

“Are vampires not supposed to be even faster than werewolves? Maybe a vampire got him again,” Lydia says. She does makes sense, but I can’t think like that, like Stiles got an oppurtunity to free himself, to escape, and it didn’t work. His efforts didn’t pay off. His hope being crushed. Slowly dying inside because of that.

I just can’t think like that, and yet I do.

“Almost there!” Kira exclaims way too happy. She is too optimistic, just like my wolf. It bounces excitedly around in my chest, rumbling because mateisrighttherewearegettinghimback! Its tail is wagging and I almost give in to the happiness, but I need to think rationally.

“We are here,” John anounces and we all jump out of the car. I run around the car to try to find Stiles' scent, but the rain washed it all away. I walk down the road with Scott, while the others search the area, which is still not a crime scene. Weird.

We find nothing and turn around to find the others. “Nothing,” they all say dissapointed, but then Malia yells, “Here!” We all rush toward her voice, and I stop when I see bodies littering the wet ground.

“What,” John mutters.

All their throats are ripped out, their skin a weird gray colour and cracked like broken China, their eyes still furious but turned skyward. It is awful

But then a smell hits me, a scent way too familiar. It’s blood. Stiles'.

I start to run toward the little house right from the dead vampires. My legs lead me through the still open door toward a basement. I rip the door open and almost jump over the stairs and I almost get knocked out by the smell of Stiles, blood, distress and pain.

Please, please, please, please!

And I finally reach the bottom, and sink to the ground.

Again.

I feel my eyes turn blue, my claws come out and fangs and hair start to grow. My bones break and knit themselves together again. I let out a devastating howl and run out of the house, ignoring the looks of the pack and deputies and John. I start to run, letting rage and sadness and pain overtake my senses. If I was human now, I would cry until I couldn’t anymore, until I fell asleep and getting taken into another nightmare.

But I ain’t human now, and I won’t be for a few days, probably. Most surely. Definitly.

My alpha howls, asking if I'm okay.

I don’t reply.

I’m everything but okay.

 

Chapter Text

It's day three of being in my wolf form, and I get restless. My alpha howls, saying I need to return, but I can't. It hurts too much: in my human form I think of Stiles all the time. As a wolf, I just get flashes of my mate.

But at the end of the day, I come across the scent of my pack. It smells like worry, and sadness, but also a bit like excitement.

I follow the trail, the scent too strong to ignore, and end up outside a building, a motel the human part of my mind provides. Three rooms on the first floor smell like pack, and I start whining in front of the one that smells most like alpha. The door opens and the scent of relief washes over me. I see my alpha standing there, but he steps to the side.

"Come on here, Derek. Danny is here too. I'll wake the rest."

I trott inside the room and sit in the middle of the room, waiting for my alpha to return. The other beta, the human one, is waking up: his heartbeat is going a bit faster.

"Derek? Finally," he says. "Where is Scott? Uhm, the alpha?"

I tilt my head to the side, and point with my head to the door. Outside.

"Oh. Uhm, you want pants or something?"

He wants me to change back. I shake my head slightly. No.

"You're gonna be here naked when the rest comes?"

Another shake of my head.

"You don't want to get back to your human form," he concludes.

A small nod. You got it.

"Okay."

"Derek." The voice of my alpha lets me bare my neck to him. It sounds commanding.

"We need to talk to you. We need you."

I tilt my head. What?

"We found Stiles' scent, but our noses aren't as good as yours." He gestures toward the other packmembers. Me and my alpha are the only wolves, but my nose is the best.

I can find my mate! I jump up to all fours, and start wagging my tail.

"But we need you to be human now, Derek. We have some clothes-"

I start growling. I don't want to feel hurt at the vivid memory of my mate!

"Why don't you want to change back?" The banshee asks.

Hurts, I whine.

"Derek, we need you right now. Stiles needs you. This might be our last chance," the kitsune pleads.

"We can save him, Son. You can save him," the older man, father of my mate, says. His voice does something to me, and I feel the change already flowing through my body.

"Here," the human beta, Danny, says and throws a pair of sweats and underwear. I grab them in between my teeth and head over to a door.

After three long days, the change doesn't go as simple and smooth as it's supposed to be going. The breaking of my bones and the healing of it hurts more than it normaly does, but all the human-Derek memories of losing Stiles again hurts more. But I need to deal with it.

I need to find him. It could be my last change, just like Kira said a few minutes back.

I quickly take a shower (my record is two minutes, and I'm sure I'm way under that), and return to the bedroom when I'm done.

"Welcome back to the human world, Son." I nod and grab a shirt from a duffel. "Where did you find that scent?" I ask while I grab socks and boots. I raise my eyebrows, asking silently how they get new clothes.

"Shops," Lydia answers. "But Scott found it at the side of the road, a few miles from that house."

I get a few sandwiches and a bottle of water thrown to my head, and I quickly devour them. "Why didn't you follow it yet?"

"Because it gets thinner and thinner and sometimes it is already faded, and then it appears again. It confuses me."

I nod and stand up. "Is it far away from here?"

"We can take the cars. The deputies already went back to Beacon Hills: another teenager went missing. We still have my cruiser and your car here," John explains.

After everyone has new clothes on and ate and drank something, we step into the cars and drive for half an hour. The windows are open, and I know for sure that if Stiles would be here, that he would make a dog-joke: Scott and I are literally hanging out of the rolled down windows.

"Stop!" I yell and jump out of the car before it even stops. I now know what Scott was talking about: I smell Stiles, faintly, and then it just stops. I walk a bit farther, then back, and there it is again. It is confusing, and the pressure I'm under is a bit overwhelming. I feel my teeth and claws lengthen, and my eyes are surely glowing blue.

"Derek, Son," the reassuring voice of John infiltrate my ears. His hand comes up to my shoulder and he squeezes it. "You need to concentrate. The only thing you need to think about is Stiles, his scent. Nothing more. We aren't here, okay? Block everything out and just think of one thing. You can do it. I know you can."

I nod and look around the circle of the pack. The all nod encouragely, and I smile when Kira puts her thumbs up and Scott points at his nose and winks. I nod again and turn my back to them, close my eyes and just think of Stiles, of his scent.

He smells like thunderstorm and autumn rain, sunlight and damp earth. Since we became a thing, and I was constantly close to him, I also started noticing other scents, hidden under the more obvious ones. He smells like honey, mixed with lillies and vaguely of peanutbutter (he has a serious Reese's addiction), and most important, he smells like us.

Slowly I start to make my way through the forest, sometimes needing to stop to sniff around (yes, again the best moment for a dog-joke), and it leads me straight to that house again. It goes in, and comes back out again, so I ignore the house and start to walk the other way I came. "We need to take the car, it leads to the road. They took a car."

I sit in the passenger seat, Scott in the other car with Kira and Lydia, and all windows are rolled down. We drive slowly, following the only road there is, until there is a junction. I get out, walk around, and when I smell Stiles, I quickly get in again and point the way.

Five long hours have gone by, but I feel we're getting close. I even get less restless, my wolf settling down when it feels his mate get closer. But it starts pacing again when I tell John to stop. We have to go on foot, deeper the woods in again.

"Why has it to be in the woods again. Vampires fucking love their clichés."

We walk another hour, but eventually I stop. Stiles' scent is so strong here, mainly because I smell his blood. A house is standing a few miles away. He is there, I know it.

"Stiles is there, I'm sure of it."

"Then what are we going to do now?" Lydia asks. "We need a plan."

Everyone turns toward Scott. "We don't know how many vampires there are, I think we just have to fight our way in. Derek and me first, John an Kira behind, Lydia and Danny when everything is clear. Got it?"

I grunt in approval and let my wolf senses take over. I don't change in my full wolf form, just the Beta one, and wait for Scott to give the go-ahead.

After he nodded his head and let his eyes flash, I storm toward the house and take the first three vampires out that are guarding the house. Once inside I fight with a stronger male. He is fast, and manages to swipe with a knife at my chest, leaving it bleeding sluggishly but already healing. I punch him in the jaw and burry my claws inside his abdoman, bringing them up and pulling them out when I reach his sternum.

Two other vampires run toward me, but one get shot in the head and collapses a few feet away from me. The other one still manages to get to me and he throws me through a wall. I scramble up quickly, grunting a bit in pain as my bruised ribs already start to heal. The vampire hurries through the wall, but before he gets inside the room, I knock his head against a wooden support beam and rip his troath out.

I look around me and decide to help Kira: she has four vampires around her, and she is hurt. I kill the closest vampire easily and hold the second until Kira plunges her katana in his chest. John shoots one of the last vampires between her eyes, and Scott smashes a vampire's head against a door, letting him crumble to the ground.

They're all down. No one is blocking our way to get to Stiles. I follow his scent to a basement door, but hesitate when my hand rests on the doorknob. What if he isn't here again? What if he's already dead? What if-

But I hear a weak heartbeat, one that sounds way too familiar, with the extra thump after the third one.

He is here.

He is alive.

I found him.

Chapter Text

I wake up in the same position as always. Pain radiates through my body and my mind is still cloudy. But then the events of yesterday start flooding back, and I remember everything.

 I almost got away. 

 But now I'm here, again a captive, again a foodsource, and I slowly start losing hope. Hope that my pack will find me, hope that I'll survive in some way.

 Smell of burnt flesh pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look down, see a square covering the previous family symbol and a new on next to it. My stomach turns in disgust. 

 Because of last night (was it last night? I don't even know. Maybe it's been a few days. I actually don't even care anymore), I don't have the energy to try anything. I'm exhausted, and I feel myself dying. I'm a pro in noticing that: almost drowning in a pool, icebaths, creepy evil Japanese psychopath spirits, assasins wanting to shoot you, a Chimera-Wendigo... 

 Yeah, I'm definitly dying.

 I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to reduce the thumping in between my temples, but it helps nothing. I let my head hang, and a hot tear escapes my eye. 

 "Ahw, don't cry, Sparky!" My head shoots up. Standing in front of me, is the Dutch man. He is smirking and a evil glint sparkles in his eyes. "I'm sure you'll taste delicious." 

 He walks over to me and ruffles my hair before examining the IV bag. "Ziet er goed uit," he mumbles. He looks at me again and gribs my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You have magnificent eyes, Sparky. Really beautiful."

And then he surges forward and kisses me hard on my lips, sucking and biting and drawing blood.

 My eyes are probably bulging out of my head, wet with tears because of the immense pain that the man's causing. The stitches are voilently rubbing against the abused flesh of the little wounds that just won't heal. I feel my own blood and the saliva of the man dripping from my chin, leaving a trail of the mixture down my troath and chest.

 Eventually he stops, and I feel dizzy from relief and pain. Tears are still rolling down my cheeks, and the vampire starts to lick them up. "You do taste wonderful, they certainly didn't lie. It's a shame we can't transport you."

 Wait, what? Transport? To where?

 "I see you have many questions, Sparky. We wanted to take you back to our country, but we're afraid you won't make it. You're already dying-" (see, it is confirmed) "-I can taste it. No worries though; we'll have fun together for the time being." He smooths his thumb over my bloody lips and licks it clean before disappearing up the stairs.

 What the fuck is my life? First pervert Charles, now this guy... 

 I close my eyes, trying to ignore the searing pain that's currently spreading itself through my vains, hoping to block out the hard noises from above that are letting my head hurt even more. 

 It's maybe just as painful as when the Nogitsune was still alive, eating my own life away from the inside out, feeding of mine and other's misery. Perhaps it's even more painful, this, losing blood and getting vampire saliva pumped into your bloodstream. 

 But it's not really a fair comparison, a fox demon versus vampires, losing your mind in stead of blood. A game of dark against light next to a game of prey against predators. 

 But nothing is fair in life, is it?

 I snort. Well, sort of. I am so far gone I actually start thinking about life. Jesus, I'm so done. With this, with hoping. Fighting. Losing.

 But I'm Stiles Stilinski; Spark, Mate to a werewolf, second to a True Alpha, survivor of endless evil. I can't stop fighting. I can't give up. Ever.

 I force all the memories of my life that are flashing by to the background of my mind, and start thinking of other ways to escape. Breaking out of the freezing-spell and the bonds again will be impossible; I'm way too exhausted and I'm being pumped full with Spark-blockers. 

 So, option two... Screaming and hoping somebody'll hear me? I almost laugh at that idea. So I come to an conclusion: there are no other options than number one. And from six years of experiences, I know that nothing is impossible. So I inhale and exhale a few times, although a bit shakily, and concentrate on my muscles. I try to relax them, focusing on them quivering under my skin, but they spasm and go stiff again.

 Fuck! Just, please, please! I have need to... Please...

 I start to breathe raggedly, and my vision is blurred. Shit. Panic attack. I know it had to come at one point, it was inevitable, a given, but somehow it didn't happen until now.

 I start to sob, and I feel dizzy and lightheaded. Snot is starting to fill my nose and my breathing is becoming even shorter and shallower. 

 No, I need to get out of here! I don't have time for panic and tears and black-outs.

 But the blackness is overwhelming and too inviting to push away, so I let myself get tucked in in nothingness and close my eyes, hoping that I'll wake up again, but I'm not even sure about that.

 #

 Okay, so I really need to stop losing consciousness like that. I've been doing it for a few months now, and it tires me out. It's not real sleep, which I really managed to get two times, but I'm sort of happy I hadn't got any sleep for so long: no dreams. Both the times I did sleep, I managed to dream of Derek finding me, taking care of me, and eventually I woke up after seeing too many fingers on both our hands.

 My head is pulled upright by my hair. My eyes fly open and I stare right in grey eyes that are gazing hungrily in mine. "It's my turn now, Sparkles. You should try to not enjoy this too much."

 I (try to) snort and roll my eyes at the woman in front of me.

 "I was told you're a fiery guy, Sparkles. Hot as well, and I can't say they're wrong." She traces her fangs over my cheekbones, licking her way between my moles. I try to pull away, but her grip tightens and I'm sure she takes a few hairs with her when she eventually lets go. She pulls her face back and gribs my jaw in her hand while the other traces random patterns on my chest.

 "Ruikt zo lekker," she murmers as her eyes slide over my body. The she lurges forward and starts feeding from my jaw. After a while she trails her fangs to my ribs, leaving two bloody stripes in my torso before she start drinking again. 

 I try to think of something else, but it's hard. Memories I so desparetly tried to ignore are now filling my mind, making sad tears mix with the ones I'm crying because of the pain. It's extremely distracting, her lips on my way too cold skin, the agony, the smell of my own blood etcetera, etcetera...

 But suddenly the woman pulls back and looks at the door. "Shit," she says and runs upstairs.

 What the hell? What is go-

 Growling. I hear growling. Oh. My. God. Growling! And shooting! And I even hear a sword swoosh through the air!

 That can't be... Is that? Maybe...

 Then all the growling and noises of fighting stop and it's scarily quiet. Did they leave? Again tears fall from my eyes, and it's the moment I decide I'm giving up. I can't do this anymore. I really, really-

 "Stiles?" a wavering voice asks, interrupting me from my self-pity party. I haven't been called that for over five months. My head snaps up and I look up in beautiful hazel eyes, and happy tears escape my eyes now.

 No sad tears, no tears of pain.

 Happy tears, because Derek is standing there. Derek.

 I'm free.

Chapter Text

Derek is just standing there, not moving, tears running down his face. His blood-stained face. But he seems to snap out of it after a few silent minutes, his eyes hovering over my battered and broken body. He slowly steps forward, like I'll disappear in front of his eyes if he moves too fast. When he's inches away, kneeling in front of me and gazing in my eyes, he looks down at his hands. I follow his movements and see him counting his fingers, but I'm too tired to count with him. After a while he looks up again, his eyes that brilliant blue.

 "I found you," he murmurs, and he lets his hands move forward, but still not touching me.

 I need to feel him, his hands on my feverish skin, his mouth on mine, his nose in my neck... I let my head fall forward so it's resting on his naked collarbone, and immediatly I feel the spell lifting and the pain slowly disappear, leaving me slumping in my bonds, resting against Derek.

 But he startles away, his face contorted in pain when the black veins fade slowly. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't expect that much... God, I'm so sorry..." And he inches toward me again, his large hand cupping the side of my jaw where there's still a bit of blood flowing. He hisses the moment he touches me, his shoulders squaring in tension, but he doesn't let go, not again. And I wonder if he'll ever let me go again. The thought soothes me, but terrifies me at the same time.

 "STILES!" I flinch at the loud outburst of my name, and I let my eyes adjust enough to see five people standing behind Derek. The pack, Dad... A new wave of tears start to brim in my eyes, and I manage to hold back most of them.

 "Oh God, Son," Dad murmers before falling to his knees on the left side of me. Scott comes to a stop at my right, his hand brushing my shoulder, and he too pulls away like he's been burned. "Holy shit, Stiles! How are you even alive?" he wispers in awe, but he doesn't touch me again.

 I jerk when I feel cold hands on my wrists, but relax when a soothing voice says it's Kira. I fall forward when the chains aren't secured to the ground anymore and slump against Derek. He grunts but doesn't pull away.

 "Derek, you need to stop doing that," Lydia says while she takes me in her arms. She runs her fingers through my hair, but stops when Derek pulls me back, snarling.

 "Derek," Danny's voice reasons. "You can't protect Stiles when you're in pain yourself. Let Scott take a bit, but you have to take a break now."

 "He can't stop it when he's still touching him," Scott murmurs. "He's in so much pain that we can't stop it."

 "Derek, please," Dad pleads. "I want to hold my son for a bit, okay? I promise I won't take him out of your sight. I swear."

 I feel Derek nod, his chin rubbing over my hair, and he loosens his grib slowly but surely, until I almost fall to the ground. Dad catches me, and he sighs in relief when he hugs me. "You were gone for so long, Stiles. I was afraid..."

 I shake my head weakly, forcing him to shut up. I move my mouth so say it, but groan when a trickle blood makes its way down my chin.

 "We need to take those out, they're hurting him."

 "Yeah, I'll do it. Hey, buddy," Scott's face appears in my eyesight, and I struggle to keep my eyes open.

 "I'm gonna take these stiches out, okay? You can sleep whenever you want..." his voice trails of and I close my eyes, knowing I'm save. I nod, but it's more like I just let my head hang. I don't really care. And just like that, I fall asleep.

 #

 "Almost... Deaton?"

 "Yeah... Better... Maybe heal him?"

 "...Waking up...-les, you okay?"

 "Let him wake... Probably too weak..."

#

 "Ten minutes... Call him?"

 "Yes, he's coming... Derek?"

 "...'m fine... Can I?"

 "He's still in too much pain, I'm sorry."

 Hey! First full sentence! My head is pounding and my body's throbbing painfully. I try to open my eyes, but a hand covers them immediatly. "We don't know how long you've been sitting in that dark basement, don't want to hurt your eyes as well, huh? Have you seen light in the past days?" Lydia asks.

 I shake my head, and bite my bottom lip when my head starts to pound even worse. Wait, I bit my lip! I can move my lips again! I open my mouth and start to say something, but it hurts and I start to cough violently. The taste of liquid metal fills my mouth and I have to turn my head to spit it out.

 "Okay, so no talking for you. Just... Have you seen light since you've been, uh... bought?"

 When I escaped, I saw the lights of the cars, the moon, but I doubt if that's what she means, so I shake my head again, a lot less hard this time.

 "Jesus," I hear Scott mutter. "Just hold your eyes closed and wait until they're adjusted enough so you can open them, okay buddy?"

 I smile shakily, knowing it doesn't look real, because it isn't, but do what he told. Lydia pulls her hand away and I burrow my face in her thigh when the harsh light hurts my eyes. Her hand is in my hair again, and I relax when she scratches my scalp with her nails. "It's okay," she murmurs, "It's all right. Take your time."

 Eventually I manage to open my eyes, blinking quickly, but finally able to see. I'm lying with my head on Lydia's lap, and my legs are tangled with Scott's. My dad is driving, and Derek is constantly staring at me from the passenger seat. I smile at him, well, try to, but he doesn't react. I look over to Scott, raising my eyebrows but quickly squeezing my eyes shut at a new wave of agonizing pain.

 "Oh my God, Stiles!" Scott exclaims when he tentatively brush his fingers over my hip, pulling back instantly just like in the basement.

 I'm okay, nothing new, I want to say, but my troath squeezes itself shut and only a painful wheeze comes past my lips, blood mixing with my saliva and I start to cough again, this time even harder than before. Tears escape my eyes and I want to sit up, but find that I don't have the strength to do it, neither the voice to say it.

 When my coughing-fit finally dies down, Dad is lifting me up in his arms and carries me through the doors of Deaton's clinic. He lowers me slowly on the(new, might I add) metal table. The jeans I'm wearing are thin, and not able to prevent the cold from seeping through it and making me shiver violently. I still don't have the strength to do anything by myself, and I need Dad to keep me upright.

 "Stiles, good to see you back and still alive," Deaton says when he walks in, his eyes soft and sort of smiling. He immediatly takes my face in his hands, examining my mouth, then all the scars and still open wounds, especially my torn shoulder.

 "Can you talk to me?"

 "No!" Derek growls.

 "He starts coughing up blood," Lydia explains. "And gets sudden pain attacks, even asleep." And to prove it, my body convulses. My head falls to Dad's shoulder and my mouth opens in a silent scream, blood flowing past my lips.

 "Alan, he is dying," Derek snarls. "Do something!"

 "I have an antidote for the poison in the vampire's-"

 "We don't care!" Dad bellows, shaking in anger and fear. "Give it to him!"

 "Of course," Deaton says, and a few minutes later, when I'm still shaking in sobs and pain, a needle disappears in my skin and a soothing liquid mixes with my coiling blood, cooling it down and most of the pain disappears from inside me, but the pain of the wounds and in my troath stays. I feel myself getting better slowly, but I'm still feeling weak and sick.

"Open your mouth, please," Deaton says when I'm calmed down and my sweat is wiped away by the lovely Lydia. I'm being held upright by Scott and Dannynow, Scott pulling away the excess pain, now a dulled constant ache. It doesn't end, though, that ache. Especially when Deaton bandages my shoulder, and stitches a few cuts. I flinch when I see the treath and needle, but when I look over in panic to Derek, he stares back at me, sort of assuring me through his eyes. He doesn't want to see me hurt, nor bleeding, and I know it has to happen. I take a breath and exhale with a shudder, but manage to get it over with.

 Deaton also examines my mouth, troath and lips. "They gave you something so you wouldn't get hungry or thirsty, did they? Some mix of herbs to contain your magic..." I nod weakly, already feeling sleepy again. "You get the urge to eat and drink in about a week, and your magic will slowly build up. Your strength will come with it, but you really have to rest."

 I manage to roll my eyes, and I hear a few relieved sighs, like they know I'm going to be okay because of it.

 "Your voice is a different story," Deaton continues. "It is ruined. I don't exactly know what they did, probably some herbs and dark magic, but I can't do anything to heal it. I'm sorry."

 I never get my voice back? But how am I going to be the normal Stiles ever again? Not having my voice is like Han Solo without Chewbecca... Deaton shakes me out of my thoughts, "I give some gel with you to attend your wounds, it'll help you heal up and some wounds won't even scar."

 I just shake my head, still a bit dazed and possibly in shock by my freedom. I hear a conversation going, and I decide to listen in, not wanting to freak out right now.

 "Stiles, where do you want to go?" Scott asks. I don't even have to think about it, my eyes settling on Derek. I nod, and a wave of relief rolls off me when he nods back.

 "Let me at least ride him to the loft," Dad pleads and Derek nods again, eyes still on me before walking outside.

 "Stiles? You need to know that he went feral for a while," Lydia says when I look at her. Always straight to the point, those Martins. At my confused expression, she explains, "He went almost crazy when we couldn't find you, and Scott could smell the misery and agony rolling off of him. When a woman called the police, informing them she saw someone that looked like you-"

 That car! That bitch that didn't stop!

 "-and you weren't there, he changed and was running through the woods for three days straight. He didn't want to change back, thinking we could never find you."

 He what?! He's such an idiot. A selfish idiot, thinking he can leave the pack by themselves! They need him, even if I'm not here anymore.

 "We thought you just needed to know that..." Scott says when he helps me stand up. My knees buckle a bit, but I manage to take wobbly steps, even though Scott is holding me tight. We walk to Dad's car, Lydia and Scott with us again, Kira and Danny staying at Deaton's. The ride is quiet, but also tense. I fall asleep and wake up several times, Scott is still leeching some pain away, Lydia again with her fingers in my sweaty hair.

 When we arrive at Derek's, Derek himself is waiting at the foot of the building, pacing like a mad man. When we step out of the car, he immediatly stops and looks like he wants to race toward me, but he holds still, almost unmoving.

 "Take good care of him, I'll come by first thing in the morning," Dad says when Derek extends an arm to keep me standing. He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. We walk inside, Scott and Lydia following, probably going to sleep here.

 I don't really focus enough to know what's happening around me, but suddenly I'm standing in the bathroom and the sound of a running shower in the background. The normalcy of taking a shower hits me: this can't be real. It can't.

 I'm shaking, and my knees give out. I desperatly raise my hands in front of my face, but I can't see with all the tears gathering in my eyes. Warm and large hands envelop mine and a soothing voice tries to reassure me.

 "It's okay, it's real. I swear it's real. Come on, Stiles, look at me." And I do look up, Derek's beautiful eyes full of worry and sadness. I start to shake my head, still not believing I'm not dreaming.

 "Let me help you count, okay? Can you do that? Here," he raises both of our hands, and slowly unfolds them, counting each one. By ten my sobs are just sniffles, and no tears are left. Thank you, I want to say, by my vocal cords constrict and blood comes with splatters out of my mouth. Derek places his hands on both of my cheeks, pulling the pain away again. I pull my head out of his gentle grib, shaking my head and try to stand. Derek undresses himself first and then me, helps me under the warm water and gently washes me, shampooing my hair and massages it in while one arm is holding me up. I close my eyes and let myself relax for the first time in months. Still, my muscles protest; they spasm under Derek's hands, and they feel like stone and jelly at the same time.

 When Derek has dried us off, he starts applying the gel and refreshing the bandages. His hands skim over my skin, sometimes barely touching, sometimes applying a bit of pressure. After that he lays me in bed, and lays next to me.

 "I uh... Is this okay?" he asks when he turns me on my belly, and starts to massage my shoulder. I nod and even moan in plessure (which is probably the only thing I can do; groaning, grunting and moaning...), but it's nothing sexual. When he finishes my calfs, he turns me around and sits against the headboard, my back against his chest. He takes my hands in his and massages my wrists, palms and fingers. I let my head fall on his shoulder and slowly drift away. I sighin contentment when Derek nuzzles my hair and neck. He hugs me lovingly and finally I fall asleep with one last thought: I'm safe.

Chapter Text

Finally, I can breathe. Stiles is here, save and in my arms. He is breathing, his heart is beating, he is home with me.

But he is far from alright. He almost died, was held in basements for almost five months, lost his voice...

I burry my nose in his now clean hair, kissing the top of his head before nuzzling his neck, scenting him. I grab the covers and lay them on our tangled legs. With one arm I stroke his side, the other is resting on his cold hand.

God, he is so ill. He is feverish, sweating and shivering violently, and all because of me. I was right there when they took him, and I couldn't do anything-

A quiet gasp and the tensing of muscles pull me out of my thoughts. Stiles is cluthing my hand painfully, and the other is twisted in the sheets. His face is contorted in pain, and gasps and groans of pain leave his lips. Then the scent of blood hits me, and I look startled at the almost healed scar on his chest that opens slowly.

What the actual fuck.

"Stiles? Stiles, wake up! C'mon baby, wake up," I plead while I distangle myself so I can lay Stiles on the bed, but he won't let go of my hand.

"Baby please," I beg, shaking him desperatly, and I start to panic when the long gashes in his chest to abdoman start to tear themselves open. Stiles starts to whimper and grunt in pain, his body probably knowing that he can't make a sound without hurting.

I scramble to the bedside table, seeking my phone while my eyes stay on Stiles' bleeding form, my hand trying to take the pain, but I can't.

"Deaton," I breathe out in relief when he answers. "Stiles, he's... I don't even know what's going on! Shit..." I take a shirt that's still lying on the floor and start to wipe blood off Stiles' trembling body.

"Derek, what is happening?"

"I don't... He is bleeding from his wounds and he's hurting but I can't take the pain and he won't wake up... Ssh, Stiles, I'm here..."

"He's having a nightmare-"

"But why is he not waking up?! He is bleeding for fuck's sake! What am I supposed to do?! Oh god, baby, ssh..."

"Is it working?" Deaton asks, and I hear him rummaging through books.

"Is what working?! Please stop being so cryptic and start helping!"

"You talking to him? Does he respond to you?"

I look at Stiles, how his face is contorted in pain and how his chest is heaving because of his panting. I cup his cheek and slowly stroke my thumb over his cheekbone, wiping away a few tears that started falling. "Ssh," I say again. "Ssh, I'm here, it isn't real. It's okay, c'mon baby, you have to wake up." He doesn't, but the gasping and whimpering is becoming less.

"I think it works," I say to Deaton.

"That's good. It's the only thing that will work. I've never heard of this before, but I think it's just a form of PTSS, and the bleeding has probably to do with his surpressed Spark. It should stop eventually. Talk to him about it."

"There's nothing else I can do? I can't do anything about the pain?"

"It isn't real pain: he is dreaming. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Thank you," I say with a sigh. I hang up and continue to soothe Stiles, rubbing my nose against his collarbone and still stroking his cheek with my thumb. "It's okay, Stiles. You're safe, you're here with me, ssh, ssh..."

The whimpering stops, and I don't see new blood well up. I look at his face, and see that his eyes are open, but still glazed over with sleep and tears. But he's awake, and that's the only thing that matters.

#

In the weeks that follow, the nightmares are becoming less, his Spark starts to show up again, and he starts to eat. He looks healthy, almost happy again.

But he has his moments, especially when he tries a spell that should do something about his throat. Right now, he has such a moment.

The lightbulbs start to flicker before shattering, and the ground starts to shake. I stand up and rush upstairs, to the bedroom, where Stiles is sitting on the floor, his head in his hands and he is shaking. I sit myself behind him, grabbing his shoulders gently and pulling him in my chest. He slumps into me and shakes his head.

"Stiles," I say softly. "I know you don't want to hear this, but it was your twelfth attempt. I think-"

He grabs my arm and squeezes, asking me to stop talking. He turns around and hugs me, burrying his face in my neck. He nods. He says yes.

"Thank you," I say, and he nods again. "We can start tomorrow if you want?" He nods again. Then he pulls away, a small smile on his lips before he comes back to kiss me hungrily.

We have been kissing, but we didn't take it further than that, both knowing we weren't ready after such a long and stressful time. But Stiles is the one to open his mouth and grinding his hips into mine. We both let out a quiet gasp of pleasure, and Stiles does it again.

"You sure," I ask, searching his face. He nods determinedly, and I dive forward to suck on his neck. I notice his heartbeat going faster, but think that it's just the reaction to the kissing. But when I lick and scrape teeth over his pulsepoint, his heartbeat goes erratic and his scent starts to sour. Panic. Fear.

I quickly pull away and look Stiles in the eye. He is staring at me in shock, not believing that he had such a reaction. I'm sorry, he mouths, grabbing my hand, tugging me closer.

"Hey, it's not your fault," I say to him, smiling weakly. He shakes his head, grabbing the small whiteboard and sharpie laying a few feet away.

I don't know what came over me, he writes and shows me before wiping it away. He holds a hand up to stop me from replying and write something again. I knew it was you and I still freaked out.

"That's okay. You've been through something traumatic, we both know that leaves some scars, mentally as well."

He nods. Maybe we can try again? ; )

I smile at the emoticon, but I'm still not sure if this is a good idea. "Babe, I don't know..."

I'll tap you of I really want to stop when it gets to much, okay?

I'm still a bit unsure, but with the small pout on his lips and the pleading look in his eyes, it's hard to say no. So I nod, slowly inching forward until my lips are on his again, deepening it after a few moments. My mouth slides to his jaw, nipping it before going to his ear, biting down on the sensitive skin what I know he likes. Very much. Slowly I descent to his neck again, kissing and sucking slightly. His breath hitches and his heartbeat goes faster again, but he doesn't react otherwise.

We quickly shed our clothes and climb up the bed, grinding into eachother and moaning.

"W-what do you want?" I ask him, twisting a nipple and pulling a moan out of him.

You. Everything.

And I do just that, circling his hole with a lubed finger, inching in and adding a few more after a while. I kiss his chest, waiting for Stiles to tap out like he said he would, but he doesn't, and I don't notice any scents changing again, just the smell of lust and want growing heavier and thicker.

In the aftermath, I hug him close, his head under my chin and a hand in his hair, the other splayed on his back.

"I got a present for you," I murmer with my mouth against his forhead. "It also contains a quiet question, but you're smart; you'll figure it out."

He rolls off me, his eyes shining with confusion. I smile at him, rolling to the side and opening the drawer of my bedside table. I lay the tiny object in his palm, eyeing him nervously.

A key? But I practically live here already. His brows are furrowed, and I just really want to kiss it away.

"It's not the same key. Remember the apartment in Valley?"

His head shoots up, his eyes wide and his lips parted. He scrambles to retrieve the whiteboard. You want me to move in with you there?

I nod, my eyes probably filled with hope.

Really? You're sure?

"As sure as I ever will be," I say thruthfully, and suddenly I have a armful of Stiles. I feel his mouth move against my skin, his lips forming a silent yes.

#

"So, I thought I could learn you since one of my human nieces was deaf," I begin. Stiles is sitting on the couch next to me, but we're facing eachother and he looks expectantly at me, his eyebrows raised slightly. He nods, urging me to go further.

"I actually got a book for ASL beginners somewhere, I'll look where it is when we're done. Why don't you grab a glass of water before we begin?" Stiles nods, pointing at me.

"Yeah, sure." I grab my phone, looking at the message Scott sent me a few minutes ago, and stand up to open the loft door. The whole pack is standing there, small smiles one their faces. They walk past me, dropping themselves on the couches and beanbags and chairs. Then Stiles returns with the glasses of water and freezes, his mouth open and his eyes huge. He looks at me, then around the living area to all the packmembers, and then back to me. He slowly steps toward the kitchen table, putting the glasses down and turns around again.

What?

"Derek called us, asking if we wanted to be here. We didn't really need to think about it, of course," Scott explains, a smirk dancing on his lips.

"I thought it was easier, and that you wouldn't be alone in this if they came," I say to Stiles. He is still looking at me, but then his face morphes into one with a beaming smile and teary eyes and he launches himself at me.

Thank you, I feel against my neck. Thank you so much.

I just kiss the shell of his ear, and press a smile into his hair, moving my lips to his and say soundless, you're welcome.

Chapter Text

I finally can communicate fluently in ASL. I practiced everyday until Derek got sick of me, and then I’d do it on my own. I know I still don't know everything, but I’m almost there.

I’m also living with Derek for two months now, and it’s so fucking domestic, like we’ve been together for years, it’s amazing and makes my heart throb with love.

God, I’m such a sap.

“Stiles? Stiles, son, you still with me?” Dad asks, a bit concerned. I’ve been spacing out sometimes, reliving the torture of those five months. I often get panic attacks, still have nightmares and sometimes freak out as Derek kisses me. It’s not as bad as it was a few weeks ago, but it’s still troubling when I want to go out of the apartment and thinking this isn’t reality, but a cruel dream and I’ll wake up and be back in a cold basement, immobilised and hurting and wanting to die.

I nod, my eyes finding my dad’s again and a reassuring smile on my face. I’m okay, I swear.

“Well then, I wanted to tell you guys something,” he looks over at Scott who’s sitting next to me, nodding encouragingly at my dad to continue. “I want to ask Melissa to marry me.” He lets out a sigh, like a great weight has been pressing down on him and it’s gone now.

I excitedly look over at Scott, who’s bouncing in his seat, looking ready to dance with happiness. Finally! I say, looking back at my dad. Melissa and he were already dating (in secret, the sneaky bastards!), and since that I’m back, they finally admitted it.

“That’s great news! Oh my god! Stiles, we’ll be brothers for real now!” Scott jumps up and hugs me tight before bringing dad into the embrace as well.

“You all look happy,” Derek says as soon as he walks into the room, silent question lacing his voice. I untangle myself from the family hug, and sign, Dad finally pulled his head out of his ass and is going to propose to Melissa!

“That’s great news, John!” Derek smiles, going for a firm handshake, but dad just shakes his head and pulls him in for a super manly hug, back clapping and all.

You have to ask Lydia to help Melissa plan the wedding, or she’ll never forgive you.

“I know son, but first I have to asks Melissa if she even wants to be married to me.”

 

And God, is the proposal romantic. Cheesy, and incredibly sappy, but so cute (Scott’s words, shut up Lydia!). Picnic at the park, lots of flowers, and a sparkly ring. Melissa and Scott cried.

Still, I don't really see much: I can feel eyes on me the entire time, and no, they aren’t Derek’s or any of the pack’s. I feel uncomfortable, and am almost sure I see some eyes flash when I look at the rosebushes. Chills run down over my spine, and I feel nauseous a long time after that.

“You okay,” Derek asks me when we lay in bed later that night. My head is pillowed on his chest, my fingers wandering through the hair on his abdomen. I nod, not bordering using signs to explain myself. I’m just paranoid, I tell myself.

“Sure? You were so quiet during and after the proposal.” I look up at him, my eyebrows high as if saying ‘ really’ ? “Shut up,” he grumbles, but the corners of his mouth are slightly pulled up.

You are not helping yourself. Shut up, seriously?

“Fuck you, Stilinski,” he laughs, hazel eyes sparkling.

Sure, I reply. I’m still open from fingering myself in the shower earlier. Come on, big guy, fuck me into the mattress.

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek moans and kisses me hard, pulling me under him and pinning me with his weight. The next hour is going to be fantastic, and we’ll both forget about my weird mood from earlier.

Chapter Text

Stiles is bouncing on his feet, and I can’t hide the smile on my face. He is so adorable like this, all nervous but happy and flashing a megawatt smile my way every time I catch his eyes.

John is almost the same, rubbing sweaty palms against his pants, constantly looking if his hair is still okay when he sees a reflective surface. He fumbles with his bowtie (matching the flowers of Melissa’s bouquet), and fiddles with his cuffs.

Seeing Stiles in a tuxedo, a bowtie and a giant smile on his face, makes my chest ache. For weeks I’ve been carrying a ring with me, but never finding the right moment to pop the question. And yes, I can plan a super romantic date and do it then, because Stiles deserves that, but it's just not us. And when I stand behind Stiles, to the right of his father, I can imagine myself standing on John’s spot at the altar, waiting for him.

The typical music starts to play, and Scott comes in with a beautiful looking Melissa on his arm. I can hear Stiles gasp for breath and John has to wipe away some tears. When the vows start, Stiles searches blindly for my hand and squeezes it when his fingers close around mine.

“Noah John Stilinski, do you take Melissa Riveros as your wife?”

John beams and nods his head enthusiastically. “Have you seen her? Of course I do!”

I chuckle, and I know Stiles is rolling his eyes.

“Melissa Riveros, do you take Noah John Stilinski as your husband?”

“If I really have to… sure, why not? No, I really do.”

“They were meant for eachother,” Scott whispers and I grin, Stiles nodding in agreement.

Stiles hugs John after the newly wedded pair have walked down the aisle. He kisses Melissa on the cheek, and I copy him and Scott as soon as they’re done. Then the new brothers hug and Scott starts gushing about being real brothers, finally .

Time to get drunk, Stiles signs, tugging at my jacket sleeve. He huffs a laugh as I cuff him on the back of the head. But I demand at least one dance, you hear me?

“Loud and clear, babe,” I say and smirk when a cute blush covers Stiles’ cheekbones. He is still not used to the nickname, but his reactions to me saying it are endearing. I nudge him with my shoulder and squeezed his hand. Stiles buries his face in my bicep and squeezes back.

The party at night is great. No, really! Stiles is having fun, dragging me to the dancefloor for a few slow dances, and converses with a few deputies with my help. He seems so energetic and normal, but I know better. The last few weeks, he seems jittery and when we go outside, he looks around himself and he shivers like someone’s watching him. I tried to ask him, but he avoids it quickly and always get my mind off of it. It’s incredible really, how he can distract me by smiling and ranting about something, his hands moving so fast I hardly can keep up with him.

They are hypnotizing. His fingers, his veins… The way he uses him to express himself, even before he had to use them to be able to communicate. But everything is entrancing around him.

He is simply magical to look at.

 

#

 

My thumb is stroking his jaw while I leave little pecks of my lips on his cheek, making my way to his ear. Once there, I nose at his hairline before whispering the one sentence I want to tell him for so long now.

"I love you, Stiles."

He freezes, and slowly steps back. Derek, I can't , he signs, and my heart almost stops.

I... I'm sorry , he signs now, and his eyes drop. I smell the scent of fear and sadness on him, and tears well up in my eyes.

"Stiles, it's okay. I just wanted you to know... I just had to say it out loud."

I have to go . He turns his back to me, walking toward the door. I see his shoulders shake with sobs.

"Stiles! I'm sorry!"

He turns around quickly. Don't you dare say that, Derek , he signs angrily. His hands move fast, almost too fast to follow.

"What?" I whisper confused.

I have to leave.

"But I just got you back..."

" I'm sorry, Derek. I just can't keep doing this .

"But I thought this was long termed! We were in love with each other for years before we got together! That can't just... go away, can it?" I desperately ask, sounding unsure.

He doesn't react, but turns around again and starting for the door.

"Not again," I murmur before collapsing on the floor, openly crying. I grab my hair and pull on the strands. "Not again, please!"

A hand touches my shoulder, and I look up. Stiles didn't leave. Not yet.

What do you mean?

"I lost everything! You're my fourth, but the first I truly love. And everyone I love is gone, died or just left, and now you'll be gone again, and I just can't keep pretending it is okay!" I shrug his hand off my shoulder and stand up again. "I'll pack your things, you can pick them up tomorrow if you want." I don't look at him, and I think I hear him leave. I grab the nearest object and throw it at a wall. I hear glass shattering, and I don't regret it when I pick something up again and let it break as it connects to the wall. "Fuck! How could I think this would be different? How could I think someone would love me? God, I'm such a fool... 'S all my fault..."

I freeze and it feels like a current of electricity is running through my body. Shocked, I look at Stiles, who is still in the apartment apparently.

It isn't your fault! If he could yell, he surely would be now. It's my fault, okay? I can't be with you when I can never say such things back to you. You will never hear me say it, you will never hear the truth in my words, because I can't fucking say them! You don't deserve someone who can't ...

"I don't deserve you?!" I yell. "That is the most selfish thing I've ever heard you say! How could you think I would care about saying those things? God, Stiles, you're impossible!"

I'm impossible? You're being the martyr here, Derek! Nothing's your fault! And what if I'm being selfish? I want to protect you from the hurt that can bring it with it when I can't say that! I thought it would be Kate and Jennifer all over again!

"How could you think that?! I didn't really love them, not like I love you! And I'll keep saying that, that I love you. I'll write it on the mirror after a shower, I'll sign it to you every morning. I'll mouth it in your skin when I'm about to kiss you. I'll do it in every way possible, only if you would just stay..."

Tears slip from his eyes. His beautiful, golden eyes. He nods, just once, but that's enough. Then he open his mouth, and slowly he lets his lips form the words. The words I'll never hear, but I'll feel them on my skin when he'll write it with his finger, I'll see them on the sticky notes that he'll stick on every surface. And I couldn't be happier.

"So you're staying?"

As long as you will let me .

"Always and forever."

 

#

 

I smile at the memory, even though it isn’t the best way to confess your love. Damn Stiles and his guilt complex. Selfish fucker, sometimes.

A ticklish feeling in my neck makes me turn around, and meeting Stiles’ beaming face on the other side of the room. I smile back in return, beckoning him to come to me.

I think it’s time.

We walk hand in hand to the exit of the tent, thankfully never interrupted by people who want to talk to us. I tug Stiles a bit closer when he starts to shiver from the cold. It’s getting dark now, and stars start to appear high above us.

What is it? Stiles asks, looking up at me. He is a few inches shorter than me, and I secretly love that. He has to stand on his tiptoes to reach my lips, and I cling to him- my arms tightly around his waist to help him keep his balance.

You didn’t drag me outside for a makeout session, did you? He grins dopily, kiss-drunk.

“And if I did?” I ask and he shrugs, smiling again. Wouldn’t object to it. Was kinda nice.

“Kinda? Hmm, need to practice, maybe?”

I can help with that, Stiles signs, his grin cheeky.

“Maybe later… I actually wanted to ask you something. I know this is supposed to be your dad’s and Melissa’s day, but you look so beautiful right now, and it’s like a burning in my chest…” I trail off, staring at our joint hands. Stiles tugs at them, demanding me to look at him. He raises his eyebrows when I do so, urging me to go on.

I keep holding his hands, even though mine may be a bit sweaty, and slowly sink to one knee. “I  chose this moment, Stiles, because this moment is us. We don’t do things perfectly; we improvise and roll with it, but it works for us. So this is me, improvising, because I totally forgot what I wanted to say. I blame it on the nerves… It’s just that- I really-... Fuck it, I’m just going to ask. Stiles, do you want to be the Stilinski to my Hale?”

He looks at me, and the only way to describe his expression is flabbergasted. He blinks a few times and squeezes my hands before nodding furiously, beaming his brilliant smile. I do the same in response, ready to get up and hug him, kiss him, finally get the ring out of my pocket and put it on his finger, but Stiles (MY FIANCE!!!) launches himself at me and tackles me to the ground, kissing my face and leaking tears onto my chilled skin.

I love you I love you I love you, he presses into my skin with his lips. I just do the same, kissing him for real this time.

Nobody says a thing about our slightly green suits. Only Lydia sends us a glare before smiling as she sees the rings on our fingers.

 

Chapter Text

Our rings clink together when Derek reaches his hand out to mine, which I take with a small smile on my lips. It's nearly impossible, but we're even more in love than before we were engaged. Quoting Scott, "It's sickening," and quoting Lydia, "You guys are disgustingly cute, ugh." 

Dad almost cried when we told him. He said he was allergic to the 'feels' in the air, but he pulled Derek in a big hug afterwards and Melissa kissed us both on the cheek.

Lydia demanded to plan the wedding (like I ever expected her not to), but she promised to keep us in the loop and to ask our permission for most of the things. I have to admit that I'm a bit afraid of what she doesn't want to show us.

"What are you thinking about, babe," Derek asks as he leads us to a bench in the park. He releases my hand so I can sign at him in answer.

Wondering what Lydia is planning for us. I'm curious but I also don't want to ask her because she scares me a little. 

Derek laughs and throws an arm over my shoulder so I can snuggle into his side. "She certainly is scary for such a tiny woman. But it'll be okay, Stiles, she wouldn't do anything both of us won't appreciate."

I sigh and nod into his shoulder, pressing a kiss against the fabric of his (deliciously tight, holy god, it's mouthwatering) Henley. I actually start to nod off after Derek presses a kiss on my head as pay back for the one I planted on his shirt, but my eyes snap open when something nudges against my magic. I look around, ignoring Derek's concerned gaze, but neither me or my magic notice anything off again. I shudder, suddenly feeling cold, so I burrow further into Derek and press my cold palms against his burning skin.

"You dick," he hisses and grabs my hands to remove them form his skin. He keeps mine in his and blows gently on them, kissing my ring while he's at it.

"Let's go home?" Derek questions and I smile at him in confirmation.

He only lets go of my hands when he needs to open the front door of the apartment.

 

----

 

I knew the other shoe would drop eventually. It always does.

They caught us of guard when Derek put the key in the lock of our front door. He hadn't even opened it yet and they grabbed us. Tasered Derek and knocked me out even before I could call upon my magic. And now we're in a van, Derek unconscious and me in bindings that surpress my powers.

"You know, we saw you at the auction, we smelled you, but you were bought before we could even raise our card," one of the men sighs. He keeps running his sharp nails across my scalp, twirling my hair between his thick fingers. "And news traveled fast, you know, about how your wolf murdered all your owners and took you back, so we thought, why not take him too?"

"He's not hard to look at," one of the women remarks and she licks her lips. "His blood tastes like shit, but he looks define."

"Keep your lust down, Mary," the same man chastises her. "You're such a cougar."

"And you're an asshole."

My head keeps hurting as they continue to bicker, but I keep my eyes on Derek even though I really want to close my eyes. My wrists are burning too, but it feels like they used a different kind of concoction on the shackles then they did when I was captured all these months ago. Maybe when I try hard enough I could actually break free.

"We heard you had quite a mouth on you, but they took care of that, huh?" Another man says. "It's a shame that those stitches are gone, you would've looked great with them."

I just roll my eyes at them all, slumping against Derek half-sitting form. 

"You two look good together," the woman -Mary- says, smirking at me. "So, who's the bottom?"

"Mary," everyone snaps. 

"What?" She asks innocently. "You know I'm curious by nature."

I finally close my eyes, the vampires arguing making my head hurt even more. I rest my temple against Derek's shoulder, his stubble scraping my forehead, and I fall asleep concentrating on my wolf's heartbeat and soft breathing.

Chapter Text

Derek

 

Rough tree bark pokes me in the back as I shift in my bonds. There's a gag in my mouth and my eyes are still watery, so I blink the built-up tears away quickly. 

Stiles, I need to find Stiles.

Looking around wildly, I find him tied to a stone table, middle in the woods. He's trashing and whining, his fists are balled. There are people hovering above him, smelling distinctly like vampires. They found us.

"Now now, don't start making a fuzz. This will all be over soon, and you dog will die quickly after this is done, so don't try to draw it out."

They... want to kill him? But what about his blood? This doesn't make any sense.

I feel my chest start to rumble, and Stiles finally looks at me. His eyes look almost manic with panic, and his chest is rising and deflating quickly like his breathing is way too fast.

"Let's start the ritual," One of the men says, grabbing along, sliver dagger. A low hum starts to build up, the woman's voice rising with every word she speaks.

I remember something about a ritual, not sure if I read it in the bestiary or not, but somehow, by using a ritual, vampires are able to extract blood from one's heart for eternity, while the heart is actually severed from the body.

Just like Stiles, I start to trash wildly. The wolfsbane on the ropes burn, but it doesn't hurt that much. They are strong, the knots tight, but I have to break them!

The chanting is so loud, it seems to slam against my eardrums, to the point of shattering them almost. 

But I see something the vampires don't: Stiles' hands start to glow softly. Even though his breathing is still too quick, and his heartbeat is almost non-audible anymore, he somehow still finds the strength and power to fight.

The chanting stops, the man with the knife is ready to strike, and then everything turns to gold before it slowly fades to black.


 

Stiles

 

I'm shaking. My body is filled with nerves, even though this day has been planned for months.

Ever since I blasted the vampires to ash, and freed Derek of the mountain ash ropes, I've felt stronger, more in sync with my spark again.

But now, standing in my all white tuxedo, ready to walk the isle towards the man of my (teenage) dreams, jitters get the best of me.

I clear my throat, anxious to see Derek's, to see everyone's reaction. 

There's a knock on the door and Dad walks in. "You ready, son?"

I nod, my smile wavering, but he grabs my hand and I know it all will be alright.

When the double doors to the large, filled with guests room opens, I see Derek standing across from me in a pale blue tux, radiantly smiling down at me. The nervous jitters I had before? Gone.

The ceremony goes by in a blur, I'm too lost in Derek's eyes (I mean, who wouldn't?!). But when it comes to the vows, everything is startlingly clear and real.

"Stiles, there's been some ups and downs, especially at the start, but know that this isn't the finish line. I will do anything in my power to keep you with me, and keep you happy, with all it takes. I love you."

I smile at him, and he smiles back. Then his eyes start to drift to my hands, preparing himself to follow my rapid hand movements. But I grab his cheeks and press a kiss to the side of his mouth. My lips drift to his ear, and a raw sounding "I love you" escapes past them.

Derek rears his head back in shock, his eyes wide and darting over my face. I smile again at him, nodding. "You deserved to be the one to hear it first. I love you Derek." I grab his hand and turn to the crowd. I see the pack, Melissa and Dad, and look each of them in their teary eyes when I say to them, "I love you all. Thank you."

When Derek kisses me hard and rough, I know this is how I envisioned my life once Derek took me out on our first date. This is what's supposed to happen.