Derek let out a long breath as he hissed out the last syllables of the incantation just as he had practiced. The candles carefully placed in all four cardinal directions flickered and the flames diminished for a split moment before flaring high with an audible crack.
The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up and a slow tingling traveled down his spine. Holding his breath, Derek snuck glances from the corner of his eyes, and turned carefully around, tense and ready to spring into action.
The barn was empty.
Defeated, he sighed and closed his eyes and dismissed the prickling on the back of his head. He had hoped — believed — it would work but he had been wrong. Again. All the research he had done, all the exotic ingredients he had bullied Deaton to order, all the careful preparations — it had all been for nothing.
The story of my life, he thought bitterly as he picked up the ’blessed stick’ (for lack of a better name for the thing Deaton had given him) and poked at the salt-and-mountain-ash ring to break it. The only reason he even had the stick was to get out from the summoning ring, but it didn’t make him feel any less stupid.
Laura would’ve probably called him Don Quixote and pissed herself while laughing. Then again, Laura would’ve called him many a thing — mostly an idiot to let his situation escalate into this.
As the line broke, the air around him shifted a little and Derek couldn’t suppress a shiver. He had drawn the special double barrier as per Deaton’s instructions, and even though he had known how to break it, he was more than happy to be free from the containment.
He blew the candles out, swiped the floor, rubbed off the symbols, and aired out the incense. When he was done with cleaning and packing his stuff up, he took one, last look at the barn, making sure he hadn’t forgotten or overlooked anything. Pressing his lips together in a tight line, he breathed out through his nose, turned, and walked out.
If he had stayed and looked, he might have seen a dark shape in the corner, staring after him with head cocked and eyes burning in liquid gold.
Derek was beyond tired. He was exhausted both in body and mind, but he knew he had no choice but to keep going. His ragtag pack was in shambles, and if he didn’t come up with some miraculous idea to get his betas back home, they’d all be dead by the end of the summer.
Ever since Isaac had returned to them with his mind all fucked up by the alpha pack, Derek had felt as if a clock had started counting down the days they had left. The sense of impending doom hung over him, making him irritable and snappish, which effectively led to Scott and Isaac avoiding him. He had no idea where Lydia and Jackson currently were, but even if he managed to get a message through them, they wouldn’t make much difference anyway. No, it was better they were away, sorting their relationship out. At least they’d survive. Hopefully.
In all honesty, even if they somehow managed to rescue Erica and Boyd, they’d probably still end up dead. The pitiful remnants of the once formidable Hale pack were nothing compared to Deucalion’s pack. It didn’t matter whether Isaac managed to get his head straight or not, he, Scott, and Derek weren’t anything the alpha pack needed to take seriously.
Derek sighed. They were in serious trouble.
He parked his Camaro by the curb and just sat still for a moment, gripping the steering wheel until it cracked. He had no idea what to do.
Summoning a demon had been his last resort. He hadn’t consulted Peter because as cunning as his uncle was, he was also clinically insane, and Derek knew better than trusting anything he said. He had gone to Deaton instead and suffered through the condescending lecture from his mother’s former emissary. Deaton had been his usual smug, enigmatic self, but he had provided Derek with the necessary items.
Why it hadn’t worked, Derek had no idea. He had triple checked everything, and he was absolutely certain he hadn’t fucked up the incantation. Somehow, it seemed fitting that even creatures of Hell wanted nothing to do with him.
Letting out a silent snarl, he exited the car and headed inside. The air was cool with a hint of rain with some spicy undercurrent, and if Derek hadn’t been so wrapped up in his impending, painful death, he would’ve stopped to enjoy the scents of the night. He had no time for such luxuries, though, so he headed inside, slamming the sliding door shut with way more force than was necessary.
He was grimly pondering whether to order his betas to run or call them for the last, stubborn stand before the alpha pack ripped them to shreds, when someone knocked on the door.
Derek blinked and glanced at his alarm system. It hadn’t been triggered which meant… he didn’t know what it meant. The lights were still on so the someone hadn’t cut power. There was no reason the alarm wasn’t working: it was supposed to react to both werewolves and humans alike.
Carefully, he walked to the door and cocked his head, trying to listen through the thick steel.
He could make out only one heartbeat, a frantic fluttering that didn’t sound panicked or nervous, but more like… excited?
The pattern was unfamiliar and didn’t fit that of a werewolf. Besides, Deucalion had promised he would have time to decide what to do (as in to kill his own pack or to be killed with them), and his deadline was still several days away. The burned-down Hale house had attracted daring teenagers every now and then, but he had never had that problem at his loft — most likely because the loft area didn’t have the same air of romantic tragedy and homicide as the old house.
Curious despite himself, he yanked the door open and caught his arms full of flailing limbs.
”What the hell?” he snarled, shoving the limbs and the person attached to them at an arm’s length.
”Sorry, sorry!” the person — a boy, really — said breathlessly and flailed a bit more before he pulled himself together with a visible effort.
Derek didn’t bother with common courtesy but asked, blunt, ”Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”
”Um… Hi, I’m Stiles!” the boy said brightly and shoved his hand at Derek who stared at it blankly. When it became obvious that Derek was going to neither shake his hand nor bite it off, Stiles used it to shove Derek aside a bit and marched straight into the loft.
”Well, this looks nice,” he said in the same, bright voice. ”A little industrial and spartan, but hey, if that’s the way you roll, I’m not going to criticize.” He paused and pursed his lips. ”Well, not much anyway.”
Unperturbed by Derek’s lack of answer, Stiles darted aimlessly around the loft, poking at random stuff. He sniffed at the day-old coffee grounds in Derek’s coffee maker, peeked into the fridge, cocked his head at the maps on the table, and starfished with a bounce on Derek’s bed.
As he trailed after Stiles, Derek wasn’t sure what to make of the strange boy. He was a lithe form of long limbs and barely contained, vibrant energy with an unruly mess of dark hair and eyes that looked way too big to his face. At first glance, he had looked like a high schooler, but on a closer look, he realized Stiles was older. He had no idea how much, though.
”What are you doing here?” he asked, unable to keep the growl out of his voice.
Still lying on Derek’s bed, Stiles raised his head and gave him a confused look. ”What do you mean?” he asked. ”Shouldn’t you, like, know?”
Scowling, Derek crossed his arms across his chest and let out a long breath through his nose.
”Huh, way to look all judge-y and intimidating,” Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes. ”Does it ever work on anyone?”
It actually didn’t work even on Isaac, but Derek wasn’t going to admit it.
Stiles rolled onto his stomach and leaned his chin on his hands, giving Derek a considering look. ”How can you even function as an alpha when you have no idea what you’re doing in the first place?”
Derek bared his teeth, but there was no malice in Stiles’s voice. He was genuinely baffled, looking at Derek like he was some kind of an oddity Stiles couldn’t figure out.
”What I can’t understand is why in Hell an alpha werewolf would want to summon a demon.”
Derek blinked. ”What?” he asked flatly.
Stiles cocked his head and made a sweeping gesture at himself. ”You called, I came.” He paused and seemed to retract his words. ”And that came out way dirtier than I meant.”
”You,” Derek said, dubious.
”Um, what about me?”
”You’re a demon?”
Stiles frowned. ”Why are you asking?”
”You don’t look like a demon,” Derek said. It sounded surprisingly accusing.
Stiles rolled his eyes. ”And you’re an alpha wolf, but you don’t look like Balto,” he said. ”Appearances can be deceiving, you know?”
He jumped up and bounced closer to Derek, stopping in the middle of the room. ”Would it be better if I looked like this?” he asked and raised a brow.
The air around him shimmered and his features blurred a little, and Derek felt like he had sand in his eyes. He rubbed them and, when he glanced back at Stiles, the lanky boy had transformed into a scantily clad, lithe but muscular humanoid with a luminous gray-blue skin. His eyes were golden amber with slitted pupils and Derek could’ve sworn he saw a pair of tiny horns peeking from the mess of hair.
”So?” Stiles asked and tipped his chin up in a defiant move, flashing his eyes briefly as a challenge.
His pose had an odd sense of sensuality and Derek felt a sudden urge to step into his space and bury his nose into the crook of Stiles’s neck. He closed his eyes and shook his head a bit like a dog to get rid of the foggy feeling. When he looked at Stiles again, the boy — no, the demon — looked like a regular teenager again.
”Was that a satisfactory demonstration?”
Derek scowled and didn’t bother answering.
”Whatever,” Stiles exclaimed and waved his arms in a dramatic move. ”Some people you just can’t impress. Fine,” Stiles continued with his monolog as he wandered into the kitchen where his commenting was accompanied by opening and closing of various drawers and doors. ”I get it. You need to keep up the appearances and act like the tough alpha all the time, otherwise you might forget what you are. Do you have toilet paper? Ooh, Hot Pockets!”
”What?” Derek asked, slightly bewildered of why Stiles asked for toilet paper. ”That’s my kitchen.”
Stiles poked his head from the kitchen door. ”I know,” he said slowly. ”But do you know it’s your kitchen? It seems a bit unused.” He had a Hot Pocket in his hand. It was steaming even though Derek hadn’t heard the microwave go on.
”By the way, what’s your name?” Stiles asked. ”You never told me. You just growled and scowled, which might just be your MO. I could call you ’alpha’ or ’hot shots,’ but I don’t think your pack would appreciate it. I mean, I don’t mind, but in a long run it could grow a bit awkward.”
”What?” Derek asked faintly.
Stiles walked out of the kitchen, looking slightly worried as he stopped in front of Derek. ”What. Is. Your. Name?” he articulated slowly.
”Derek,” Derek said.
”Excellent!” Stiles beamed. ”Wasn’t so hard now, was it? You didn’t even flash your teeth!”
Derek crossed his arms across his chest and scowled.
”Don’t be such a sourwolf,” Stiles chided, patting his arm.
For a split second, his hand lingered and his heartbeat stuttered, and it was almost like he swayed slightly closer to Derek. Then he seemed to catch himself, snatched his hand back, and his pulse returned to the somewhat fluttering beating that seemed to be normal for him.
”Ah, right. Deal! We should make a deal,” Stiles said, backing away a couple of steps. ”The demon deal. Yeah.”
”Okay,” Derek said slowly, feeling slightly shaky and, therefore, annoyed after the touch. ”And what might that be, exactly?”
Stiles blinked and swallowed. ”Um. You know,” he said waving his hand in a vague move. ”The standard ’In exchange of my services you pledge your firstborn to me?’”
”Was that a question?”
”No?”
Derek sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ”Shouldn’t the deal be a bit more specific? ’Services’ sounds a bit half-baked.”
Stiles cocked his head and grinned. ”Are you looking after my interests?” he asked, sounding delighted.
”Someone has to, and it seems that you’re not doing it yourself,” Derek pointed out dryly.
”Huh,” Stiles huffed. He narrowed his eyes at Derek, staring at him for several moments with focused intensity. Then he seemed to still and, when he spoke, his voice was oddly formal. ”What do you need?” he asked.
Derek breathed deep and held it for a moment before slowly releasing it. If Stiles really was able to help, Derek would gladly pay the price he asked. After Paige and Kate, he was done with relationships and had no intention to seek a new one, let alone produce an offspring. Pledging his firstborn was an easy promise to make.
”I need to get rid of the alpha pack,” he said carefully. ”They’re on my territory and keeping two of my betas hostage.” He paused for a moment to close his eyes. ”I need to keep my pack safe.”
When he opened his eyes he met Stiles’s gaze and held it, even though it felt like it bore through his skull.
”Deal,” Stiles said softly as his lips drew into a small smirk. Then he stepped right into Derek’s space, cradled his face in his hands, and kissed him.
”Demon deals are sealed with a kiss,” Stiles declared, completely straight-faced before he turned and darted back into the kitchen.
Blinking, Derek stared after him, wondering what in the Hell he had just agreed to.
Sharing the space with Stiles was exhausting. The demon kept on a continuous commentary about everything he saw, whether it was Derek’s leather jacket, his admittedly somewhat shabby couch, the giant windows of his loft, or the woeful lack of proper food in his kitchen. Stiles found something to say about everything, but he seemed to have the attention span of a goldfish on speed, and Derek was having serious trouble keeping up with him.
For some reason, the lack of food seemed to offend Stiles the most. Derek didn’t understand why: Stiles was a demon, what did he need proper food for? Besides, he was only visiting, right?
”Is there, like, a Hot Pocket ratio?” Stiles asked.
Derek had absolutely no fucking clue what he was talking about.
Stiles rolled his eyes as if Derek was being purposefully obtuse. ”The number of frozen instant meals versus fresh, homemade meals is directly proportional to the amount of happiness you get in life.”
”That doesn’t make any sense,” Derek groaned. He was sure he was building up a headache.
”Really? Huh,” Stiles huffed, shrugged, and walked to grab Derek’s hand. ”We’re going shopping. I don’t care if you claim those Hot Pockets are nutritiously balanced or, whatever, it’s not good for your health if you only eat junk food.”
”I’m a werewolf, you know,” Derek tried to reason even as he scrambled for his car keys.
”I thought werewolves were even more into fresh food than humans. Don’t you have, like, super smelling and tasting skills?”
”Uh,” Derek said.
Stiles whirled around and jabbed him on the sternum with one long, bony finger, which actually hurt. Derek barely reined in his automatic reaction to raise his hands in supplication in time.
Stiles narrowed his eyes. ”And what would your mother say if she knew you’re living on crappy instant meals?”
Derek opened his mouth but couldn’t come up with a single thing to say.
Stiles nodded. ”That’s what I thought,” he said smugly and pushed the loft door open. ”Come along, big guy! We have places to be and food to buy.”
Stiles let loose in Derek’s loft was slightly intimidating.
Stiles let loose in the grocery store was terrifying.
He darted back and forth between the aisles, read the ingredients lists aloud with added insight about additives, pondered the point behind a blue cheese flavored bread spread that had no blue cheese in it, and heroically battled a harried-looking mother of two screaming infants for the biggest watermelon Derek had ever seen. And when Stiles asked if he knew the difference between banana and chocolate flavored lubes, Derek almost fled the store.
It was a long couple of hours.
They returned with four bags full of groceries, a popsicle for Stiles, and a migraine for Derek. Stiles babbled the whole time he unpacked the stuff and organized Derek’s kitchen, and Derek decided to retreat into the balcony with a beer. The alcohol wouldn’t do shit for him, but at least there was relative peace and quiet.
Closing his eyes, he slid to sit on the floor and leaned his head against the wall. When the door behind him opened, Derek didn’t bother opening his eyes, recognizing his uncle’s scent and heartbeat.
Peter sat beside him and, after a moment of silence, he said, ”There’s a demon in your kitchen.”
There was an odd note in his voice, but Derek was feeling too exhausted by the shopping trip to analyze it. Instead, he settled for a flat, ”I know.”
”He’s having a surprisingly lively conversation with an aubergine.”
Derek sighed.
Peter was silent for so long that Derek thought he had fallen asleep, which was why he nearly jumped when Peter asked, ”Derek, what are you doing?”
He let out a long breath and, still resting the back of his head against the wall, turned to look at Peter.
”I’m trying to keep my pack — and myself — alive.”
”But do you know what you’re doing?”
Derek huffed a laugh. ”I have no fucking clue.”
Peter hummed a non-committal sound. ”Good. Now I don’t feel so alone.”
Unsure of what else to say, Derek said, ”You’re welcome.”
They sat on the balcony until Stiles called them for dinner. It was perhaps one of the weirdest and most peaceful moments Derek had ever shared with his uncle.
Derek called a pack meeting for the next day, even though he didn’t dare calling their gatherings that. It was just the four of them — five, including Stiles — and that wasn’t really a pack. He briefed Stiles about their current situation thoroughly beforehand, explaining everything he knew about the alpha pack, their strengths (which were many) and their weaknesses (which were naught). Stiles listened through his lesson with a frown between his eyebrows, asking for clarifications even about the details Derek hadn’t spared a second thought.
When they were done, Stiles stared at the maps spread on the table and didn’t bother to look at Derek when he ordered a cup of coffee. When Derek brought him the mug, he was on his way to draw lines and symbols on the maps, muttering to himself as he stormed through ideas with impressive speed. His eyes literally lit up and Derek could almost see the gears turning as he continued arguing with himself and pointing out at least six different opinions.
Holding his own mug, Derek retreated to the side to watch him work.
Scott and Isaac arrived somewhere between the fourth map and the sixth cup of coffee. Even though Derek had warned them beforehand, they still blinked at Stiles storming around the big table, scribbling notes on the edges of the maps. He didn’t even glance up at the younger wolves, just waved his hand in a vague motion.
Derek sighed and beckoned them into the kitchen and out of Stiles’s way.
”What is that?” Scott breathed and flared his nostrils.
”He is Stiles,” Derek said, emphasizing the pronoun. ”He’s going to help us with the alpha pack.”
Isaac leaned a bit to the side to squint at Stiles. ”How?”
Derek opened his mouth to evade the question, but he was interrupted by Stiles calling them back.
”So, here’s the thing: You can’t do shit about them,” Stiles said, pushing a hand through his hair which left his hair in messy spikes. He had a smudge of ink on the side of his nose and Derek wanted to rub his thumb over it to make it go away. He folded his hands across his chest instead.
”That’s really helpful,” Isaac said flatly.
Stiles flashed him a surprisingly wolfish grin. ”I never said anything about me,” he almost purred. ”The real question is pure Shakespeare,” he continued and waggled his eyebrows. ”To kill or not to kill.”
All wolves groaned at the terrible pun.
”I say, kill,” Peter said from the stairs.
Isaac nodded. ”Me too.”
Scott shook his head. ”I don’t like the idea of killing them, no matter what they’ve done. It would only sink us to their level. Allison agrees with me, by the way. She couldn’t come today, but we talked about this before we left.”
Derek couldn’t hear a lie in Scott’s heartbeat and Isaac’s sour expression confirmed that Scott was telling the truth. He wasn’t surprised about Scott’s opinion, but Allison’s decision was unexpected. He would’ve thought a Hunter’s daughter to be more eager in ending a bunch of homicidal alphas.
Asking Peter and Isaac’s opinion was just for show because they’d made their points explicitly clear already. Peter took the alpha pack’s breach of territory personally and it was in his character to hold a grudge until the day he died. Isaac, on the other hand, had a very visceral reason to hate Deucalion’s guts, and losing Erica and Boyd had hit him hard.
Stiles raised a brow and gave Derek a smirk. ”So, it’s a tie. It’s up to you then, Derek.”
Derek didn’t bother pointing out that the true decision lied with Stiles. He let out a long breath through his nose and looked each member of his pack in the eye. ”I’m not in averse of killing them,” he said slowly and held up his hand to silence Scott’s protests, ”but I’d like to at least try negotiating with them first.” He raised his head to meet Stiles’s gaze. ”Give them the benefit of doubt.”
”Even though they never gave it to us,” Isaac muttered under his breath.
Something satisfied flashed in Stiles’s eyes and he nodded. ”Good, then that’s settled,” he exclaimed brightly. ”We should sit down to figure out where and how to meet them and all that jazz, but I want some ice cream first.” He leaned his head back and looked at Derek. ”There should be some of that Rocky Road stuff left.”
Derek tried to not stare at the long column of Stiles’s bare throat and failed miserably. Ignoring Peter’s knowing quirk of an eyebrow, he darted into the kitchen to fetch Stiles his ice cream.
They met the alphas in a clearing near the borders of the Preserve. Like they had anticipated, they were already there: lounging around in a lazy half-circle like they were on a leisurely night stroll instead of on their way to kill four weres more. Deucalion was sitting on a fallen log, calm and collected, his hands folded on the handle of his cane.
”So, Derek,” he said. ”Have you reached your conclusion yet?”
Derek stood his ground, kept his head high, and his hands relaxed on his sides. He felt Scott and Isaac behind him, sensed Peter a little further away, and Allison back on his left, ready for action. As agreed, Stiles was on the far right, just on the edge of Derek’s periphery, waiting for his mark.
It only took a split second for Derek to make sure his pack was where it was supposed to be, and he let nothing of it show on his face. ”I have, ” he answered to Deucalion.
”And?” Deucalion prompted, tilting his head to the side a bit.
”No.”
A ripple traveled across Deucalion’s face, the only outwards sign of his annoyance. ”Are you so eager to die?” he asked.
”All men must die,” Derek said mildly, quoting Game of Thrones. He heard a snort from his right and stifled a sigh. Trust Stiles to lose his calm over a damn George R.R. Martin quote and outing himself early.
Deucalion’s head whipped to the side to stare at Stiles’s vicinity. ”Who is in there?” he demanded. By his side, Kali sniffed and let out a low growl.
”Well, this was getting boring anyway,” Stiles said and stepped away from the woods, sauntering to stand in front of Derek.
”And who are you?” Deucalion asked, the narrowing of his eyes visible even with the sunglasses.
”Me? Oh, I’m Stiles,” Stiles said. ”And Beacon Hills is under my protection.”
Deucalion blinked several times, glanced at Kali, and threw his head back to laugh. ”Your protection?”
Stiles cocked his head to the side and smiled. ”Yes. My protection. And now, you need to leave.”
Still chuckling, Deucalion shook his head and leaned slightly forward. He tilted his head and pursed his lips into a condescending pout. ”I don’t think so.”
Something Stiles’s pose shifted, turning him from a teenager into something dangerous. ”Really?” he asked sweetly, and then he changed.
When Stiles had shown Derek his true form, he had done it gently, but there was nothing gentle in him now. He transformed into his demon shape with an ear-splitting sound that wasn’t exactly a scream, but Derek wasn’t sure how to describe it.
”I said, you need to leave!”
Stiles’s voice tore through him in a searing agony and the sigil painted over Derek’s heart burned hot. Through the pack bonds, Derek felt the pain from his betas and, even with the protection of the spells woven into his sigil, it was enough to make him almost drop on his knees.
In front of them, the alpha pack was torn into pieces. Some of them had fallen on their knees, some were curled in fetal position, tearing at their eyes or ears with their claws. Deucalion’s roar covered the pained whimpers of the other alphas and when Derek blinked to focus his eyes, he saw the leader of the alpha pack on his knees, his head thrown back, and blood streaming from his damaged eyes.
Derek was in no way religious or prone to poetry, but the only way he could describe the Stiles between him and the alpha pack was an angel of death shone with unholy light, his lithe form expanded and stretched into something immeasurable. Then he exploded, and Derek closed his eyes and cringed.
”The Hale pack is mine!” Stiles thundered, absolute and furious.
The silence that followed was eerie. Carefully, Derek opened his eyes to take a look around. The alpha pack lay on the ground, broken and quite dead, while Derek’s own pack was very much alive. Stiles himself was back in the form of the lanky teenager Derek was used to seeing.
”Dude,” Scott breathed in awe from somewhere behind Derek.
Stiles glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Then he swayed.
”Stiles?” Derek asked, scrambling to his side.
”Oops?” Stiles said.
And then he fainted.
Derek was vaguely aware of Scott and Isaac hurrying past him to check that the alphas were truly dead, but his attention was on Stiles. The demon was pale and silent in his arms, and if Derek didn’t hear his heart beating, he would’ve thought him dead.
”Stiles? Stiles!” Derek called and tried shaking Stiles gently, but his head lolled from side to side and he didn’t even stir.
”What the hell just happened?” Allison asked as she walked slowly out of the woods and stopped to stare wide-eyed at the bloody corpses lying around. Her gaze darted back and forth as if she expected them to jump back into action and, given everything that had happened with alphas that were supposed to stay dead, Derek didn’t blame her.
”Seems like your demon got rid of the alphas,” Peter mused, eyeing the corpses with somewhat disdainful expression. ”Good riddance.”
Derek wholeheartedly agreed, but he was more worried about Stiles and especially about why he didn’t just wake up?
”I’m going to call Deaton,” he said to no-one in particular and dug out his phone. He smelled Peter’s amusement, heard a soft, ”You do that,” and ignored it.
Deaton answered on the second call.
”The demon doesn’t wake up,” Derek growled as a greeting.
”Good evening to you too, Derek. I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Deaton said mildly. ”How can I help you?”
”Stiles killed the alpha pack and now I can’t wake him up.”
”Hm,” Deaton said. From the background, Derek heard soft clinking that sounded very much like someone stirring tea with a spoon.
”Would you care to explain why we have a demon in Beacon Hills in the first place?”
Derek let out a frustrated breath through his nose. ”Because it was the only thing I could come up with,” he said. ”Now, can you help me or not?”
In his arms, Stiles stirred and let out a whiny breath. His eyes opened a bit, just a narrow sliver that revealed his bright amber eyes, and he muttered something Derek couldn’t hear.
”What?” he asked and leaned forward, his phone still in his ear.
”Hungry,” Stiles managed. ”Starving. Feed me.”
Derek froze as Stiles’s hand grabbed his shirt and his eyes snapped open. They were wide and completely overridden by golden orange, staring right back at him with burning intensity.
On the other end of the line, Deaton had gone completely silent. Derek was almost sure the call had disconnected when Deaton finally asked, slowly, ”Derek, what did he just say?”
”Uh,” Derek said, blinking. Stiles’s eyelids had dropped closed again but he was still holding on to Derek’s shirt. ”He said he’s hungry and asked me to feed him. What do I feed him anyway?”
”Have you seen his true form? His eyes? Are they gold?”
Derek frowned. What the hell had Stiles’s eye color to do with anything? He answered to Deaton anyway, an impatient, ”Yeah, he showed me the day he arrived. Why?”
Deaton sighed. ”How on earth did you manage to end up with an incubus?” For some odd reason, he sounded almost impressed.
A what?
”You know what an incubus is, don’t you?” Deaton prompted when Derek didn’t say anything.
Oh, Derek knew. He had read the old mythology tome back when the Hale house was still standing. Incubi were sex demons who got their sustenance from sexual pleasure and who had the ability to compel others with their powers. That still didn’t explain how Stiles had killed the alpha pack.
”I thought they were a myth,” Derek said, staring at Stiles.
”Says the werewolf,” Deaton retorted dryly. ”If he’s starving you need to move fast. You need to take him to a safe place and take care of him.” He paused and said, more slowly, ”Do you understand?”
Derek swallowed. ’Taking care’ of Stiles in this context meant having sex with him and as attractive as Derek found him, he couldn’t shake the ugly feeling of taking advantage of a helpless person.
”Oh, and Derek: You need to knot him,” Deaton added before he said, ”Good luck,” and ended the call.
Slightly dazed, Derek looked around. Scott and Isaac were busy hauling the bodies on a tarp he was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago, and Peter was standing slightly to his side with his arms folded on his chest. Allison was nowhere in sight which was perhaps for the best. She still wasn’t very comfortable with the more… graphic side of the supernatural world.
”Take him back to the loft,” Peter said, giving him a side-eyed glance.
”Deaton said—” Derek started but stopped when Peter raised a finger and gave him a serious look.
”I know what he said. I also know what you’re thinking, it’s all over your face. But you have to do this or he dies. You can talk about consent issues later when he’s actually capable of coherent thought.” Peter turned and started walking to Scott and Isaac. ”Allison will drive you,” he called over his shoulder. ”Don’t worry, our mighty alpha. We’ll take care of things here and bring Boyd and Erica home.”
For a moment, Derek stared after his three betas dragging the tarp deeper into the woods to deal with the bodies as Peter saw fit. First, he couldn’t believe Peter had actually called him ’mighty alpha,’ even as a joke. Second, he couldn’t believe he was seriously considering following Deaton’s advice through.
He was jolted from his thoughts by a small cough behind him and when he turned, he saw Allison offering him a stilted smile.
”I brought the car nearer,” she said, nodding toward the woods.
Derek nodded, lifted Stiles up in bridal style, and carried him back to his car. It took some maneuvering to get them both into the cramped back seat of the Camaro because neither of them was exactly small, but they managed, and Derek only hit his head twice and jammed his elbow half a dozen times.
Stiles never even stirred.
The journey back to the loft went in a blur. At times, Derek noticed Allison peeking thoughtful glances at the rearview mirror, but she never said anything. He ignored her, concentrating on Stiles on his lap instead. The demon rested his head on Derek’s shoulder with his nose pressed into the crook of his neck, and something about their position made Derek both embarrassed and turned on. He was fervently happy the driver was Allison and not one of his wolves.
Then again, she was a Hunter’s daughter and used to observing what happened around her.
When they finally arrived, instinct made him wave Allison on her way and carry Stiles all the way back into his own bedroom on the second floor instead of settling for the pack bed in the corner of the living room. He had barely managed to lower Stiles on the mattress when he whimpered and fisted Derek’s shirt in his hand.
Gently, Derek pried his shirt out of Stiles’s grip, making soothing noises and stroking his arm.
”Need…” Stiles whined and Derek nearly growled out of sheer frustration.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t have sex with Stiles. The demon was attractive and smart as a whip, both things Derek valued highly. But the situation they were in was terrible. There was no way Stiles could actually consent to anything and, after what Derek himself had been through, he didn’t want to take advantage.
But Deaton had also said that if Derek didn’t have sex with Stiles — and, more importantly, knot him — Stiles would die. Somehow, Derek figured Stiles would have more objections on dying than having sex. He tried to think back on what he had read about incubi almost fifteen years ago, but his memory was hazy, and the only thing he could come up with was skin contact and ’exchange of bodily fluids,’ a line that had made his pre-teen self scrunch his nose in disgust.
He sighed and pressed his lips together on a thin line. Perhaps it was time to improvise?
”Stiles?” he said softly. ”I’m going to strip us both and then I’m going to get in bed with you.” He had no idea whether Stiles heard him or not, or if he was just easing his own mind by explaining his actions.
He stripped himself first and then undressed Stiles, trying and failing to avoid staring the expanse of pale flesh stretched out on his bed. Stiles’s skin was hot and almost luminous in the dim bedroom, and Derek ached to touch, to lick every crevice and dimple, and bite his mark for everyone to admire.
Then the smell of his own arousal tickled his nose and he hurried to get under covers and draw Stiles flush against him.
First, nothing happened.
Stiles was silent and hot in his arms, his heart beating in its familiar, frantic way, and his breath dampening the hollow of Derek’s throat. After what seemed like several minutes, he stirred and opened his eyes a fraction and, for a moment, they just stared at each other. And then Stiles’s eyes went wide, he let out a hungry, almost wounded noise, and latched on Derek’s lips.
The kiss was nowhere near gentle or tentative and it went straight to Derek’s cock. Stiles ravaged his mouth with animalistic need, sucking his tongue and biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Derek was slightly taken aback by the sheer violence of it, but he figured that Stiles knew what he needed and, since he had almost given his life to protect Derek’s pack, Derek thought it was only good manners to pay him back.
Or that’s what he told himself, laying back, and letting the writhing sex demon sit on his lap and take control.
”Derek— I need— Can I—” Stiles panted against his lips.
Derek had no idea what Stiles needed, but he was willing to give it anyway. ”Yes. Anything you need,” he said hoarsely. ”You don’t have to ask.”
The sound Stiles let out was somewhere between a purr and a sigh. He slithered down into the V of Derek’s thighs and swallowed Derek’s cock down in one go, humming around the intrusion as if Derek’s cock hitting the back of his throat was something exquisite. Derek nearly jackknifed from the bed and hissed in surprise, baring his fangs and jamming his claws through the mattress to keep still.
Stiles didn’t give him the chance to catch his breath but sucked like his life depended on it — which it probably did — and if he’d made it his mission to drain all Derek’s coherence through his cock. Derek came an embarrassingly short time later with a gasp, absolutely sure he had just had the best orgasm of his life.
After just laying still a moment with Derek’s cock still twitching in his mouth, Stiles licked him clean and rested his cheek on Derek’s thigh. ”Well, that was nice,” he said. ”We’re gonna do that again.”
”Hnngh,” Derek said.
Stiles raised his head and asked, incredulous, ”Well, you can’t expect me to recover with just a bit of cock, can you? That small one, that was just first aid.”
Something about Derek’s face must’ve betrayed his opinion about ’small ones’ because Stiles rolled his eyes and climbed back on his lap. ”Don’t get all butthurt on me, alpha. A blowjob is enough to sustain me, but every now and then, I need more. And if I almost drain myself, well…” He shrugged and pursed his lips. ”But you don’t have to do anything. You can just lie down and hold on for the ride.”
Derek’s spent cock gave a valiant twitch at Stiles’s grin.
”I don’t think I can—” he started.
”You don’t have to think, that’s the beauty of it,” Stiles whispered.
His hand darted down and Derek’s eyes followed the movement, zeroing on Stiles wrapping his hand around his own cock and pulling, coming back with silky, pale drops of his pre-come webbing between his long fingers. Derek stared hungrily as the fingers came closer and the heady mix of Stiles’s natural spicy scent and the smell of his pheromones made his head swim.
”Open up,” Stiles murmured and Derek obeyed.
As he licked Stiles’s fingers clean he felt like his whole body was electrified and all his nerve endings caught fire. Above him, Stiles’s eyes were shining and he felt his own eyes turn red in return, accepting the challenge.
Stiles let out a delighted, breathy laugh. ”Come on, alpha. Show me what you’ve got,” he purred. ”Show me those big, shiny teeth and sharp claws.”
Derek felt his wolf’s eager response and shifted, roaring as Stiles impaled himself on his cock in one, long push, threw his head back to bare his long neck, and moaned. Derek was engulfed in tight, slick heat that seemed to suck him deeper and light him up from the inside.
It was unlike any sex Derek had ever experienced, so much purer and yet intimate in a way he had never even imagined possible. Under Stiles’s bright eyes, he didn’t have to hide parts of himself; he could let himself drown in Stiles, be whatever the demon needed and enjoy himself as Stiles took and took, completely shameless and utterly beautiful on his lap.
When his knot started to form, it took him by surprise. He had never knotted anyone before so he had no idea what to do with the odd feeling at the base of his cock. He whined, apprehensive, but Stiles hushed him and yanked him to sit up with an ease that spoke of supernatural power.
”Shh, it’s okay,” he crooned in Derek’s ear, wrapped his legs around Derek and ground down with a gyrating move that made Derek want to either cry out or slash the mattress with his claws again. Or both.
”Just let it happen, alpha. It’ll be good,” Stiles whispered and coaxed Derek’s forehead against his neck.
When his knot caught on Stiles’s rim, Stiles pulled Derek closer with his legs and forced it inside, making Derek sob. It was too much, too intense, and he was shaking with it, but Stiles was merciless and bore down. Helpless in his hold, Derek buried his nose in Stiles’s skin, breathed in deep gulps of humid air that tasted like fire, ozone, and them, and hoped he would make it out this alive.
He came with a hoarse cry and, instinctively, bit down to anchor himself to not to fly apart. On his lap, Stiles froze and let out a clear sound of pure joy as he clenched down around Derek like a vice, coming in spurts in between them.
The last coherent thought in Derek’s mind before he blacked out was, What a way to go.
When Derek slowly swam back to consciousness, he felt like he’d been through nine rounds with a meat grinder. His everything ached and his head felt wooly — a bit like the morning after that one time when Peter had managed to trick him into drinking a whole bottle of wolfsbane-laced vodka.
He took a shuddering breath to clear his mind, but it didn’t clear at all. Instead, his senses were flooded with a scent of something delicious — of spices, pheromones, and mate. It was definitely odd, since to Derek’s knowledge, he didn’t have one.
He frowned, scrunched his nose, and shifted a bit. That was when he realized he was spooning someone and that his dick was extremely snugly secured inside that someone. Instinctively, he jerked back and hissed.
It hurt. A lot.
”Ow, ow, oww!” a gruff voice snarled and, as Derek recognized Stiles’s voice, the events of the previous night came rushing back.
He swallowed.
Apparently, it was possible to fuck yourself into oblivion.
He tried to hold himself as carefully as possible, but gauging a demon’s reactions and state of mind was difficult when all you could see was his back. Also, Derek’s dick was still inside Stiles which, despite being very enjoyable, was also awkward.
”Are you done freaking out already?” Stiles asked dryly, interrupting Derek’s train of thought. ”Because if you try to pull out now, it won’t feel that comfy, you know?”
Derek cleared his throat and muttered an apology as he tilted his hips slightly forward and snuggled cautiously closer. Stiles huffed and reached back to grab Derek’s hand in his own, promptly wrapping them both around his midriff, and wiggled until he was comfortable. The wiggling did interesting things to Derek’s cock and he couldn’t suppress a breathy grunt.
”Better now, alpha?” Stiles asked smugly, tilting his head to grin at him over his shoulder.
Derek rolled his eyes in an attempt to cover how perfect Stiles felt in his arms. He ignored Stiles’s question and asked instead, ”How are you feeling?”
The demon let out a considering hum. ”I’m better. Still a bit tired, but I’m not going to die on you now. So, thanks for helping me out.”
A slash of guilt twisted his gut and Derek winced. ”About that—” he started, but Stiles stopped him by squeezing his hand. Hard.
”Okay, stop right there. You didn’t make me do anything. I needed this to survive, and I’m giving my belated, enthusiastic consent now. Better late than never, right?”
It didn’t actually make him feel much better, but Derek muttered, ”Okay,” anyway.
”Oh, and for the record, you literally can’t do anything to me. You cannot overpower me, you cannot kill me, you cannot banish me. So you don’t have to worry about that.”
Derek frowned, confused. ”But I summoned you,” he said. ”Doesn’t that mean I can also banish you?”
Stiles went oddly quiet.
”Stiles?”
”Ahh… about that… not exactly. You tried to open the door, but only managed to crack it ajar.” He shrugged. ”I got curious.”
”Which means that I failed even the most basic demon summoning,” Derek said flatly. What a surprise.
During their conversation, his knot had deflated and his cock slipped out of Stiles. Derek half-heartedly wondered if he should even bother getting up or just burrow under the covers and sleep until the next year.
Before he made up his mind, Stiles turned around and pinned him against the mattress.
”Derek, you didn’t fail anything,” Stiles said sternly. ”Beacon Hills has a Nemeton right in the middle of the woods which effectively makes this whole place a Hellmouth, you know? Amongst other things, the Nemeton screws up the true cardinal directions, which is actually pretty interesting. I mean, did you know that it affects the way the migrating birds circle around Beacon Hills? And butterflies? Even though I’m not sure if the butterflies get their compasses messed up and the birds follow or the other way round, but—” he stopped, blinked, and shook his head as if to clear it. ”Anyway, that’s why you, well, couldn’t summon a demon.”
Derek fell silent for a while, thinking. If he hadn’t summoned Stiles, why had the demon arrived? Mere curiosity didn’t sound like an enough of a reason, even though it made sense. They had only spent a little over a week together, but Derek had already come to realize Stiles was the living embodiment of curiosity, had more questions than a toddler, and was probably partially related to magpies considering how drawn he was to shiny, interesting things.
And yet… ”But, why?” Derek asked.
Stiles blinked and opened his eyes wide. ”Well, you asked nicely,” he said, giving Derek a surprisingly good impression of pure innocence. He didn’t believe it for a moment.
Stiles rolled his eyes at his narrowed eyes, hopped off of Derek, and tugged his hand. ”Come on, my alpha, time to shower! And after, you can introduce me to the wolves we saved.”
Even though Derek’s wolf perked at Stiles’s choice of possessive words, his human side knew they didn’t mean anything. Stiles liked to run his mouth, and most of the stuff that came out was either hyperbole or pure nonsense.
Of course, it didn’t mean Derek didn’t want.
When he finally managed to disentangle himself from the clingy incubus and made it out of the shower and into the living room, he saw a note pinned into the couch.
You two are disgusting. I envy you. Call me once you’re done screwing each other senseless. Or at least have a bathroom break.
— P
Rolling his eyes, Derek removed the pin and tossed the note into the trash. Somehow, Stiles had made it into the kitchen without Derek noticing and was busy brewing coffee and rummaging through the cupboards. He looked occupied, so Derek figured he didn’t need any help. He retrieved his phone and called Peter.
”Congratulations for nailing that incubus ass, nephew,” Peter said as a greeting. ”Is the sex truly as phenomenal as the stories lead us to believe?”
”Hard to say because I don’t read that kind of porn,” Derek answered dryly. He heard a clang from the kitchen and a split moment later, Stiles peeked from the doorway, looking extremely interested. Derek took a deep breath, turned around, and walked into the balcony.
”How are they?” he asked, leaning his temple on the loft window.
”Tired, tortured, and thoroughly terrorized,” Peter intoned. Then he let out a breath and continued on a more serious tone, ”Their physical wounds are about healed, but…”
He didn’t have to continue, Derek understood. ”You should probably come over. The whole pack needs to be together for this.”
”Are you and your sex demon decent?” Peter asked in a mock whisper.
Derek hung up on him and walked back inside and into the kitchen, fully meaning to debrief Stiles about the situation. Instead, Stiles handed him a plate heaped with food and gave him a knowing look.
”We need more food,” Stiles said. ”Two recovering teenage wolves, two regular teenage wolves, Peter, and you.” Stiles nodded at himself. ”Yeah, we’re going to need a lot more food.”
Derek swallowed around his breakfast. ”What do you mean, ’me’?”
Stiles smirked. ”Well, you need to keep up your strength, big guy. I can’t have you fainting on me. Or, under me, I’m not picky like that. Eat up, we’re heading out to the store in five,” Stiles said and kissed his cheek on his way out.
Derek blinked several times and then decided to think about all of it later.
The big bed in the corner of the living room became the most important thing in their lives for the following days. Apart from supply runs and bathroom breaks, the pack spent their time in a one, big pile, drawing comfort from each other. Out of mutual understanding, Erica and Boyd always ended up in the middle with Isaac, Scott, and Allison surrounding them and Derek stretching himself so that he managed to touch all three of his hurt betas.
He was slightly surprised that Boyd allowed Allison so close, considering she’d shot him, but he didn’t question the decision. What really shook him, however, was Peter wandering in on the first couple of days to sit on the bed on Scott’s side, his leg a long line of touch along the younger wolves’ legs.
Then again, Peter had lived through losing one pack. Despite all his flaws, he was just as eager as Derek to keep this new ragtag of a pack safe and alive. It might be dysfunctional but it was family.
Grateful, he caught Peter’s gaze and gave him a nod. Peter sniffed and regarded coolly his fingernails, but something in his body language relaxed. It was not much, but Derek decided it was enough.
Derek dozed off and, a couple of hours later when he woke up, Peter was gone. Derek allowed himself a small smile — even though his uncle like being around, he had a somewhat limited tolerance to physical touch. He needed some space after pack bonding like this or he’d get hives.
On the second day after the pack was reunited, Stiles slipped into the pack bed behind Derek. Up until now, he had concentrated on feeding the pack, fussing over Erica and Boyd, and forcing them to eat chicken noodle soup three times a day. As the lingering stench of pain and torture on them had started to slowly lessen, Stiles had, apparently, either run out of soup or energy.
Derek ignored Peter’s knowing smirk from across the room and, with Stiles’s body warmth seeping into his back, he fell asleep.
When he woke up, the loft was dim. At some point, Stiles had migrated from behind him into his arms, slipped his hands under Derek’s shirt, and burrowed his face under his jaw. The pack bed was empty except for Boyd and Erica, curled into each other’s arms and covered with the hideous pink-and-lime blanket Erica had insisted on buying months ago as a decorative piece.
Derek closed his eyes and concentrated on the pack bonds, raising a brow when he located Isaac, Scott, and Allison upstairs in Isaac’s bed. Well, that was a new development, but it had been long coming. Peter was muted and calm, a sign that he was probably out patrolling. Derek touched fleetingly the two remaining bonds, barely long enough to get the feeling that Lydia and Jackson were alive.
He opened his eyes and took a look at the demon in his arms. For some reason, having Stiles there felt right, like he belonged. It was both a terrifying and wonderful because no matter how he felt, he knew Stiles couldn’t stay. There were bound to be rules regarding actual demons from Hell, rules that couldn’t be broken.
He shouldn’t get too attached. Eventually, Stiles would leave him and he would be alone again.
”You’re brooding too loud,” Stiles muttered into his skin. He tilted his head back and gave Derek a lazy look through half-opened eyes. They were glittering, not as brightly as after defeating the alphas, but there was a shine Derek recognized.
”You should take me to bed,” Stiles purred and took a hold of Derek’s chin with his teeth.
Derek swallowed. ”We are in bed,” he pointed out, going for cool and managing only to sound flustered.
Stiles pursed his lips and cocked his head. ”Well… if you really want to, we can have sex right here. I didn’t peg you for exhibitionism, though.” Then he snickered. ”Peg you,” he repeated and waggled his brows.
Derek flushed, realized that Erica was awake and listening in, and decided to salvage what little he had left of his dignity. In other words, he scrambled up, hoisted Stiles over his shoulder and carried him upstairs, fervently wishing he made enough noise to cover up Stiles cooing endearments about his ass.
Later, when he had finally exhausted Stiles (and nearly passed out himself), he lay awake, frowning at the ceiling, contemplating his life.
He had never truly believed he’d succeed in summoning the demon and keeping his pack safe. He’d certainly not believed he’d end up in bed with said demon, let alone start falling in love with him.
The whole concept was, frankly, ridiculous. He’d known Stiles for a mere couple of weeks, hardly long enough to learn to know him enough to fall for him. Sure, the sex was mind-blowingly amazing, but then, that had also been the case with Kate, although he was honest enough to see the difference. With Kate, he had always felt uncomfortable afterward, and she’d hated it if he shifted during sex, unless she’d been on one of her weird moods and demanded it.
Stiles, on the other hand… He was thunder and lightning, fire and fury, laughter and wicked joy, pure sensuality packed in a bony sack of flailing limbs and sarcasm, and Derek— he loved every second of it.
It would hurt like Hell when Stiles left.
By his side, Stiles was sprawled on his belly, legs wide and other arm turned into an angle that looked painful. Derek followed the curve of his spine with hungry eyes, gaze locking into the moisture slowly leaking from between his cheeks. He swallowed and reached out to snag a sheet to cover Stiles up.
He really should try getting some distance, if only to soften the inevitable heartbreak looming in the not-so-distant future.
Or he should stop fucking him, at least.
Derek lasted for a whole of two and half days before he yanked Stiles into a bruising kiss, right I the middle of the living room, his mind dizzy because of the scent Stiles constantly exuded. Stiles moaned prettily into his mouth and Derek bent him over the couch with a growl and fucked him hard. He came embarrassingly fast with Stiles’s neck between his canines and the demon’s happy laugh in his ears.
His knot took over an hour to go down. Erica was probably never going to forgive him for walking in on them, even though Derek insisted she didn’t actually see anything because Derek had gathered pillows and that pink-and-lime blanket around them like a fort.
It only occurred to him later that she might’ve been upset about the blanket.
Their lives settled into a domestic routine that involved lots of pack cuddles, cooking, and bouts vigorous sex that left Derek dizzy. A couple of times, Derek tried to ask Stiles what was going on, but Stiles silenced him with either a dirty kiss or dropping down onto his cock. They both had proven to be extremely efficient methods and Stiles exploited them with shameless glee.
Derek took a hint and stopped asking, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was off.
And then, one day, someone knocked on the loft door. After the alpha pack, Derek hadn’t bothered with the elaborate alarm system, so he dried his hands on the kitchen towel and went to answer it. He was met with a stern looking middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar.
”Yes?” Derek asked because he had at least some manners.
”I’m here to collect a stray,” the man said, pointing at something behind Derek.
Derek frowned and turned around to see Stiles gaping wide-eyed at the man.
”Dad?”
Derek blinked several times, turned to look at the man standing in the doorway with an expectantly raised eyebrow, and whirled around again to shoot Stiles an alarmed look.
’Dad?’ he mouthed, incredulous.
Stiles offered the man a slightly sheepish smile and a small wave. ”Fancy seeing you here,” he offered brightly.
His dad didn’t look very impressed but kept on looking at his son. Derek got a feeling they were having a very pointed conversation with their eyebrows. Unsure of where things were going, he decided to step in and asked, ”Would you like some coffee, Sir?”
Stiles’s dad nodded and walked in unhurried steps into the loft, taking an assertive look around. It seemed like he saw everything, and Derek became oddly conscious of every crack in the walls and dustball on the corner. When he saw the pack bed, Stiles’s dad glanced at Derek from the corner of his eye but, thankfully, didn’t comment. Derek wasn’t sure how to articulate what, exactly, the bed was doing in the corner of the living room, even though it had a very specific, pack dynamics related reason.
Stiles had backed away from his dad in a nonchalant but obvious shuffling as if he didn’t want to be near to him. At first, his dad didn’t pay much attention to him, but when he a couple of feet away, he stopped abruptly, blinked, and closed his eyes in a somewhat exasperated manner.
”Really, Stiles?” he asked, raising his brows.
Stiles stopped his shuffling and shrugged. He didn’t say anything, but he jutted his jaw in a stubborn way and his eyes held a challenge.
Feeling even more out of the loop, Derek offered Stiles’s dad a cup of coffee that Stiles had brewed less than half an hour ago. He felt oddly pleased when the man (Or a demon? What was he anyway?) huffed and nodded as if he was surprised by the quality. Then he downed the whole cup at one go and shoved it back at Derek in a silent demand for more.
Apparently, fondness for strong coffee ran in the family.
Stiles’s dad took one more gulp from his cup and asked, looking over the edge of his cup, ”So… what have you been up to, son?”
”Stuff,” Stiles said vaguely.
”Is that so?”
Stiles gave him a wide-eyed nod that was so full of false innocence that even Derek wanted to snort.
Stiles’s dad rolled his eyes. ”Nevertheless, your deal is finished. You should return back home.”
”Umm… about that…”
Stiles’s dad let out a long-suffering sigh. ”What did you do this time?”
Stiles raised a finger. ”See, technically my deal isn’t finished yet because Derek said he needed to keep his pack safe. That’s the deal. And, you know, they’re best safe when I’m here, right?”
His dad was silent for a good while. ”And the payment?” he finally asked.
Stiles shot a shifty glance at Derek from the corner of his eye. ”Ah…” he started.
”I pledged my firstborn to him. Sir,” Derek said helpfully.
”I know,” Stiles’s dad said pointedly, still looking at Stiles.
Derek felt like he was missing part of the conversation.
Stiles’s dad pinched the bridge of his nose and said, ”Derek, you can call me John.”
”Alright, Sir. John,” Derek said, shaking the hand John offered him. He had a distinctive feeling he had lost the control of his own life.
Later that day, Derek introduced John to his betas and explained how Stiles had saved the pack by taking care of the alpha pack and helping to rescue Erica and Boyd, draining himself in the process. Out of respect, he left out the part of nursing Stiles back to health via seemingly endless sex marathon, but considering that Stiles was an incubus, John probably knew anyway.
During the introductions, Stiles was oddly quiet. He stayed on the side, smelling wary and hesitant, and Derek couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps he wasn’t sure his dad would approve of his actions? Despite his bravado, Derek got the feeling that his dad’s opinion meant a lot to Stiles. Or perhaps he was simply on the run. After all, he had admitted to Derek that he’d come through just because he had been curious, and his dad had called him a stray. Perhaps he was afraid he was in trouble.
The thought of Stiles being in trouble made Derek’s wolf’s hackles rise and he gritted his teeth to keep a growl inside. The visceral reaction took him a bit by surprise and the amused glance John shot him didn’t exactly help. His wolf bristled — he didn’t want John to look amused, he wanted John to be impressed and proud.
And then Derek closed his eyes and tried to take a mental hold on his wolf because what the hell?
The pack, of course, adored John. Derek thought it was because his pack mostly consisted of actual or mental teenagers and they thought it was hilarious how nervous John made him. Derek decided to take it as an exercise of his will. He didn’t even growl.
Much.
Luckily (or, unfortunately, depending on the point of view), John’s presence did nothing to Stiles’s sex drive. Derek was decidedly uncomfortable when Stiles crawled into his lap and ground himself against Derek, nipping his neck and licking the hollow of his throat because his dad was right there in the next room. Semi-public sex in a werewolf pack was nothing new because Derek knew his betas could smell everything, but something about Stiles’s dad made his cock want to shrink up and hide.
However, Stiles didn’t have patience for his doubts and efficiently yanked Derek from his thoughts by simply sinking on Derek’s cock. Derek didn’t have much presence for thoughts after that.
The next morning when Derek wandered into the kitchen, John was sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. Derek didn’t order a newspaper and had no idea where it had come from, but he wasn’t going to ask. He ducked his head and was about to silently slink out of the kitchen when John huffed.
”Oh, come on. You look like a guilty dog. Sit down and have some coffee.”
Trying to avoid eye-contact, Derek did as he was told.
John looked at him for a moment before he asked, out of the blue, ”Did Stiles ever tell you that demons aren’t exactly male or female?”
”What?” Derek asked.
John took an unhurried sip of coffee. ”Demons, especially young ones, can change their anatomies at will,” he said. ”It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with how they look naked.”
”Oh,” Derek said and swallowed.
John placed his mug on the table, leaned on his elbows, and crossed his hands. It felt oddly like an interrogation. ”Son, has he been more… enthusiastic lately? Hungry? Craving contact?” Derek’s bewildered silence seemed to be answer enough and John nodded. ”Well then. Do you know how to chance a di—?”
”Dad!”
Derek startled as Stiles barged into the kitchen from behind him. He was blushed bright red and his eyes had turned into the flaming gold of his true form. He looked gorgeous and Derek really wanted to pull him into his lap and never let go.
”Yes, Stiles?” John asked calmly.
”Dad, no! You can’t just— just—” Stiles sputtered, flailing his hands and barely missing hitting Derek in the cheek.
”Tell him you’re pregnant?” John concluded dryly.
”Exactly!” Stiles yelled. Then he slapped his hands on his mouth and gave Derek a wide-eyed look.
”Are you sure this is the smartest thing to do?” John asked, not unkindly.
”But Dad! He’s a werewolf! He can totally handle me.”
Derek really couldn’t, but he figured it was best he kept his mouth shut. He also ignored the knowing look John shot at him from the corner of his eye.
”That’s… not exactly what I meant,” John said and sighed. ”Stiles, I know why you left. I know you were bullied and that you never fit in properly. I just hope you’re doing this for the right reasons.” He raised his brows, looking at his son pointedly. ”Also, procreation is usually a mutual decision.”
Stiles’s scent took an ugly, sour tang of panic that kicked Derek’s wolf in action. He pulled Stiles on his lap, pressed his nose into the crook of his neck and breathed in deeply, let out a soothing rumble and rubbed Stiles’s sides, trying to make him relax. After a moment Stiles deflated and melted in his arms with a small sound that sounded a lot like a sob.
Carefully, Derek drew back a bit and cupped Stiles’s face in his palms. ”Is it true?” he asked, unable to keep the wonder from his voice.
”Yeah,” Stiles sniffed. His voice was defiant but he smelled apprehensive. ”I’m sorry I didn’t ask, it just… felt right. If you want me gone, I’ll leave but—”
”Don’t you dare,” Derek growled and mashed their lips together in a bruising kiss.
Stiles surged to reciprocate and wiggled around so that he was straddling Derek. He let go of the kiss with a groan and nuzzled Derek’s cheek, delivering small bites along his jaw. They were on their way to proper, full-on grinding make-out when John interrupted them with a cough.
”Well, I guess it is mutual,” he said dryly. ”Congratulations, Derek. You’re going to be a dad.”
Derek wasn’t sure what John said because he needed to be inside Stiles — inside his mate, like, ten minutes ago.
The pack, of course, was over the moon about the news. Erica hugged Stiles so hard Derek had to growl, Isaac teared up, and Scott whispered an awed, ”Dude!” and touched Stiles’s abdomen almost reverently. Allison offered to search for the baby paraphernalia she knew her parents had stocked away for her and even Boyd cracked a smile.
Peter clapped Derek on the shoulder and nodded before taking off who knew where. Derek didn’t mind; Peter had lost his own child in the fire and news about the baby was hard on him. He’d come around sooner or later.
Stiles basked in the attention and practically purred when the pack doted on him in every way possible. After coming clean about the pregnancy, the change in him was immediate. He was even more tactile than before, but now he shamelessly searched comfort and contact from the pack as well as Derek. The alpha tolerated it to some degree, never wandering far from his mate. He was quite sure Stiles did it all on purpose.
Stiles also went into a cooking frenzy that had him barricading himself into the kitchen for hours at a time. He was currently having a Polish phase and the pack had been eating traditional Polish dishes for several days now.
Derek was pretty sure he was never going to get the smell of cabbage aired out.
”Tell me, is Jordan Parrish still the acting Sheriff?” John asked around his goulash.
Derek nodded, wondering where John had found that one out.
”Good,” John said, pleased. ”I’ll contact him. He’s a Hellhound, he’ll help me to settle in.”
Stiles frowned. ”What do you mean, ’settle in?’” he asked while Derek wondered how many supernatural species actually lived in Beacon Hills.
John shrugged, concentrating intently on his meal. ”I’m staying for a while. Did you really think I’d let you go through this without your family?”
Derek’s wolf bristled a bit at the implications that it wasn’t considered family, but Derek shushed it. It was only natural John wanted to be there for his grandchild, even though there was something odd in the way he said it.
Stiles cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. ”No, it’s something else…” he said slowly. ”Did Mom throw you out again?”
”I have no idea what you’re talking about,” John sniffed.
Stiles grinned at Derek’s confused look and said, ”Mom’s a harpy. She’s got a real temper and sometimes things get… heated up. Dad always lays low for a while afterward.”
John saluted with his glass of water. ”The basis for a happy union is a healthy fear and respect for your mate.”
Derek wholly agreed.
In all honesty, Derek had completely forgotten to inform Lydia about the turn of events which was why he deserved the most terrifying scream she had ever directed at him. Even the tinny speaker of his phone did nothing to diminish the power of an indignant banshee.
”I hope you didn’t think we’d stay away?” Lydia asked when she had calmed down a little.
”I wouldn’t even dream of keeping you away if you wanted to be here,” Derek answered truthfully.
”Damn right,” Lydia sniffed. ”Our plane lands on Friday at 7:15 pm. Make sure you’re there.”
Derek had barely time to meekly agree before she ended the call.
He didn’t dare to admit that the prospect of Stiles and Lydia in the same room was mildly terrifying.
Derek was right: Stiles and Lydia hit along like a house on fire. The rest of the pack had no chance keeping up with their banter and snark, and when they started talking science, the others just gave up and left the room. Derek wasn’t fooled, though, he knew exactly what Lydia was doing. She was sounding Stiles, testing his strengths and weaknesses, his wit and deduction skills, and making sure Stiles was good enough for the position of Derek’s mate and the second of the pack.
If the glint in Stiles’s eyes was anything to go by, he also knew what Lydia was doing, but he didn’t call her on it. Instead, he enjoyed the challenge immensely, and his happy scent permeated the whole loft, lifting everyone’s mood.
Of course, Stiles still treated Lydia exactly the way he treated the rest of the pack. He bossed her around, plopped his feet on her lap, and wasn’t even the slightest cowed by her narrowed eyes. It made him even more awesome in the eyes of everyone else because not even Derek dared to boss her around too often, alpha powers or not.
On Sunday afternoon following Lydia and Jackson’s arrival, the pack lounged in the loft, enjoying the lazy hours like only teenagers could. Stiles was sprawled on the couch with his head on Derek’s lap and Isaac rubbing his feet. Without bothering to open his eyes, he waved his hand vaguely around and asked, ”Lydia, my queen, could you please bring me some ice cream?”
Lydia rolled her eyes but obeyed, muttering something about lazy-ass demons in her wake. When she opened the freezer, she let out a squeal.
”There’s food! Actual food! And only two packages of Hot Pockets,” she marveled as she dug out the ice cream container.
”They’re for Stiles,” Derek pointed out. ”He likes to eat them with ice cream. Especially the lime jalapeño ones.”
Lydia huffed a laugh and pecked a kiss on Derek’s cheek as she dropped the container on Stiles’s lap, careful not to hit his flat stomach.
”Oh, our alpha,” she murmured and went to heat Stiles a Hot Pocket with his ice cream.
Derek shot her a confused look, but Lydia didn’t elaborate, just cocked her head and glanced around with a raised brow. Derek followed her gaze and then it hit him: His whole pack was there, lounging around on sofas, safe and happy, basking in the contentedness of their alpha and his mate.
Derek swallowed and ducked his head, blinked several times before closing his eyes and trying to control his overflowing emotions. When he opened his eyes, Stiles was looking back at him with a slightly concerned air.
”Nothing,” Derek answered his unspoken question and pecked a kiss on Stiles’s forehead. ”Everything is perfect.”
Stiles gave him a small smile before he sniffed and ordered, ”Feed me ice cream, alpha.”
And Derek did.