Sterek Week Day Four: Alternate Canon
Title: Promise?
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In which Stiles is the one that Peter bites.
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Stiles isn’t sure how he’s going to explain this one to his dad. Hell, he can’t even figure out how to tell Scott, and they made a pinky promise in the third grade to never keep secrets from each other.
It’s just-. Well, this isn’t like the time Stiles broke his mother’s favorite flower vase or like when he helped Scott cheat on his history final. This is so much bigger. Life altering.
It’s not like he can just sit his dad down and say, “Hey, you know that crime scene you didn’t want me near? I totally disobeyed your orders and went into the woods in search of a body. Oh, and while I was out there, I accidentally got attacked by a werewolf, and now I can hear Mr. Leon yelling at his cat three houses down.” That was sure to go over well. Especially because his werewolf mentor is none other than Derek Hale, who his dad arrested in connection to the body in the woods.
“Will you please stop groaning like a child,” Derek snarls, interrupting Stiles’ internal freak-out. He looks at Derek as best he can while hanging upside down off of the side of his bed. Standing by the open window, Derek crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows in an intimidating way. Or, maybe it would be intimidating if Stiles was afraid at him at all.
“How am I supposed to explain this to my dad?” His voice comes out whiny, but he ignores it. “He’s going to freak out.”
Derek sighs like Stiles is the worst thing to ever happen to him. “Of course he will. But you’re his son. That should matter more than anything else.” There’s an intensity in the way that Derek says it, a sadness that makes Stiles’ heart ache in his chest. Rolling backwards off the bed, he climbs to his feet, unsteady but determined. Derek watches him wearily as he flops back down on the bed, scooting back against the wall and patting the open space beside him. “What?”
Stiles smiles over at him, trying to look approachable and not mischievous. “Come sit down.”
“Why?”
He pats the bed more insistently. “Because. All the research I’ve done said that werewolves are tactile and find comfort in their pack. I’m sad, we’re pack, let’s cuddle.”
The expression on Derek’s face is, for a moment, full of confused disbelief. He looks stunned and kind of touched. And then his expression shutters, though his heart continues to race. “I’m not cuddling with you.”
Not getting deterred, Stiles makes an elaborate show of sighing in dismay. “Fine, you don’t have to cuddle me. Just come sit down. Your brooding in the corner is getting kind of old.”
That earns him a scowl, but Derek eventually makes his way over to the bed. Before he can sit down though, Stiles holds out his arms. “Take your shoes off first,” he demands, staring at Derek until he complies.
It should be awkward when Derek gets into bed with him. They’re both sitting upright against the wall, and the bed is small enough that, even though they both fit, their arms are pressed together. Derek is obviously uncomfortable with the closeness, not used to it, not anymore. And even though Stiles and Scott have never had a problem being close, sitting with Derek feels different.
But the longer they sit there, the more relaxed they both become. It’s crazy. Stiles’ life has become one hundred times more complicated because of the bite. But there’s something about it that feels…right almost. Sitting here with Derek, listening to the steady beat of his heart, it’s nice. Derek said that the bite isn’t a curse, and Stiles believes that. It hasn’t turned him into a monster or anything like that. And even though Stiles doesn’t know exactly how it’s going to change his life, he can’t help but feel like things are going to be better. Hell, even if this is all there is, if the only thing that he gets out of it is sitting on the bed worrying about his dad and listening to the heartbeats of the people around him, it’s already better. Because he has Derek now. And Stiles is pretty sure that that is something that they both needed.
“The full moon is tomorrow,” Stiles murmurs after a moment. He’s slouched against Derek’s arm, almost resting his head on the older man’s shoulder. Derek hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t say anything. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone.”
“You won’t.” He sounds absolutely positive, and his heartbeat is steady.
Stiles isn’t convinced though. “You say that now. But all the research says that the first moon is the hardest to get through.” He’s digging his thumb nail against the seam of his jeans, trying to keep his fear and panic under control. “And I don’t want to hurt anyone, I really don’t. I mean, what if I lose control and my dad get hurts. Or Scott. Or you. I can’t hurt someone, Derek. I can’t-.”
Derek takes his hand, tucking it against his chest in a gesture that’s so soft and intimate that Stiles almost doesn’t know what it do. “Stiles, you won’t hurt anyone. I’ll be there with you the whole time. I won’t let you lose control.”
Glancing over at him, Stiles takes a deep breath. “Promise?”
Rolling his eyes in a truly impressive way, Derek says, “Promise.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation or reassurance, but it’s good enough for Stiles, who hums thoughtfully in response. Giving in to the urge to put his head down on Derek’s shoulder, Stiles turns his face in towards Derek’s neck and closes his eyes. When Derek doesn’t push him away, Stiles smiles.
theproblemwithstardust 