rieraclaelin:

The Treehouse

(Ao3 Link)

The treehouse has seen and been through a lot in its lifetime.
It has been built and repaired and expanded on so many times that the
treehouse doesn’t even remember its original form. Its walls have been
colored on by crayons, markers, paint and mud. It wears each patch of
art with pride.

It has seen friends vowing to always be best friends, and also
seen those very same friendships break apart.  It’s watched as tiny feet
grew into bigger feet, and then bigger still, until they no longer
climbed its ladder to confess all their secrets.

It has a lot of sweet memories, and some not so fond.  But its
favorite story, the one it will whisper to the leaves at night when the
moon is bright and full, is the story of the wolf who fell in love with
the human.

Like most good stories, this one started with a lonely boy
longing for a friend. Day after day he would climb its ladder and stare
out the window.  His hair, black and disheveled, would flutter in the
breeze as he would sigh and watch his siblings romp in the grass below.  

He was quieter than the other kids.  Sure, there were times
where he could be seen racing with everyone else, but most of his time
was spent up in the quiet of its walls.  Pillows were strategically
placed so that he could sit on them and catch the most light as he read
his comic books.  Sometimes he read out loud, as if he had an audience,
and afterwards he’d sigh and look out the window.

One day, as the boy was reading one of his books, a voice yelled
out “Derek!” from the base of the treehouse’s ladder.  The boy, Derek,
startled and his face lit up.  He waved the new kid up and fidgeted as
he waited for the boy to join him.

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anonymusgeek:

---

Derek blinked at the name on his schedule for the VidCon.  The first name was unpronounceable but the surname was unmistakeable, it had to be the Sheriff’s kid from back home.  He sighed, at least someone that might have something on his past was on staff and couldn’t (legally) talk to press.  Derek did not want all of his hard work of keeping his personal and professional lives separate to go to waste.

“Mr. Hale,” Thompson said, walking in with the line of men.  “These will be your security guards for the weekend.”  He met each one and was surprised at the strong handshake and height of his childhood acquaintance.  Stiles had certainly grown up.

“Thompson,” Stiles said shortly after the briefing, “So you’re aware, Mr. Hale and I have previously been acquainted, our parents lived in the same town when we were kids.”

“Mr. Hale, any concerns with Stilinski being assigned to your team?”  Thompson asked.

“No, no problem,” Derek promised and one by one each filtered out until Stiles was left.  “So, how’d you get in this business.”

“Finished my two tours, dad wasn’t doing well so I took something a little closer to home,” Stiles replied.  “Contracting’s just as good, cushy gigs like this are usually easy, safe, maybe a few crazy fans but nothing like working overseas.”

“Hard to imagine you all grown up,” Derek smiled, “I just remember a really skinny kid peeking around his mother’s dress pants at the town meetings.”

“I remember your whole family always showed up,” Stiles smiled, “Whole mess of kids, don’t know how your parents kept you guys straight.  How’d you get into video blogging?”

“Cora, she’s really bigger than me,” Derek smiled, “But she was doing this ‘get in shape’ kick for her viewers and brought me on.  Then she said I had a following and had to do it so I kinda fell into it.  Beats getting hit on by lonely middle aged men signing up for my training sessions at the gym.  I’m not like Cora though, I’m just there to help people get in shape, no personal life sharing required.”  Stiles smiled back and Derek knew he was ok, there wouldn’t be any embarrassing stories or hints about who he took to homecoming over ten years ago.

The day turned out to be a little more interesting than just some crazy fans.  Derek felt panic burn in his gut, his fingers tingled and his legs felt way to hot.  His eyes were focused on the revolver laying lifeless on the floor in front of him, a harmless piece of metal without it’s operator.  A few seconds ago it was the most threatening thing in the world, held in the hands of the nearly-a-murdering psychopath from his past.

“Hands behind your back you bitch, I will hurt you,” Stiles growled, Kate Argent snarling while her arm was locked painfully behind her back.  “Put your other hand behind your back and relax your arm right now.”

“I got her,” Thompson said, sliding in and forcing Kate’s other arm behind her back and cuffing it, “Get him.”  Kate screamed as her arms were wrenched into place, Thompson already on his radio for an officer to come get her.

Derek felt hands on his shoulders, taking him away from the flashing lights of photographers cameras.  “This way Derek,” Stiles said, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the urgency in his step.  The hands on his shoulders were warm, strong, one guiding Derek’s head down a little so he was completely shielded by the other body.  He could recognize Stiles’ voice speaking, but couldn’t make out the words.  Derek’s hands still felt fuzzy.

“She’s supposed to be in jail,” Derek stuttered out after a moment, hardly recognizing his own shaky voice.  “She wasn’t supposed to be out yet.”

“She’s going back for a long time now,” Stiles promised, pressing a cool soda into his hand, “Here, this will help.  Sip slowly.”  He did and coughed as the bubbling hit his throat.  “Slowly, you’re ok.”

Derek laughed, “You know back in high school I never thought I’d be Whitney Houston.”  Stiles was watching him intently, he had a focus about him that never seemed to be there when they were kids.  Derek found his gaze looking down to the soft lips, he was leaning forward before he could tell his body what to do.

Strong hands once again guided his movement, this time into a hug.  “Derek,” Stiles said quietly, “You’re in shock, I can’t let you do that right now.”

“I want to,” Derek said quietly, wrapping his arms around Stiles, the sting in his heart hurting more than he thought it would.

Stiles gave a heavy sigh and let his long fingers run through Derek’s hair, it was as soft as he imagined.  “Wait 48 hours,” Stiles capitulated, “If you still want to kiss me then, we’ll go on a real date, and I’ll romance the shit out of you.”

“That sounds like the Stiles I remember,” Derek smiled.

---

dragon-temeraire:

Summary: Half the town seems to think that he and Derek are
dating, and Stiles just can’t figure out why.

Notes: I heard the song Something to Talk About on the radio
like five times in the past week, and I felt like that was a sign. So I wrote
this fluffy little fic. And even though you don’t see them, I want to be clear
that everyone is alive in this fic. (On AO3)

---

Stiles hears it first at the diner.

He likes to come here because they serve breakfast all day (what
could be better than that?), and because they’ve always been friendly to him.
He’s in a booth, eagerly waiting for his bacon and egg plate, when a lull in
the noise lets him hear what’s being said at the host station.

“—haven’t seen Derek here in a week, and then Stiles is here
alone,” his waitress says. “Do you
think something’s going on?”

“I don’t think Stiles broke up with his boyfriend,” someone
else says confidently. “Maybe Derek’s feeling under the weather. Hopefully
Stiles is here to get him some soup, or something.”

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