Archive of Our Own

Stiles froze in his tracks, blinking to try to make out anything in the darkness. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was inside or outside. Every small step he took resulted in the crunch and pop of...something...crumbling beneath his feet, but he’d been in enough abandoned buildings over the last year to know that just because he seemed to be walking across rocks or some other debris didn’t mean he was outside. 

A sudden scraping sound behind him had him whirling as he raised his phone, hoping the dim light from the screen would reveal...anything about whatever situation he’d found himself in. Instead, he was met with a long, stone-walled tunnel that he was fairly sure hadn’t been there a moment before. The dim light coming from the far end was definitely new. Frowning anxiously, he tightened his grip on his phone...the only thing he had that even vaguely resembled a weapon, and crept toward the mysterious glow. 

As he grew closer, he began to hear soft noises coming from just beyond the end of the tunnel. Judging by the sand and rocks he could see, he was moving into an open area...which seemed vaguely familiar, although he had a feeling the tunnel he was currently inching his way along was somehow...different. When he was only a few feet from the archway, he heard a small whine, followed by a pained whimper. Despite two years of experience telling him not to trust the sound of something in distress, he somehow knew that whatever had made that sound was in great danger. Throwing caution to the wind, he bolted toward the archway, skidding to a stop when he found himself in what definitely seemed like a familiar...courtyard? He didn’t have time to work out where he was, or when he had been there before, because his attention was immediately drawn to the figure crouching on the ground in front of him. The male...he was definitely male, was huddled with his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn up to his chest. Whoever he was, he seemed to be dressed in filthy rags, and Stiles couldn’t see any identifying features, other than a head of tousled black hair. His heart leapt in his chest, and he rushed forward, gasping, “Der?”

Suddenly, the loud, irritating sound of a very familiar song blasted through the courtyard, making him groan in annoyance as the Baha Men began barking. Glancing at his phone, he was confused to see that the screen was blank. Scott wasn’t actually calling. Nevertheless, his so-called best friend’s ringtone was rising to an almost deafening level. Despite the racket, the man in front of him didn’t react at all. “Derek?” he whispered, reaching to touch his shoulder, as everything around him began to fade away. 

As he blinked himself awake, ‘ Who Let the Dogs Out ?’ was still blaring from about a foot to his left. Batting absently in the general direction of his nightstand, Stiles propped himself up on his elbows, let out a jaw-popping yawn, and rubbed his eyes with his free hand before finally directing his gaze toward his phone, then stabbed his finger at the ‘decline’ button so hard it sent a twinge through the first knuckle. Hissing slightly, he sucked the side of the digit for a moment before shaking it out. “Not today, Satan,” he muttered, slowly rolling off the side of the bed, and to his feet, stretching his arms over his head until he was rewarded  with a satisfying pop in his lower back. Before he could head to the bathroom to relieve his bladder, his phone began to ring again. Over tired, and still a bit bleary, he didn’t really consider his actions as he picked up the phone, and swiped to accept the call. “What?!” he snapped impatiently, walking toward his bedroom door.  

After a momentary pause, Scott stammered, “St-Stiles? You...you answered!” 

“Against my better judgement,” Stile muttered, resulting in a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Stiles sighed heavily, scrubbing his hand down over his face. Taking a deep breath, he tried to make his tone more neutral as he asked, “What do you need, Scott?” 

After another brief pause, he heard Scott take a deep breath of his own, before replying, “I...I don’t just call you because I need things, you know. You just hardly ever answer anymore, and I don’t like to bother you...”

“Unless you need something. And you just called me twice at...” Stiles squinted at his phone before grunting, “It’s 8:16, Scott!” Now he was even more pissed. This was the first full day of Winter Break, and he’d had solid plans to at least try to sleep through as much of the next two and a half weeks as possible. He’d fallen asleep just before 5am, which for him, recently, was pretty good.

“I’m at work, and Deaton asked me-” Scott began, hesitantly.  

“It’s 8:16 on a Saturday !” Stiles growled. A voice in his brain started to suggest that Derek would be proud, but he cut that line of thinking off immediately. He’d found, over the last six weeks, and three days, that it was really best for his mood, appetite, hygiene habits, productivity and overall well being not to think about Derek Hale. 

“I know, I know!” Scott exclaimed quickly. “It’s a little bit of an emergency, and your dad isn’t picking up his phone...”

“Probably because it’s 8:16 on a Saturday!” Stiles retorted. “He worked the night shift last night, so he’s only been asleep for about an hour and a half, Scott!” he added, all but yelling. 

“Well, I don’t know his schedule...” Scott complained. “Can you wake him up?”

“Not until I know why you want to deprive my father of his much needed rest...” Stiles replied flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose in hopes of offsetting an imminent headache. He knew better than to point out that Scott had interrupted the longest stretch of sleep Stiles could remember having since...nope, he wasn’t going to go there, because they’d fought about it enough. Scott thought Stiles was overreacting, and Stiles thought Scott hadn’t reacted enough, and neither of them were going to budge on that.

“Well, you know how Deaton always kind of knows about supernatural crap in the area?” Scott asked, completely needlessly, since they both knew Stiles was well aware that the druid seemed to be tuned in to most things supernatural, though he wasn’t always willing to share his knowledge. 

“Yeah...” Stiles muttered when it seemed like Scott was expecting an answer regardless of this mutual knowledge. 

“Okay, well, there’s a...dog? I mean, they have it listed as a mixed breed puppy. It got picked up by Animal Control last night, and it was put on the kill list because all the shelters are full, and it’s not really tame. Deaton has one of his feelings, you know, that it isn’t really a regular dog though.” 

“Well, why does he need Dad? He’s a vet, can’t he just go...adopt it or something?” Stiles asked, knowing there had to be a lot more to the story. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked impatiently.

“Well, Deaton thinks it’s...not just a dog. He thinks it’s at least part wolf, and, like I said, it’s acting a little wild, so they’re refusing to release it for adoption...” Scott said. “Even to Deaton.” 

Stiles raised one eyebrow, then frowned. “Are you telling me Deaton thinks Animal Control has a werewolf on their hands, and he needs my dad to tell them to let him have it?”

“He’s not sure...” Scott mumbled, “But...well...probably. Yeah.”

Stiles sighed. “Fine, I’ll tell him as soon as he wakes up...” he said, lowering the phone.

“No, no!” he heard Scott yelled. “Stiles! Don’t hang up...”

“Ugh...let me guess, they’re going to kill it this morning?” Stiles asked, already knowing the answer. 

“In an hour,” Scott murmured. Stiles didn’t need to see his friend to know he was probably making with puppy eyes that could, ironically, give Puss in Boots a run for his money. 

“Fine, I’ll wake him up, and have him call the shelter,” Stiles sighed. “Wouldn’t want to let any more werewolves die needlessly ...” he hissed bitterly.

This time, the pause was much longer. After what seemed like an eternity, Scott let out a huff that sounded far more impatient than guilty. “Stiles...come on...”

Stiles hung up, barely resisting the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Closing his eyes for several seconds, he focused on breathing to try to force down the thoughts that were threatening, once again, to overwhelm him. When he finally thought that he could move, or...blink...without crying, or possibly screaming, he took one last, deep, slow breath, and opened his eyes. Clearing his throat, he shuffled out of his room, and down the hall. His father’s door, as usual, was open just a crack. For as long as he could remember, his father’s door was always open a crack while he slept. Stiles had a feeling it was a carryover from when Stiles was little, so he could hear if Stiles needed him in the night. Most parents would probably have decided it was unnecessary years ago, but right about the time most kids were learning to sleep through the night with no trouble, Stiles’ mom had started to get sick, and Stiles himself was plagued with nightmares, and then panic attacks. All things considered, the Sheriff had never put an end to the habit. 

“Dad?” Stiles murmured, sticking his head around the door. His father was sprawled on his stomach, on top of the covers, but at least he had changed from his uniform into flannel sleep pants and a tee-shirt before collapsing from exhaustion. Frowning guiltily, Stiles moved closer, reaching out, and gently shaking his shoulder. “Dad, wake up...” he murmured softly, knowing that if he put any urgency in his tone, his father would wake up in a panic.

“Huh?” Snuffling loudly, and throwing his forearm over his eyes, Stiles’ dad rolled onto his back. “Wha’s wrong?”

“Nothing much, Dad,” Stiles murmured soothingly. “I really hate to wake you, but apparently Animal Control might have a werewolf in...uh...custody, and they’re planning to try to put it down this morning. Deaton made Scott call me ‘cuz you weren’t answering your phone...” he explained ruefully. “I wanted to let you sleep, but I guess there’s not much time left until they’ll put it down.”

After rubbing his eyes vigorously, his dad lowered his arm, and squinted at Stiles. “A werewolf? Animal Control?” he asked. Stiles just nodded, shrugging as if to say ‘I know, right?’  “So...setting aside the question of how Animal Control supposedly managed to catch a werewolf in the first place, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know...I guess Deaton thought that if you call them, they’ll release it to him or whatever? They’re not putting it up for adoption cuz it’s too wild or something,” Stiles replied, shrugging again. 

“Ugh...fine...” Sitting up, his dad reached for his phone. After pulling up his contacts, and scrolling a bit, he hit the dial button, and raised it to his ear. After a moment or two, he said, “Hey, Steve, it’s Noah. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Listen...” 

At this point, Stiles tuned out the conversation, struggling to remember what he had been dreaming before Scott woke him up. He hadn’t been sleeping very well in the last...well...he’d never really slept well , but had experienced even more trouble than usual in the last...six weeks and three days...ever since the Pack’s fateful trip to Mexico back in November. It was probably because he wasn’t sleeping long enough to enter REM sleep, but either way, he didn’t remember having many dreams since then. He knew this was a bad sign for his health, but, considering the nightmares he’d been plagued with for months after the nogitsune, he chose to see it as a dubious positive. All he could remember about last night’s dream was that he’d been shuffling along somewhere in the dark. Shuddering, he hoped the nogitsune-induced nightmares weren’t making a comeback despite his lack of sleep. 

He was drawn from his musings when he realized his father was speaking to him. “...you’ll have to show your ID.”

“What?” Stiles asked, frowning confusedly. “ Wait...why do I have to go over there?” 

“Well, apparently, Deaton has made enemies over at Animal Control. Steve doesn’t want to release this puppy to him, even though he thinks it might just be some kind of german shepherd mix. He says it’s kind of a mess...scrawny, malnourished, skittish...and that the best thing might be just to put it down-”

“Dad! They can’t! I know Deaton is kind of a flake, but he’s usually right about crap like this...we can’t let them kill it...” Stiles protested. “If it’s really a werewolf, and it’s a puppy, that means it’s a little kid!” 

“I understand, Stiles,” his dad said, raising his hand in a calming gesture. “I still don’t think that Animal Control managed to catch a werewolf...even a kid. I mean, why would a werewolf kid be wandering around on its own like that? But I know you’re worried, so I convinced him that, well, I told him you’ve been going through a rough time lately, and I thought it might be good for you to help nurse the thing back to health.” The look on his face made it clear he was completely serious. 

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat or two, then he swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to clear his suddenly blurry vision. “Dad...I-”

“Stiles, you’ve been a mess since Derek died, and we both know it. Scott and Deaton know it...knowing Deaton, it’s why he made up this nonsense in the first place,” his dad said, sighing heavily even as he gave Stiles a sad, far too knowing look. “I know you and Derek were friends, but it’s been a while now, and I think this is affecting you bit too...” Seeming to reconsider his words, he cleared his throat. “I really do think you could use some kind of...distraction. If this is really a werewolf, maybe you can help it, uh, get control of itself, or whatever. And if it’s really just a dog or even a regular wolf, it sounds like it could really use someone to take care of it. So...Steve is waiting for you to come down there, and pick it up.” 

Looking back on this later, Stiles realized he was probably too stunned by his dad’s blatant and explicit mention of the Tragic Event That Was Not To Be Mentioned to argue with him. He moved in a sort of fog after that (he really probably shouldn’t have driven over to Animal Control). When he arrived at the ugly, concrete building, which smelled even worse than Deaton’s clinic, the short, slightly pudgy man behind the front desk gave him a dubious look after examining his driver’s license. Overly familiar with that look, Stiles mumbled, “I grew my hair out,” and the man squinted, tilted his head slightly to the right (though Stiles failed to see how that could help make himself look more like the year and a half old picture on his ID). The Animal Control officer finally shrugged, and handed it back to him without a word before standing, raising one finger, and going through the door behind him, which was marked, “Authorized Personnel Only.” 

Eyebrows raised, Stiles stared at the door, through which he could hear a series of low growls, yelps (both human and canine), and finally a screech (which could have been either). Finally, he heard rapid, scrambling footsteps, and panting, before the door swung open with a bang, and the officer reappeared with a small, fluffy black puppy on a leash. The puppy was not the one panting. A ragged tear in the Animal Control officer’s pant leg heavily suggested that the shriek had not come from the canine, either. “He’s all yours,” the man wheezed, shoving the leash at Stiles. “Just sign here...” he added gruffly, pushing a clipboard with a three layered carbon adoption form across the desk, and slapping a pen on top of it. After Stiles had done so, he tore off the top copy, and shoved that at Stiles as well. “Good luck. You’ll need it!”

The puppy gazed up at Stiles, a bit too intently for his liking. “Are....are you sure this is, like, a domestic dog?” Stiles asked as he shoved the paper in his pocket, feeling nervous for the first time in...quite a while. He suddenly realized he’d been feeling sort of numb for the last...six weeks and three days. Granted, that was probably because he’d been refusing to let himself feel much of anything. “I heard he might be a wolf?”

“It’s definitely not tame, but it’s probably mostly dog,” the man replied, bent over in his seat to examine his torn pant leg. “We don’t have wolves in California, so...it’s probably some kind of Husky or German Shepherd-”

“...mix,” Stiles finished for him, glancing back down at the puppy, which sneezed, and then wagged his tail ever so slightly as he continued gazing up at Stiles. Whatever he was, Stiles decided that, under the layer of mud, leaves, and god only knew what else was covering him, the little guy was probably kind of cute. He wasn’t much bigger than his grandmother’s elderly cocker spaniel, though he was clearly a fairly young puppy of a much larger breed (if his huge paws were anything to go by). He had long, fluffy fur, which was mostly black, but seemed to have a tiny bit of white mixed in, especially around his muzzle, and his eyes were a weird blue/green/brown color. He wondered if puppies were born with blue eyes, and if this one’s were turning brown. Once upon a time, he would have made a note to ask Scott, but for now, he pushed the question aside. “Um...do I owe you any money?” he asked, uncertain of the agreement his father had made with the head of Animal Control, whom he had probably called at home. 

“Nah. Boss said just to let you take the thing,” the man waved his hand dismissively toward the door. “So, please do...now.” 

“Okaaay,” Stiles said, raising his eyebrows slightly, then huffing out a half-laugh as he directed his gaze toward the puppy. “You’re not going to eat me in my car, right?”

The puppy sneezed, and wagged its tail again, then walked closer to Stiles, and sniffed his jeans. The fact that Stiles couldn’t remember changing out of his pajamas before coming here struck him as problematic, at best, but he was distracted when the puppy sneezed again. “Hey, is he sick? He keeps sneezing...” he asked worriedly. 

“Most dogs get the sniffles in here. He’s been here since late last night, so...it might be all the dirt,” the man answered, before glancing pointedly at the door. 

“Okay, just one thing...how did he end up here?” Stiles asked. 

“Someone called it in. It was running around out on the Preserve. Someone probably dumped it out there. Doesn’t look like anyone has been taking care of it.” 

Stiles had more questions, but he figured if the puppy (cub?) was sick, he definitely should just take it over to Deaton, sooner, rather than later, even if it meant he’d have to deal with Scott. “Okay, um, thanks? I guess,” he murmured, tugging gently on the leash. “C’mon...lil’ guy.” 

The puppy’s little ears immediately perked up, and he followed Stiles rather eagerly as he led him outside to the Jeep. Wrinkling his nose at all the dirt, Stiles picked him up, and gently deposited him on the passenger seat, then ran around the car to get in before the puppy could wreak havoc in the already battered vehicle. Apparently, he needn’t have bothered, because as wild, and uncared for as he appeared, the puppy just sat and stared at him as he got in, and settled into the driver’s seat. “Okay, um, I’m going to take you to see a...n-nice-ish man, who will make sure you’re not sick, and check to see if maybe you’re not just a normal puppy, okay?” Stiles told him, feeling foolish talking to a dog, but also like it would be rude not to talk to him, just in case he wasn’t a dog. “Right, my life is so weird that talking to an animal isn’t even the weirdest thing I’ve done...uh...this year, anyway,” he muttered under his breath as he backed out of his parking spot, and turned toward Deaton’s clinic. 

The drive to the clinic, on the other side of Beacon Hills, was rather disconcerting, because, although the puppy did lie down once the vehicle was moving, he never once took his eyes off Stiles. He spent the entire ride just gazing at him with those big, weird colored eyes. Stiles was starting to get more than a little weirded out by the animal’s behavior. “You’re so not a dog,” he informed him flatly, shaking his head, and smirking slightly after he’d parked in front of the clinic. The puppy just cocked his head to one side, still staring at him, and wagging his tail a bit. “Okay, come on, you weirdo...” Stiles chuckled, feeling an odd surge of affection for him. No matter his species, he was still just a baby, and his apparent fascination with Stiles was oddly charming. 

Gathering up the leash in one hand, Stiles picked up the puppy, and cradled him against his chest, dirt and all. When he walked into the front lobby, the bell over the door jangled, and the puppy flinched in his arms, staring up at it suspiciously. “Hey, it’s okay, buddy...it won’t hurt you. We’re just here to see the nice-ish man I told you about.”

“Nice-ish, Stiles?” Deaton’s low, dry voice made him jump a mile, and he looked up guiltily to see the man smirking at him as he opened the gate separating the lobby and the back offices. “You got him, I see. I told Scott just to see if the Sheriff could arrange for me to pick him up.” 

“Um, well, apparently the guys over at Animal Control aren’t too fond of you? Especially Steve Maxwell?” Stiles said, chuckling slightly when Deaton’s smirk only widened at this news. “You knew that. Of course you knew that. Anyway, he really didn’t want to let this little guy go, but my dad...” Stiles felt his chest tighten slightly at the memory of the conversation, but took a quick breath, and forced himself to go on. “Dad convinced him to let us adopt it.”

“Us?” Deaton repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

“I mean, if it turns out that he's really a dog...technically, I guess I adopted him?” Stiles said, pulling the crumpled form out of his pocket, and waving it around a bit before shoving it back in. 

“I see,” Deaton said, smiling, almost sincerely. “Well, let’s get him in back, and I’ll see if you’re a proud new dog owner, or a rather underaged parent...” he quipped, gesturing for Stiles to head to the exam room. 

“You’re really funny,” Stiles told him sarcastically as he walked by. Judging by the vet’s expression, he agreed with this statement. Not sarcastically. 

Stiles had been nervous about having to talk to Scott in person, but fortunately the werewolf was nowhere to be seen. “I sent him to pick up a patient. One of my clients is an elderly couple with a sick cat, who can’t drive.” 

“Most cats can’t,” Stiles pointed out, smirking. 

“You’re really funny,” Deaton parroted his earlier words, but with a great deal less sarcasm. Stiles had forgotten how, when no one was near death, or bleeding all over the place, the vet really wasn’t all that bad. “Can I see...” he gestured at the puppy, reaching out as if to take him, but the small, mostly-friendly-until-now canine growled (adorably), and snapped his little puppy fangs at him, nearly catching the druid’s hand before he pulled it away. “Oh my! Has he been aggressive like this with you?” 

“Not with me,” Stiles answered, stroking the puppy’s head until it stopped growling, and seemed to relax at bit in his arms. “I think he mighta tried to take the Animal Control guy’s leg off though.”

“I see,” Deaton said, one of his eyebrows creeping up in his typical manner. “Well, he seems to like you, which is...interesting.” 

“Why is that interesting?” Stiles asked. “Is that some kind of weird, wolfy thing?”

“I don’t know yet,” Deaton replied, dryly. “I’m just questioning his taste...”

“ This is why I said you’re only nice- ish ,” Stiles told him, not pouting at all. 

Grinning at him, Deaton said, “I might have to talk you through parts of this exam, if he won’t let me touch him. Can you set him down on the table?” 

“Please tell me there are no shots? And I’m not taking his temperature rectally, so forget that ,” Stiles stated, shaking his head firmly. 

“Let’s just see if we’re dealing with a domestic canine, a wolf, or a werewolf, before we go sticking things in him, shall we?” Deaton suggested flatly. 

“Right,” Stiles agreed, chuckling a bit faintly. “How can we tell?” he asked, as he deposited the puppy on the exam table, and then had to press a hand to his chest to hold him there when he tried to jump back into his arms.

“He likes you ,” Deaton said, nodding his head toward the wriggling animal. “I think the easiest way to confirm if it’s a werewolf would be to surround him in mountain ash, let go, and see if he can get to you.”

“He’s a baby !” Stiles wailed, staring at him in horror. “Won’t that hurt ?” 

“I’d say, if this is a werewolf, that he’s probably about five years old. Not an infant,” Deaton murmured, gazing at him speculatively. 

“Still!” Stiles protested. “He’s just a little guy!”

“Any other test I could do would involve scaring him, trying to anger him, or exposing him to a low-potency strain of wolfsbane. Bouncing off a mountain ash barrier is the least traumatic way I can think of to test him,” Deaton said, shrugging ruefully. 

“Okay, well...” Stiles said, then squinted at him suspiciously. “Why do you even think he’s a werewolf anyway? You were trying to get him out first thing this morning...they said he only came in late last night. How did you know he was there?” 

“I was the one who called to report a lost animal in the Preserve,” Deaton answered, shrugging as if that made all the sense in the world. 

“How did you even know he was out there?!” Stiles demanded. “And if you knew he was there, and thought he was a werewolf, why the hell did you send some poor, unsuspecting Animal Control officer out there?” 

“He triggered the wards when he crossed into the old Hale territory,” Deaton murmured. “I was the one who set those wards, back when I was Talia’s emissary,” he added, as he turned to get something from the cabinet where Stiles knew he kept his collection of ‘magical things’. “And, I was in the middle of operating on a boxer who had been hit by a car. I didn’t want to let him run wild all night until I could get out there. He barely triggered the wards, which meant he was probably magical, but small, young, and/or otherwise very weak, so he wouldn’t pose much of a threat, even to poor, unsuspecting humans. I had time to scry him, and he looked enough like a regular dog that I took a chance that he wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.”

Stiles stared at him in horror for several seconds, before muttering, “Your ethical code, assuming you even have one, could use some work, Doc.” 

“Probably,” Deaton said, shrugging. Turning from the cabinet at last, he held up a jar, containing what Stiles recognized to be mountain ash. “Hold him there until the circle is complete,” he ordered, as he began sprinkling it on the table, slowly surrounding the puppy, who was already beginning to whine in obvious agitation. 

“He doesn’t like it,” Stiles pointed out, probably unnecessarily. 

“No, he does not,” Deaton agreed, gesturing for Stiles to raise his arm a bit so he could complete the circle. “Let go,” he requested as soon as he had done so. 

The puppy bolted toward Stiles, slammed into the shimmering purplish barrier that glowed into view as soon as he made contact with it, bounced back, running into the other side of the circle, staggered sideways, hitting the wall one last time before Stiles yelled, “Enough!” and the circle...vanished. Without the barrier there to support him, the puppy fell on his side, whimpering in fright, and Stiles scooped him up in his arms, rocking him back and forth in his arms before he had made a conscious decision to move. Glaring at Deaton, he said, “I told you it might hurt him! Look at him!” he growled, nodding his head towards the cowering puppy...no...werewolf cub, which was whining pathetically, and trying to burrow his head under Stiles’ arm. 

“I’m sorry,” Deaton seemed sincerely regretful. “I told you, it was the least traumatic test I could think of...it wouldn’t really hurt him. And at least now we know...” 

Taking a few deep breaths, both to calm himself down, and in hopes that it would calm the frightened cub, Stiles finally managed to ask (without growling), “What do we do now?”

“We get him cleaned up, wait for Scott to get back with the Lancaster’s cat, and then see if he can get him to shift back,” Deaton said, wrinkling his nose in what seemed to be a sympathetic way when Stiles flinched at Scott’s name. “While you give this guy his bath...he’s not going to let me do it,” he interrupted himself when Stiles opened his mouth to object, “I...think we need to talk. About a lot of things,” he said, holding open the door to the exam room, and gesturing for Stiles to follow him toward the back of the clinic, where Stiles knew from helping Scott out in the past that there was a tub used to bathe the patients when necessary. 

“Like what?” Stiles sighed, giving in to his fate. 

“For one...have you been practicing with your Spark?” Deaton’s question threw him off completely, since he had expected the man to bring up the subject everyone had been trying to get Stiles to talk about since...he pushed the thought aside viciously, and squinted at the vet like he had lost his mind. 

“No? Was I supposed to?” Stiles asked, with maybe a bit more sarcasm than was strictly necessary. 

“No, no, I was just curious,” Deaton murmured, raising his hands a bit defensively. “You don’t even realize what you did, do you?” 

“I didn’t do anyth-” Stiles began to say, then his jaw dropped. “The ash...you mean that was me ? I thought that was you ?”

“I was about to simply break the circle with my hand...” Deaton told him, shrugging slightly as he turned on the water to fill the tub. “But then it was gone.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles asked reluctantly, really not sure if he wanted to know. 

“Making the circle disappear like that...something like that requires a bit more power than just completing a circle with not quite enough ash,” Deaton explained, reaching for a bottle of oatmeal shampoo for puppies on the shelf above the tub. “And you apparently did it with no conscious effort. You said you had to concentrate when you closed the circle at the nightclub, correct?” 

“Yeah?” Stiles replied, shrugging. “Sorta? I guess?” 

“Has anything else like this happened between then and now?” Deaton asked curiously. 

“I...I don’t know?” Stiles answered honestly. “I guess it could have, and I didn’t notice? I didn’t know I did this ,” he gestured vaguely toward the exam room. 

“True,” Deaton murmured thoughtfully. Dipping his hand in the few inches of water that now covered the bottom of the tub, he turned off the faucet. “Go ahead, and clean him up. Keep the shampoo away from his eyes.” 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Stiles muttered, though there was no heat in his tone. He began gently scooping water up over the wolf cub’s back, but the cub, seemingly over his scare with the mountain ash, had apparently decided it was play time, and immediately rolled over, wetting himself thoroughly before sitting up, and wagging his tail. “You know what we’re doing, don’cha, lil’ guy?” Stiles asked, smiling when he yipped playfully in response. “Okay, let’s get all that nasty gunk off you, huh?” Stiles murmured, gently rubbing some of the shampoo on his hands, and then carefully working it all over the cub’s back, chest, belly, and legs. He gingerly washed the top of his head, and ears, making sure to avoid his face completely, since it wasn’t all that dirty anyway. “Okay, rinse!” he ordered cheerfully. The cub immediately rolled around again, the water quickly turning dark and nasty with dirt and other debris from his fur. Meanwhile the suds floated on top, and mostly continued to stick to the puppy’s belly and legs once he was upright again. Stiles reached in to pull the plug, then turned the water back on once the dirty water had drained. He allowed the tub to refill with a few more inches of clean water, before saying. “Okay, rinse one more time, lil’ guy.” 

Once the puppy had obeyed, rinsing himself clean, Stiles pulled the drain plug again, then turned to find Deaton staring at him with a soft, amused smile. “I wish all my patients were that easy,” he said, chuckling quietly. “He really likes you...” he added, handing him a towel.

“Well, I got him out of jail. And since he’s a werewolf, I’m sure he probably knows what bathtime is...” Stiles said. “He’s a born wolf, right? Since he’s so young? I mean, who would bite a five year old? And he can fully shift, so...” he trailed off, something niggling in the back of his mind.

“That’s the other thing I want to talk to you about,” Deaton sighed, biting his lip. “He’s got to be a Hale.” 

Stiles nearly dropped the puppy, and did drop the towel. “He...huh?” he croaked around the huge lump that had formed in his throat. “He...he can’t be, can he? Unless...I mean...did Peter have another kid?” He knew that none of Derek’s siblings or cousins from before the fire would be this young. 

“Peter never developed the ability to fully shift. It’s rare, even among the Hales, and typically not something that they can do before young adulthood, at the very earliest. Laura was 18 when...when she moved away, and she hadn’t fully mastered the ability yet at that time.” Deaton said, looking a bit sad as he picked up the towel, and handed it back to Stiles. 

“Okay...so?” Stiles asked, absently rubbing the cub’s head. “It can’t skip a generation? I mean, Malia can go full coyote...” 

“I’m not entirely sure about that,” Deaton confessed. “I mean, she probably inherited that ability from her mother, not Peter. I don’t know enough about were-coyotes to say with absolute certainty, but I believe that they can all fully shift. And I am unaware of any Hale werewolves who achieved a full shift if their Hale parent couldn’t. Derek, Laura and Cora’s father was bitten, so he couldn’t, but Talia was the Hale, and her husband took her name, because she was in line to be the next Alpha. Obviously, she could fully shift, and her father before her, and so on.”

“What are you not saying?” Stiles growled, feeling a growing sense of trepidation. 

“Look at his eyes, Stiles,” Deaton murmured, nodding his head toward the cub, who was playfully chewing on the towel, while staring up at Stiles. 

Stiles started to look more closely at the cub’s eyes, then stopped himself when he realized what the vet was suggesting. “No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No. That’s fucked up.  Are you saying you think this is...” he trailed off, unable to make himself say the name. “It can’t be...he’s...dea...you know what happened! We all saw his b-b...” he trailed off again, shaking his head frantically. 

“Stiles, Scott told me Derek lost all his wolf powers in the weeks leading up to...what happened in Mexico,” Deaton said quietly. 

“Yeah, cuz of whatever Kate did to him,” Stiles muttered, nodding once, refusing to look at him, though he did return to drying off the cub’s fur with a corner of the towel. 

“Well, like I said, when...when she moved away, Laura hadn’t mastered the ability to shift, but she had fully shifted a few times. Once, right before the fire, when she broke her leg skiing, actually, and then...well, again in reaction to the fire itself. Right before she shifted the first time...her powers seemed to weaken considerably for a brief period. Talia told me that the same thing happened to her right before she shifted the first time...which happened after she injured herself. I’m not sure if injury is what finally triggers the shift, or if injuries tend to happen because the Hales temporarily lose their powers before shifting for the first time. It makes them weaker...clumsier.”

“This is a puppy ,” Stiles hissed, waved his hand in the cub’s general direction. “D-he’s like 21! Not five !” 

“That’s true,” Deaton agreed calmly. “And, normally, I would say that was an extremely strong argument against the possibility of this being Derek,” he continued, ignoring Stiles’ flinch. “But the fact is, it’s more of an argument for this being him, rather than some other Hale wolf. He died, or appeared to, at La Iglesia .” He paused, giving Stiles a very pointed look, but Stiles’ head was beginning to throb;  nothing seemed to make sense anymore, and he just shrugged confusedly at him. “Stiles...La Iglesia is where Kate de-aged Derek earlier this year! I still haven’t figured out how she did it. It’s entirely possible that whatever she used to do so is still in place. I believe the magic she used to do so somehow got mixed up in the process of manifesting his first full shift. I still can’t pretend to fully understand how that even happens, normally, since Talia wasn’t extremely forthcoming...” 

“So, you’re saying...he, what, was all primed to...like...evolve into the next level of PokeWolf, but since he did it there , it got fucked up, and he ended up turning into a puppy?” Stiles scoffed. 

“He didn’t ‘evolve,’ exactly,” Deaton replied, calmly ignoring the rest of Stiles’ rant. “He would have always had the potential, which he inherited from his mother. I have a  theory, which I could never test because the Hales are the only werewolf family I am aware of who possess the ability, and they’re understandably secretive about it. I believe that they lose their powers right before they manifest the ability to fully shift because their bodies are conserving energy. I suspect the first full shift requires a great deal of magical energy, so their powers lock down in preparation. As I said, i’m not sure if it requires some sort of injury to finally manifest the shift, or if the injuries are a side effect of the loss of power.”

“You said Laura did it when she was 18. Der...Derek was a lot older...” Stiles stammered, unwilling to let himself get his hopes up, but intrigued by the vet’s theory regardless.

“I’m not sure what triggers the preparation to fully shift, and I agree that is seems Derek developed the ability a bit older than his sister did, but Talia said she didn’t learn how to fully shift until several months after Laura’s birth. In Derek’s case, my guess is that it was probably the de-aging. It might have happened sooner, but he had weakened his Alpha spark when he healed Cora, and that probably delayed it.”

“He lost the Alpha spark,” Stiles corrected. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Deaton replied, shrugging. “We’ll see..” he murmured vaguely.

Stiles stared at him for a moment, then began shaking his head. “No, we won’t see, because you’re crazy, and this isn’t...it’s not him. This is just some poor, long lost Hale kid who manifested early, and wandered into the Preserve. Maybe one of D...maybe one of the cousins escaped. Cora did. Maybe they had a kid, and he just...decided to come visit Beacon Hills...” even as he spoke Stiles realized how far fetched it was to think that yet another Hale had survived the fire without anyone knowing, let alone that their five year old kid would achieve a full shift years earlier than most, and wander into Beacon HIlls alone. He just couldn’t handle the thought of getting his hopes up that Deaton was right, only to be crushed when Scott coaxed the kid back into human form, and they realized that Malia had a little brother. 

A tiny voice in the back of his head, however, had begun to suggest that what he was truly unprepared for was the possibility that this might really be Derek. If that was so, Stiles was going to have to finally address how he felt about Derek. He was going to have to specifically address the severity of his reaction to Derek’s death. And as far as he was concerned, that was all, just...terrifying. “This isn’t Derek,” he said, shaking his head firmly, and crossing his hands over his chest.  This, of course, allowed the cub in question to lunge up out of the tub, forcing Stiles to catch him, and thus end up absolutely soaked. 

“He wags his tail when you say the name Derek,” Deaton murmured after a long silence that quickly became awkward. “Actually, he wags his tail even when I say Derek,” he observed, pointing when it happened again. “I wonder if he’s starting to remember me from when he was young.”

“That’s ridiculous. He’s probably just figured out that you’re not going to hurt him, and Der-that’s like...a pleasant sound for werewolves,” Stiles scoffed. “Or he likes anything that sounds like a name. Right, uh...Benji?” he asked the puppy. The puppy just leaned up to lick Stiles’ chin. “Harry?” The puppy cocked his head to the side, looking confused. “Cujo?” This earned him a low growl. “Okay, this kid’s parents need a talking to if he knows about that one...” 

“ Or he’s Derek, who watched that movie with his big sister when he was 15. He was so adorably traumatized by what happened to the poor dog that his mother ended up telling the story to anyone who would listen until...well...” Deaton grimaced. 

Stiles closed his eyes, and counted to five, before meeting the cub’s thoughtful gaze. Swallowing hard, he whispered, “Are you Derek?” 

The cub’s tail began trashing back and forth, and he yipped excitedly before leaning up to nuzzle Stiles neck. “Oh for...” Stiles chuckled helplessly, leaning away as the nuzzling migrated up toward his face, and turned into licking. “Stop that!” 

“Derek,” Deaton said, his tone firm but gentle. The puppy immediately turned toward him, his tail waving back and forth a few times, before he returned to licking Stiles’ face. 

“So...” Stiles said, pushing his muzzle out of reach, and struggling to hold it there. “Assuming this is Derek...” He ignored the resulting bark. “How the hell would he have gotten all the way back here? If he’s got the mentality of his five year old self, how the hell would he even find the place? Especially since he doesn’t seem to have the self control to shift back...” 

“Instinct?” Deaton said, shrugging. “When born wolves are young, they run on almost pure instinct, and like you said, he’s probably got the mentality, and memories he had when he was five. He wouldn’t have been taught anything about the full shift back then because it wasn’t something he’d have had to worry about for at least another decade. As you already know, Beacon Hills, or rather, the Nemeton, is literally a beacon for supernatural creatures. Since he was born within a mile of it, he has quite a strong connection with it. It probably drew him here. Kind of like a homing pigeon. He’s so young, and judging by how skinny he is, clearly not a very good hunter yet,” Deaton chuckled when this earned him a low growl. “But, stuck in that form, he is much stronger than a human five year old, so I could see him being able to make his way back here in a month or so...”

“Six weeks,” Stiles corrected, leaving off the three days, since he was well aware that he was too aware of exactly how much time had passed. 

“If he was a normal wolf, I’d expect him to have bleeding paws, and possibly other injuries after walking that far, but since he’s a werewolf...he’s just a bit malnourished,” Deaton said, smiling almost proudly at the puppy, who yipped at him, and wagged his tail a bit, having apparently forgiven the insult to his hunting ability. 

“You think Scott can ‘alpha’ him into turning back?” Stiles asked softly, gnawing on his thumbnail as his gut twisted anxiously as he realized he was beginning to accept the idea that this was Derek. “What if he doesn’t, uh, revert to his normal age like he did last time? Who’s going to take care of him? Peter’s locked up, and Cora’s running around with some strange pack in South America!” Whatever weird bond had been forming between Stiles and Derek before La Iglesia (the second trip), he knew his nerves would not be able to handle getting him back (in any form) only to be forced to send him away.

“I suspect the de-aging will reverse as soon as he shifts back to his human form,” Deaton said. “Like I said, I believe it is partially a side effect of his full shift manifesting in the same location as the de-aging spell. It could have something to do with the nearly fatal nature of his injuries...I really don’t know.”

“Nearly fatal...” Stiles repeated under his breath, feeling his heart skip another beat as the thought that this really might be Derek wriggled its way further past his defenses. Biting his lip, he inhaled slowly, then said, “When is Scott going to be back?” He had to admit, the suspense was killing him, and as much as he didn’t want to see his childhood friend, he had to know , one way or another.

“Soon,” Deaton said, glancing at his watch. “Let’s take him into my office while we wait,” he suggested, taking the wet towel, and tossing it in a bin near the door. Stiles had never been in Deaton’s office before, despite his many visits to the clinic, so he followed him to a closed door he had never really noticed before. As he passed through, he felt a strange tickle in his spine, and gave the vet a questioning look. “It’s warded,” Deaton confirmed, looking almost impressed that Stiles had noticed. Inside was a small, rather cluttered desk, as well as a couple of chairs, and a fairly hideous yellow sofa. “Have a seat.” Deaton waved his hand at the sofa as he settled in the surprisingly comfy-looking office chair behind the desk. “We might as well get started...”

“Huh?” Stiles blinked. “Started doing what?”

“I want you to start trying to talk Derek through the shift. He’s clearly bonded with you, and you’ve talked Scott down from enough shifts. Liam, as well...” Deaton murmured.

“You heard about that?” Stiles asked, astonished. 

“It seems Liam told Scott, who then told me. Scott was quite proud of you,” Deaton said. “As he should be,” he added, smiling rather fondly at Stiles. 

“He’s still a dick,” Stiles muttered, looking down at his hands, though he was beginning to feel a tiny bit bad about how he’d been treating Scott. 

“Stiles, you know Scott felt...feels...terrible that Derek was hurt while trying to save him, right?” Deaton asked gently. 

“He doesn’t feel bad enough! He just...he just left him there!” Stiles’s anger came flooding back as he remembered waking up in the back of Peter’s car to find they were halfway back to Beacon Hills...without Derek. “Oh my god, if this is really Derek...he wasn’t dead, he was just hurt, and we abandoned him! That’s even worse than...” his vision blurred, and he began wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

“He appeared to be dead, Stiles. Scott and the others couldn’t have brought a body back across the border,” Deaton repeated the same argument Scott had given him multiple times before Stiles had stopped speaking to him. “As I understand it, it wasn’t Scott’s idea to leave him there...it was Christopher Argent’s. Scott and the others needed to get Peter back to Eichen House before he regained consciousness...” 

“But...Scott said Chris was going to bury him. What if he did , and Derek woke up undergr-oh god...he must have been terrified. He’s going to hate us!” Stiles’ stomach clenched, and he clapped his hand over his mouth, fighting down a wave of nausea, as he felt his heart accelerate and his lungs and throat begin to constrict. “I-I can’t...” he moaned, gasping for air.

“Stiles! Breath!” Deaton flew around the desk, crouching in front of him. “You’re having a panic attack, Stiles. It’s okay. Just breath...” he said gently, breathing slowly in and out. When Stiles was unable to focus on his words over the sound of his heart pounding through his ears, the druid placed his hand on his forearm, and began squeezing, and releasing in time with his slow breaths, continuing to do so until Stiles finally managed to follow the pattern. About the same time, Stiles became aware that the cub...that Derek was standing up on his hind legs, with his front paws on Stiles’ shoulder, gently huffing into, and nuzzling Stiles’ ear. “That’s good. Everything’s okay. Just breath,” Deaton urged. “See...he doesn’t hate you at all, do you, Derek?” 

The puppy barked softly, right in Stiles’ ear, then leaned closer, licking his cheek, and then bumping his nose against Stiles’ “Stop that, you goober,” Stiles mumbled quietly, even as he reached up, and gently rubbed the thick fur on the back of his neck. 

Deaton watched them for a moment, a soft, thoughtful smile on his face, then asked. “Stiles...I never asked you. How did you know Kate Argent had taken Derek last summer?” 

Stiles froze for a moment, then resumed idly petting the cub’s...Derek’s soft fur. “I had this weird dream. Or...we never really talked about it afterwards, but maybe Derek had the dream? He told me he had a dream about Kate busting in, and shooting up his loft. He asked me how I can tell when I’m dreaming...I guess ‘cuz of the nogitsune? So I told him, and he told me that he thought what Kate did was just a dream, but he couldn’t remember waking up. So, when I woke up, I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I tried to call him, and he didn’t answer, so I got Scott to go over there with me, and...well...you know the rest...” Now that he thought about it, that dream might have been another ‘Spark thing’ he should have mentioned to Deaton earlier. 

“I see,” Deaton murmured in his usual annoyingly vague way, but this time, he followed it up with and abrupt, “Tell him to turn back.”

“Just like that?” Stiles snorted. 

“Just like that.” Deaton nodded. 

“I’m not an alpha, he’s not going to just listen-” Stiles argued. 

Deaton cut him off with a snort of his own. “I think we both know you might be more important to him than any alpha.” 

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat, but he managed to mutter, “Fine,” rolling his eyes petulantly before heaving a sigh that he hoped sounded more impatient than nervous. Cupping his hand under Derek’s chin (because he was about 97.5% on board with the ‘this is Derek theory’), he made sure to establish eye contact before firmly saying, “Change back, Derek.” 

Derek stared at him for a moment, then whined.

“Change back,” Stiles repeated, feeling increasingly foolish, and anxious. 

Derek’s eyes melted from their usual weird hazel/green mix to a familiar glowing electric blue for a moment, then back to normal, and he tried to pull his chin out of Stiles’ gentle grip, obviously wanting to break eye contact. 

“Derek,” Stiles murmured soothingly, his heart racing almost as fast as Derek’s, which he could feel against his arm. “Come back. Come on...I know you don’t remember having to do this before, but I bet even when you were little, you had to come back from a beta shift before, right? You remember being human, like me? Just...picture it, okay? Picture being human again, like me, and let it happen. Come on...” 

Derek’s whole body jerked, and he let out a startled-sounding yelp before going very, very still. Stiles glanced questioningly at Deaton, who was watching with avid curiosity. When Derek began to shake all over, Stiles turned his attention back in time to see the cub start convulsing so hard, he jerked out out of Stiles’ grasp, falling backward onto the cushion beside him, and rolling onto his side, facing the back of the sofa. “Derek?!” Stiles yelled, jumping to his feet, his previous panic attack beginning to make a comeback. Derek let out a pained whimper, and Stiles whipped his head toward Deaton, who had also risen to his feet, but rather than moving to help Derek, had taken a step back. “Do something!” 

“There’s nothing I can do,” Deaton admitted, gesturing weakly toward Derek. “Look...I think he’s...er...aging up.”

Glancing back, Stiles’ jaw dropped, because the wolf on the sofa was no longer a small(ish) cub. Instead, a huge, shaggy adult wolf (much larger than any normal wolf he had seen in photos or documentaries), was writhing around, his claws ripping into the hideous upholstery as he thrashed frantically, making horrible, pained noises that made Stiles want to both run from the room with his hands over his ears, and throw himself on the sofa, and wrap him up in his arms.

Without making a conscious decision, he ended up doing the latter, despite the flying claws, and Deaton yelling his name, sounding more urgent than Stiles had thought he was capable of. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he murmured repeatedly, rubbing his hand up and down a front leg that was quickly morphing into a very familiar (though slightly less muscular than normal) arm. The whining, yelps, and other noises were also beginning to sound distinctly deeper, and more human, as the furry form below him gave way to a seemingly endless expanse of smooth skin. When the thrashing and whimpering stopped, the man in his arms went limp, letting out a long, slow breath. “Der? Are you okay?” Getting no response, Stiles gently brushed his hand over Derek’s hair. He couldn’t help thinking it felt even softer than the cub’s fur.  “Hey, talk to me, big guy,” he murmured softly, moving his hand to squeeze Derek’s shoulder. 

When a fleece plaid blanket suddenly dropped down into his field of view, he suddenly realized that he was now wrapped around a very naked Derek Hale. “Oh, shit, here...” he grabbed the blanket, shooting Deaton a sheepish, but grateful smile as he rose just long enough to completely cover every bit of exposed flesh from Derek’s neck down, before sitting back down on the edge of the sofa, leaning over him. “Derek? Seriously, man, are you okay?” he asked, getting worried.

Derek finally moved, shifting slightly so he was on his back rather than facing the back of the sofa. Squinting, he licked his lips, which were very dry and cracked, before croaking, “Thank you.” 

“Oh, hey, I didn’t do anything,” Stiles chuckled, blinking back sudden tears. “I’m just glad you’re back. I thought I...I thought we lost you,” he winced as his voice cracked with emotion. 

“So did I,” Derek whispered hoarsely. Smiling weakly, he reached up, and cupped Stiles’ cheek in his hand. “You know I’d never leave you on purpose, right?” 

Stiles gave up on the struggle not to cry. Bursting into tears, he wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, and buried his face against his shoulder, sobbing out all the pain and guilt he’d felt over the last...hell...he suddenly realized he didn’t need to keep track anymore. He was dimly aware that Derek’s arms were wrapped just as tightly around his own torso, one hand stroking up and down his back. After several minutes, he managed to get himself under control a bit, and realized Derek was murmuring something under his breath. If he wasn’t so close, Stiles probably wouldn’t have been able to hear him, but... “I love you. I love you. Please don’t cry...”

Letting out a choked gasp, Stiles pushed up enough to look at Derek’s face. “What? You what?”

Blushing, and looking a little shocked that Stiles had heard him, Derek smiled sheepishly. “I love you?” 

Stiles blinked at him several times, stunned by this revelation, even though he’d known for ages that there was something between them. He’d just always assumed the feelings were stronger on his side. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything before?!” he blurted, feeling what he was sure was a ridiculous smile spreading over his face. He was glad to see that Deaton had apparently decided to give them some privacy during his embarrassing sob-fest.

Derek sighed, and loosened his grip slightly, reaching up to caress Stiles’ cheek. “I thought you were too young. And for a while there, I thought you were in love with my cousin...” he said, giving him a pointed look. 

“What? No, that was never serious! Malia started it, and I...I like her, but I was never in love with her. I never thought I had a chance with you, and I think we were both just sorta, not using each other, ‘cuz that sounds horrible, but...maybe it was just...convenient? I felt a little bad that we slept together when I wasn’t really myself at Eichen, so when she wanted to continue, it seemed like maybe losing my virginity to her, I don’t know...meant more?” Stiles admitted guiltily. When Derek nodded understandingly, he exclaimed, “And we broke up, or whatever, months ago!”

“Still...I thought whatever I felt was just me, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Then, I wasn’t sure what was going on after Kate kidnapped me. I felt so weak and useless, and Braeden...” Stiles stiffened at the mention of the pretty bounty hunter/Marshall. “She was helping me learn to fight, and...I think it was sort of the same as you and Malia...not using each other, because we both knew we didn’t really have feelings like that, but it was...convenient is a good word,” he mumbled, grinning ruefully. “But then, at La Iglesia...”

Stiles let out an involuntary whine. “Can we not? I can’t...it was so awful...”

“All I could think about was you. I was so scared something was going to happen to you,” Derek whispered, his grip tightening again. 

“You were worried about me ?!” Stiles exclaimed, shocked. “I barely got a scratch on me. You were the one b-bleeding out on the ground. I...it was so hard to leave you there like that. I almost went back for you as soon as we got inside, but my dad called, and then all hell broke loose. By the time Liam helped free Scott, and he finished off Peter...” he felt his lower lip tremble at the memory of seeing Derek’s crumpled body on the ground, before he had literally passed out from the shock and grief that swept over him. Biting his lip, he let out a breath through his nose until he felt like he could speak without crying again. “I didn’t want to leave you there. I...I kind of fainted when I realized you were...” So much for not crying anymore. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he said, “I thought you were g-gone, and...next thing I knew we were halfway back to Beacon Hills, and I guess Chris told Scott and the others that they couldn’t bring you back...” He was whimpering now, the awful memories flooding back. “I never would have left you there like that...” he growled vehemently.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Derek murmured, pulling him into his shoulder, and pressing his lips to his temple as he resumed rubbing his back. “It’s not your fault. Chris was right. They never would have let you guys back over the border. It’s okay. I’m here now.”

“How did you get here?” Stiles whispered, turning to nuzzle into Derek’s neck, because it was possible he’d spent a little too much time around werewolves. 

“I remember waking up alone there...it’s weird because at the time, I had no idea what was going on, since, you know...I thought I was like six, and I was sort of aware that I wasn’t supposed to have actual paws. I had this vague idea that my family was playing a joke on me at first...that they were going to jump out, and surprise me. But then I realized there was blood all over the place, and quite a lot of it smelled like mine...hey, it’s okay...” he gave Stiles a squeeze when he shuddered. “Anyway, then, I realized there were a couple of dead people lying around...the berserkers mostly, and a couple of the hunters,” Stiles gave him a questioning look, and he rushed to explain, “I didn’t know that then , but I do now. So I got scared. I finally picked up a scent that my wolf recognized as Pack, so I just started following it. And following it. And I guess I went a little bit feral after a while, because I don’t really remember walking all the way here from Mexico. I just had this vague feeling that I had to go in a certain direction, even after I lost the scent. The first thing I really remember is recognizing your scent as Pack, at the...was that the pound?” Stiles grinned, and nodded. “Fuck, you’re never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?”

Stiles’ grin widened as he shook his head. “There may be a lot of ‘LIlo and Stitch’ references in your near future,” he replied, shrugging noncommittally. “I think the words, ‘Are you sure this is a dog?’ were exchanged in one variation or another. Possibly more than once.”

“I hate you,” Derek said, chuckling, and rolling his eyes. “And it doesn’t fit, because it’s been a while since I’ve seen that movie, but I’m pretty sure Stitch never wanted to...” he blushed, and trailed off abruptly, looking away. “Anyway, the longer I was around you, the more started to come back to me, but I still didn’t know how to shift back, until you talked me through it. It was weird, because I knew I trusted you, and was starting to remember Deaton, but I was still a little caught up in six year old me, and couldn’t figure out how to turn back on my own. Which is why I thanked you.” 

“You’re welcome?” Stiles said, shrugging again. “I didn’t really do much. I was really just messing around while we waited for Scott to get here.”

“You were going to let him alpha command a six year old!” Derek snorted out a laugh. “Like that would have gone well!”

“That was Deaton’s idea!” Stiles said defensively, poking Derek’s cheek with his nose. “To be honest, I still wasn’t even really sure you were...you.”

“I know,” Derek twisted until he could kiss Stiles’ temple again. “I wasn’t either, at first. It came back to me the more you two talked about it.” 

 Stiles hummed softly, and lowered his head to rest on Derek’s shoulder again. They lay there quietly for a bit, while Derek absently stroked Stiles’ back, and Stiles ran his fingers over Derek’s chest. Finally, Stiles nervously asked, “So...what happens now?”

“I...I don’t know. Do I still have an apartment, or did you let Peter sell the building while you thought I was dead?” Derek asked, seeming sincerely worried about the idea. 

Stiles gasped, and raised his head. “That’s right, you don’t know! Fucking Peter was in on Kate’s stupid little scheme all along. When we got to La Iglesia, she had turned Scott into one of those berserker things, I guess hoping we would all kill him for her. Peter knew, and didn’t warn us, because he wanted Scott dead. So, after Liam managed to talk Scott down...”

“ Liam did? Liam who couldn’t even control himself on the way there?” Derek asked incredulously. “I would have thought it would be you,” he added, rubbing his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Yeah, apparently our little LIam is a good student, or it’s a beta/alpha thing, but either way, he managed to get through to Scott, who broke the curse or whatever, and we realized Peter had back-stabbed us...again. So they fought, and Scott totally k/o’d him. He’s locked up in Eichen now, were he belongs. None of us wanted to mess with any of your accounts or anything, and Cora is still in Peru or wherever, so the loft is still all yours if you want it,” he explained. Pulling back a bit more, so he could look into Derek’s eyes, he said, “That’s not what I meant though. I...I mean...what happens with us?” His voice shook a bit, and he wished, not for the first, or last time, that werewolf senses weren’t strong enough for Derek to hear his heart racing. Not that he couldn’t feel it anyway, since they were pressed up against each other pretty much from chest to toe, and how had he not really registered that until now. Swallowing nervously, he tried to pull away a little further, but Derek just tightened his grip.

“I told you how I feel,” Derek reminded him quietly. “You never quite said how you feel in return, but if I’m right, I think it’s mutual?” he asked, a bit hesitantly. 

“Oh god, yes!” Stiles blurted, laughing nervously. “I didn’t say it? Oh my god, yes, I love you, too! Of course I do!” He punctuated this by kissing Derek, his lips smacking loudly against the other man’s until the realization of what he’d just done hit him, and he froze. “Er...” 

Chuckling softly, Derek slid his hand around to the back of Stiles’ neck, and pulled him back in for a softer, sweeter, much longer kiss, which soon had Stiles feeling like he might actually melt into a puddle of warm goo. “I think this should be what happens now. A lot of this...” Derek murmured when they pulled away ever so slightly to catch their breath. 

“M’kay,” Stile chuckled, kissing him briefly. “Excellent plan. Best plan ever. Best day ever, it turns out,” he mumbled against Derek’s lips, while grinning like a mad man.

“Stop talking, Stiles,” Derek snorted softly, pulling his head closer again to deepen the kiss. 

Stiles figured they were probably going to have to move or something eventually. Derek might want clothes, and food, and maybe some chapstick at some point. And Stiles might owe Scott an apology, if for no other reason than because if Scott hadn’t called him that morning, Stiles wouldn’t have made it to the Animal Control office in time. He was pretty sure normal euthanasia drugs couldn’t kill a werewolf, but it probably wouldn’t have ended well for whoever tried it. Nope, he wasn’t going to think about any of that...for now he was fine with just kissing Derek, and letting Derek kiss him senseless in return. Everything else could wait.