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deepestsharkshark · 1 month ago

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WIP Whenever

Tagged by the wonderful @hedwig221b 🩷

I'm giving my brain a (brief, I promise!) break from my current WIP to work on the start of the top voted idea from my recent long fic poll - thank you to everyone who joined in with that! My planned next story is going to be an ABO neighbours AU, where Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a single parent. I've actually got the whole first scene already done, so... here's that! 😊

It is already gone midnight by the time Derek stumbles into his apartment building, exhaustion running bone deep as he crosses the lobby as quickly as his aching legs and weary feet will carry him. The imposing wall of mailboxes slides quickly past his consciousness as he steams by, the key to his own bitingly sharp where it digs into the meat of his thigh through his pocket, but he won’t take the time to stop and check it. Not tonight. Not with every strained muscle in his body screaming at him to dump himself into bed as soon as is physically possible.

Stuttering to a stop before the chipped-metal doors of the elevator, he summons what truly feels like every ounce of strength left within him to raise a hand up to the little grey button to his left. It takes him a moment of slow, sluggish, heavy blinks before he notices that grey has not shifted green, is not lit up with the promise of an imminent arrival. It takes a few moments more for him to realise there is a note, taped up to the door before his sapped-stupid face.

OUT OF ORDER

There it is. Spelled out right there, right in front of him. A stark white sheet of paper, blocked out with this bold, bright, blood-red lettering that makes his temples throb that kick harder. Out of fucking order.

“Fuck,” he mutters out loud, stinging eyes shut as he palms at his forehead. “Can today get any fucking worse?”

A question as rhetorical as it is futile. It’s not like there is anybody around to answer him.

His teeth grind together as his hand falls away from his face, dropping to hang limply down at his side. It is a real, genuine internal struggle to fight against the agitated claws that want to slice through his fingertips, and it is only his years of practice that keep them buried inside his skin, keep his palms safe from anything worse than the blunt score of ordinary nails.

Forcing his eyes open again, he twists away from the broken elevator and stomps the few paces it takes to be able to push through the solid door that leads him into the dimly lit stairwell.

Eight-oh-two. The number to his apartment, all the way up on the eighth goddamn floor. This truth puts an unreasonable and infuriating number of steps between his drained body and the familiar comforts of home right now.

Back when he first moved into this place, a little over a year ago, signing on for an apartment on one of the highest floors hadn’t even registered as a thought, as something worth even taking notice of. He is a werewolf, after all, with werewolf strength and werewolf stamina. An alpha werewolf, at that, and with all of the preternatural advantages that come along with that particular status. A few measly flights of stairs were nothing, not to him.

That arrogance is coming back around to bite him in the ass now, though. He was perhaps a little too hasty when he signed his name on that dotted line; perhaps lacking in the foresight needed to anticipate the apparent inevitably of returning home off the back of the shift from hell, only to find himself staring down the barrel of concrete stair after concrete stair after concrete goddamn stair.

He bites back the fatigued groan that wants to rip from his chest and lifts his leg to drop the first boot down onto the first step. Fantastic. Now only a hundred fucking more to go.

Climbing and climbing, heavy footstep after heavy footstep, his entire body singing its raucous protest with each and every stride onwards and upwards. He makes it up one flight, then two, then three and four and five, and it is when he is turning the corner for the sixth, rolling his neck to stretch out the deep crick in his joints, that his ears catch onto a nearby sound, quiet and unexpected.

It sounds like… shit. It sounds like a kid. It sounds like a child, a boy, young and scared and alone, definitely nowhere near old enough to be roaming the halls of this not-very-nice apartment building in their not-very-nice neighbourhood, this late at night and without any supervision.

Instantly, Derek stops short. He tilts his head to the side and holds his breath, listening, tuning into the sound of the boy humming a tune that Derek does not recognise, softly and shakily. The footsteps that Derek can hear are light, aimless and hesitant. The siren call of home, of bed, leaves him in a flash. He turns to follow where his ears can lead him.

With each hurried pace forwards, with each hastily rounded bend, the sound grows louder, easier to pinpoint. The humming in constant, quiet and rhythmically repetitive, but those footsteps falter, more than a few times, halting with a short catch of breath, a skipped beat of a heart. As Derek draws closer, his nose wrinkles around the sharp, sour scent of fear.

The kid isn’t far now. Derek can tell, because the boy has stopped moving entirely. Listening in to the faint thump of a back hitting a wall, the slow slide of fabric against painted plaster as the boy slides down it, another soft thud as he meets the carpeted floor beneath. He carries on humming, never deviating from that same, lilting tune. But Derek can still hear the small, broken, hiccupping sobs, choked and breathless in a way that makes Derek’s heart clench, makes him break into a speed he would not have considered himself capable of, only moments ago.

He is practically sprinting as he crosses that final stretch, pushing through another set of heavy doors and out into the hallway of a floor he has never ventured to before, until – he finds him.

Curled up on the floor, with his knees tucked up to his chin and his arms wound tightly around his shins, is the child. He cannot be much older than six, if that. He is wearing pyjamas, fire trucks printed all over the soft cotton pants, a large one taking up the middle of his chest. His brown hair is a messy mop on top of his head, sticking up wildly close to his temples, and his face is pale around his flushed cheeks, spilled tears staining tracks against his skin.

It is clear that the boy hasn’t noticed him yet. Derek can tell from the way his face stays buried against his legs, his wet eyes screwed shut and his lower lip wobbling with his tears. Derek slows himself down to a cautious kind of pace, careful to press on with light feet to avoid spooking the boy with any sudden noises.

At only a few steps away, Derek pauses, keeping his hands held out in front of him. He silently curses himself for not bothering to take the time to shower and change back at the station. He doesn’t need a mirror in front of him to remember that his white tank top is a mess of black soot, his face smudged with smoke and dirt. He knows that he hardly looks like the kind of adult a frightened little kid is likely to trust.

He has to give it a try, anyway.

“Hey,” he says gently, and the boy’s wide eyes snap up to look at him. “Are you lost?”

Now, Derek is not typically very good with kids. Something about him tends to just… scare them. Laura says it’s his face. Derek generally tells her to fuck off. He doesn’t necessarily disagree, though. Today, add in the fact that the last fire of the night left him looking like, well, this, and he finds himself at even more of a disadvantage than usual.

No answer comes from the boy. He simply blinks up at Derek, his eyes red and damp. He sniffs, a breath that trembles as he pulls it in, and he unwraps one arm from his legs to wipe at his cheek with the edge of one sleeve. His heart beats unsteadily as the scent of his fear takes on a bitter, panicky edge.

Derek lowers himself down to the ground, dropping down to his haunches, intentionally unhurried. He meets the boy at his level and does everything he can to look even just a little less terrifying than Laura always tells him his resting face is.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, hands clasping between his knees. “I just want to help you. Do you live in this building?”

A heavy beat passes in silence. He breaks into a soft smile when the boy finally gives him a slow nod.

“That’s good, that’s great,” he carries on. “Do you remember what floor you live on?”

This time, the boy shakes his head. The corners of his mouth turn down, his eyes growing watery again, the air salty with nearly shed tears as his chin wobbles. Derek takes one look at the boy’s distress and has to swallow around a thick lump in his throat, forcing the reassuring smile at his mouth not to waver.

“It’s okay, that’s fine, we can figure this out together.” He presses an open palm against his own chest. “My name is Derek. Can you tell me your name?”

Another pause. A good few seconds where the boy simply peers at him, merely stares with those big, brown, tearful eyes, so full of nerves, wide open with apprehension. Derek makes sure to hold the boy’s gaze steadily, not allowing the curve of his mouth to slip. He waits quietly, patiently, as the boy sniffs again, chin still trembling as he tilts it up into the air.

“Johnny,” he says.

His voice is so small, shaking as he speaks. Derek lets his smile open around his teeth.

“It’s nice to meet you, Johnny.” He nods down to Johnny’s shirt. “Do you like fire trucks?”

Johnny blinks owlishly at him for a second, before returning that smile with full force. His grin is huge, crooked and gap-toothed, and the scent of fear dissipates so quickly that Derek actually finds himself a little taken aback at such an abrupt shift in emotion.

“I love fire trucks,” Johnny says, with all of the childish sincerity in the world. “Did you know not all fire trucks are red? Sometimes they’re yellow, or green!”

Derek bites at the inside of his cheek, a slight ripple across his shoulders with his soft laughter.

“I did not know that,” he replies. “I’m a firefighter.”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack immediately. Derek doesn’t bother tamping down his next breath of laughter.

“That is so cool.” Johnny pushes forwards onto his knees, hands flat to the itchy carpet as he inches a little nearer. “Do you get to ride in the trucks?”

“I do,” Derek says.

“That is so cool,” Johnny repeats breathlessly.

Derek can feel his eyes crinkling with the spread of his smile, head tilting as he takes in Johnny’s earnest excitement. This kid is absolutely adorable, he cannot help but think. His parents must be missing him very much, if they’ve woken up and realised he has disappeared into the middle of the night.

“How did you end up out here?” Derek asks.

The easy smile falls away from Johnny’s lips at the question, pressing into a tight line instead, his eyebrows drawing quickly together. His eyes drift just over Derek’s shoulder, sliding to somewhere behind him, and Derek follows his gaze with a twist of his neck, finding himself staring through the window on the opposite wall, the night out beyond it black with darkness and white with stars.

“I couldn’t see the moon,” Johnny says when Derek turns back to him, his voice melted soft and scared once again. “I just wanted to see the moon, but then I got lost, and papa always says I should sing my lullaby and find a nice person to help if I get lost, but then I couldn’t find anyone, and I don’t know how to get home, and I –“

“Hey, hey,” Derek comes soothingly in, two palms held placatingly out. “It’s okay now. You found me, and I’m going to help you.”

Biting down on his bottom lip with the one front tooth he has left, Johnny nods. He chews for a quiet second, tilting his head slightly as he considers Derek, before crawling that tiny bit closer, still on his hands and knees.

“You live next door,” he says, quiet but confident. “I remember.”

Derek blinks. He doesn’t recognise this kid at all, cannot honestly say he has ever seen him before. He isn’t exactly pally with his neighbours, though. He isn’t exactly pally with anybody except his sister. Hell, he’s barely even pally with her.

Vaguely, he does recall that he got some new neighbours, a couple of new people moving into the vacant apartment beside him, maybe just a little under a month ago now. Now that he thinks about, he is relatively certain that it was a guy, an omega, a single parent with a young kid. It would make Derek’s job of getting Johnny home a whole lot easier, if true.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks.

Johnny nods, quick and sure.

“I’m sure,” he answers. “You have a doggy. He’s brown and he has floppy ears and you call him Buddy.”

Oh. Okay. Well, that clears that up, then.

“You’re right. I do have a dog called Buddy.” Derek puts his smile back in place as he extends a hand out. “Can I take you home now?”

Derek can sense Johnny’s hesitation even before he smells the faint wave of worry in the air.

“My papa says I shouldn’t go with strangers,” Johnny mumbles.

“Your papa’s right,” Derek replies immediately. “But I’m your neighbour, and I just want to make sure you get back home safely. Is that okay?”

One more long pause. One final slow nod. Johnny fits his small hand into Derek’s palm, fingers curling around Derek’s knuckles, taking Derek’s help as he clambers to his feet, limbs clumsy as he arranges himself into a standing position. Derek rises up with him, rolling up to full height and finding that the boy barely comes up to his waist.

A tilt of his head lets Johnny look up at Derek. That lopsided smile is back on his face as their eyes meet. He keeps his firm grip on Derek’s hand as they stand together.

“Okay,” he says. “I’d like to go home.”

“Okay,” Derek echoes back. “Let’s get you home.”

Any earlier exhaustion has faded into nonexistence as they climb the stairs in tandem. Johnny chatters away about what seems to amount to literally anything and everything that comes into his mind, and Derek is more than content to simply listen as they ascend, supplying a little him here or a quiet ah there, just to make sure Johnny knows he’s still listening.

It is only a few more flights until they reach their floor, Derek swinging the door open for Johnny to pull him through. Derek leads them deftly through winding halls, all the way to the far end, where Derek knows his apartment is, and, apparently, Johnny and his papa’s, too.

“Derek,” Johnny says, tugging at an attention he never actually lost, Derek humming an acknowledgement, anyway. “Can I meet your doggy?”

“Not tonight.” Derek holds back a laugh at the immediate pout that juts Johnny’s lower lip out. “We need to get you home, your papa will be worried about you. You can meet Buddy another time.”

Johnny’s eyes go wide as he gapes up at Derek. Derek smiles back down at him.

“You promise?” Johnny asks.

“I promise,” Derek vows.

A few more paces, and then they are coming to a stop in front of a closed door. Johnny falls quiet all at once as they stand before it, chipped metal numbers nailed into the wood, reading out a number close to Derek’s. Eight-oh-three. He wastes no time in raising a fist and knocking just beneath them.

Seconds pass. He does not hear even a shuffle of movement coming from inside. Maybe Johnny’s father is out. Maybe he woke up and discovered his kid missing and is out looking for him, roaming these halls in search of his wayward son. Derek tightens his hold on Johnny’s hand and knocks again.

This time around, something stirs to life on the other side. Bedsheets rustling, a lamp flicking on. A grumbled curse under breath and bare footsteps padding along a wooden floor. The click of a lock, a moment before the door inches cautiously open.

It really is just that, though – an inch. There is barely enough space between the door and its frame for Derek to peer through, to see into the darkness of the quiet apartment, to make out the shape of a sleep rumpled figure standing just inside, narrowed eyes fixing Derek with their suspicious gaze. If Derek didn’t have his superior vision, this would mostly be a blur to him, right now.

He is a werewolf, though. He can see what humans can’t.

The omega in front of him is clearly just roused from a deep sleep. His dark hair is a mess, entirely reminiscent of his son’s, and he is wearing nothing but a loose t-shirt, falling down slightly over one bony shoulder, a pair of boxer briefs keeping him modest on his lower half. He has freckles sweeping across the soft slope of his nose, moles dotting the height of his cheekbones, a sharp jaw and a pink mouth, currently pulled all the way down into a severe sort of frown. Even in these shadows, Derek can see that Johnny gets his big, brown, soulful eyes from his papa.

Absently, Derek wonders how the hell he didn’t notice an omega who looks like this moving in next door. He pushes the thought quickly aside and plasters a trustworthy smile onto his face.

“Yeah?” Johnny’s father prompts, his voice sleep-rough and palpably impatient.

“Uh, hi,” Derek says. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

Derek tips his head pointedly down towards the space just at his side. He watches on as the guy follows with sceptical, unhappy eyes, right up until they take in the sight of his son, still holding tightly onto Derek’s hand, pressing firmly up against Derek’s leg. The very moment his gaze lands there, is widens with shock, not a second passing before he is swinging the door abruptly open with the harsh knock of his shoulder.

The heart beating away behind his ribcage ratchets into overdrive. The scent filling the air snaps instantly into fear.

“Johnny!” His face shifts into fury as he stares at Derek with apparent disgust. He reaches out immediately to snatch Johnny’s hand out of Derek’s, pulling the boy quickly into the apartment even as he still sneers at Derek. “What the fu– heck, dude? Who are you and why do you have my son?”

Derek takes a sensible step backwards as he throws two palms up.

“I found him downstairs,” he hastens to explain. “I was just helping him get back home, that’s all.”

“Derek lives next door, papa,” Johnny chimes in, blinking up at his father with a dopey grin, free arm clinging around the leg nearest to him. “He has the doggy. You remember the doggy, right, papa? The one with the ears?”

For a second, Johnny’s father just blinks right back down at him. His teeth grit together as he lifts the hand not gripping onto Johnny’s to scrub roughly over his face, skating up to run through his messy hair afterwards. His mouth purses around a shuddering sigh as he leans down towards his son.

“What were you doing downstairs in the first place, kid?” he asks.

It doesn’t look like Johnny wants to answer that one. Not for his father, at least. He drops his head to stare at where his socked feet are scuffing into the wooden floors, his mouth studiously shut and his eyes fixed anywhere but at his worried papa. Derek wonders just how many times this kid has gotten in trouble for pulling stunts like this before.

“He said he wanted to see the moon.” Derek isn’t entirely sure why he hasn’t backed off for his own apartment just yet, but he jumps in to help explain, all the same. The omega’s sharp gaze snaps back to him and Derek tries not to let himself be too bothered by the mistrust in his eyes. “I think he just got a little lost. Right, Johnny?”

“Uh huh,” Johnny mumbles, still not looking up.

Johnny’s father’s mouth is parted as his eyes swing between Derek and his son.

“He wanted to see the…” He trails off with a shake of his head, a crease between his eyebrows as a sigh pushes out from his lips. He drops down into a crouch, lifting a finger to crook beneath Johnny’s chin to tilt his head back up. “Johnny. What have I told you about wandering off without me?”

“Not to do it,” Johnny whispers.

“Exactly,” Johnny’s father breathes. “So why, kid?”

Instantly, Johnny’s chin wobbles. Derek genuinely has no idea how this kid’s father stays strong in the face of that. Especially not when his eyes go glassy, eyelashes starting to clump wetly together.

“I’m sorry, papa,” he says quietly.

Johnny’s father pulls him into a tight, quick hug. He lets Johnny press in closer, lets him tuck his little face into his neck, the fingers of one hand carding gently through the dark mess of Johnny’s hair. Derek simply watches silently, helplessly, and a little awkwardly, on.

“Don’t cry, sweetie,” Johnny’s father says softly. “I’m not mad. I just – I need you to be safe. Okay?”

“Okay,” Johnny sniffs wetly. “I am sorry, papa.”

“I know you are.” Johnny’s father presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple, a moment of touch before he pulls out of the hug just enough to look Johnny in the eye. “Now, I want you to go into your room and get back into bed. I’ll be in in just a minute so we can talk a little more. You understand?”

“Yes, papa.” Johnny turns his gaze up to Derek with a small, still tearful smile. “Thank you for helping me. I can’t wait to meet your doggy.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Derek offers a real, genuine smile in return. “I’m sure Buddy can’t wait to meet you, too.”

Sparing a final, impish, excitable grin in Derek’s direction, Johnny allows his father to guide him further inside the apartment with a firm hand pressing against his back. He throws an overly enthusiastic wave over his shoulder as he disappears into the darkness. Derek can’t help the fond smile that sticks to his mouth as he watches the kid go.

That smile slips entirely when he tears his gaze back to the boy’s father. This guy looks decidedly less impressed by Derek than Johnny did. With one eyebrow arched, he folds his arms defensively over his chest, pinning Derek in place with a long, hard, parental sort of frown, a clear accusation clinging to its edges.

“So,” he says. “You.”

Derek feels his eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead.

“Me?” he replies. “What about me?”

The omega catches his tongue between his teeth. His big, brown eyes are narrowed down to slits.

“You just happened to be lurking the halls at,” he pauses to glance at something on the wall beside him, “one o’clock in the freaking morning?”

Derek forces himself to stay rigidly still, forces himself not to give into the almost overwhelming urge to capitulate into some kind of false confession under this guy’s harsh unwavering glare. He tips his chin up and shoves his hands as nonchalantly as he can into the depths of his pockets.

Even more so than his first encounter with Johnny, he is achingly aware of how the events of his shift have left him looking right about now.

“I work down at the fire station.” Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get anywhere near the levels of enthusiasm from Johnny’s father as he did from Johnny when he reveals this career path. “I was just getting home from a shift when I heard him walking around on his own. Figured he could use some help.”

Johnny’s father purses his mouth, openly appraising Derek with the slow drag of his eyes. They sweep down and up the length of him, from his old jeans to his dirty tank to his smoky face. Eventually, the omega blows a sharp breath out through the slight parting of his lips, letting his eyes widen from their suspicious squint, at least just a little.

“Fine,” he sighs out. “I guess I should probably say… thank you, then.”

Derek scoffs a laugh at the complete absence of sincerity in his tone. He gives a short, disbelieving shake of his head as he stares incredulously back at this guy.

“Don’t strain something on my account,” he replies drily, before letting his own eyes narrow right back. “You know, you’ve got a good kid there. Smart. He only agreed to let me help him because he recognised me as your neighbour.”

Johnny’s father clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He rolls his eyes as he uncrosses his arms, letting them hang loosely down at his sides.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “He’s obsessed with your dog.”

“I gathered that.” Derek hesitates a second before ploughing on. “He really is welcome to meet him, if he wants. If it’s okay with you.”

It looks as though Johnny’s father barely even registers this offer. He waves a flippant hand in the air between their chests.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says. “Look, it’s late. Thanks for not turning out to be a creep, I guess. I’ll see you around.”

Derek already has his mouth open around a response. A cutting, caustic, offended retort to this guy’s apparent indifference, apparent agitation, that Derek literally jut helped his son get safely back home. But, before a single word can pass through his gritted teeth, the door slams shut, right in his face. Echoingly loud and blatantly final, leaving Derek standing out alone in the harshly lit hallway.

He sighs. He was looking forward to getting his ass home, he supposes.

Digging his keys out of his pocket and only grumbling under his breath a little bit, he takes a quick sidestep until he can stand in front of his own front door, until he can shove the key into the lock and twist his wrist to kick it open. He hears the instant shift of Buddy waking up inside, soft paws against the wooden floor as he pads from his bed in the corner over to where Derek is stepping over the threshold.

The door snicks shut behind him as he crouches, scratching fingers going right to the spot behind Buddy’s ear that he loves. He is granted a low rumble and a wagging tail for his troubles.

“Hey, Buddy,” he greets. “I met a big fan of yours tonight.”

Buddy pulls his head away from Derek’s hand in favour of rolling himself onto the floor, belly-up in open invitation. Derek breathes out a laugh even as he immediately dives in to give pets as so politely requested. He lets his mind drift to next door as his fingers move through soft fur.

He wonders just how much of a scolding Johnny must be getting right now. He hopes the kid will actually listen this time around, will actually let the warning to not go roaming around the building late at night ever again on his own sink in. He tries to imagine how Johnny’s father must be feeling, scared and relieved all at once, such an instant flood of overwhelming emotion at being handed the kid he hadn’t even realised he had lost.

It would explain why he was so rude to Derek, just now.

Or maybe he’s just a dick. Who knows?

Either way – there is no point dwelling on it. In all honesty, that is very likely the first and last interaction that he will ever have with that pair, with that father and son, that omega and his kid. Derek should be putting his mind to more important things right now, like getting his ass into the shower, and then getting his ass into bed, precisely where it should have been a damn while ago already.

“C’mon,” he says as he stands up, Buddy rising with him. “Time for bed.”

If he happens to dream of big, brown eyes and a panting, pink mouth…

Well. That’s nobody’s business but his.

Low pressure tags! @crownofstardustandbone @dear-massacre @demonicfaerie @eevylynn @like-lazarus

@lucky-bishop @patolemus @raisesomehale @seaweed-water @violetfairydust

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