#So instead of finally learning everything I need to be a functional fucking adult I just cried and now I'm gonna be an 18 year old who

[ironmanstan]

So much work to do but im actually doing it which scares me more than the fact i have work to do and u can tell bc i keep fucking posting like this

[cigarettes-and-black-eyeliner]

in a few months I'll soom be 18 and it's so...I don't know how to explain it but my childhood and part of my teenagehood were so awful(it's still not great but now my life is aqful for kinda different reasons) and for so much of it I felt so isolated(in part I isolated myself but my parents didn't really do much to help) and alone for a number of reasons and didn't even get to feel like a normal kid or teenager and now as I am finally feeling like a teenager (kind of) and doing stuff normal teenagers do (i guess) my childhood is gonna be over.

My childhood is gonna be over and I barely even got to experience it, to make the msot out of it. I hated myself since I was 5 (one. Of my earliest memories). For a while I was so ridden with anxiety and depression I could barely focus on anything else aside from school. I barely had friends. I had to grow up too fast mentally while at the same time I lack skills that other people my age or younger already know how to do(in part because neither my parents nor anyone else properly tried to teach me, like tying my shoelaces for example). I'm (pretty obviously) neurodivergent and undiagnosed and while I didn't know this as a child, I still felt different and not in a good way. I'm a nervous & ackward wreck because of all this.

[jodilin65]

I am so pissed off right now and so damn exhausted that I can’t write about everything that’s going on in this entry. I’ll just copy what I wrote in the car and carry on with it some other time.

We’re going to be under new management at the park soon. I hope whoever the new person is isn’t anything like Joy or Stacey.

Yesterday was a shitty day. Had to play phone for hours with the ENT office, Aetna, and even Rhonda’s. The ENT’s staff are completely incompetent and the concierge is as contradicting as ever. All they did was give us conflicting info and jerk us around like a yo-yo. Finally, we called Rhonda’s office and they said they had a physical copy of my referral. We’re on the way right now to pick up that copy. Worst case scenario, we have to pay out of pocket just like we’ve had to with other things we weren’t supposed to pay for. I figured there had to be a catch when I learned how cheap this insurance plan was!

Either way, I’m not leaving that ENT’s office till it’s cleaned. It needs it. Also, I’ll schedule the next appointment 4 months out instead of 6. That way when the games start again and they cancel me again, I’ve got a two-month cushion to reschedule.

I almost regretted moving here yesterday as the healthcare is just so fucked up here! So are the roads as we encountered yet another accident. Most of them happen in the middle of the street. There are medians with cutouts that cars dart across and there are tons of accidents in these spots. The SUV was turned on its side.

Slept horribly with a 2-hour gap in my sleep after having the third nightmare in a row. How did I go from not remembering my dreams to having a nightmare every night? As comfortable as this bed is, I just couldn’t get comfortable and was tossing and turning like crazy till I finally drifted back off. Now I get how Aly once said she couldn’t get comfortable at times and I suggested a new mattress yet she said hers was fine. The only problem with mine is that we had to add more water to the tubes. We added 8 cups per tube but we may still have to add more. We checked and didn’t find any leaks, so we’re guessing the tubes just stretched a bit. The things are surprisingly short in height. I pictured dome-shaped tubes with a flat rigid bottom but they’re shallow oblong tubes.

Tom’s sleep was also split up by 4 hours only his brain could actually function and he did $16 worth of work. I did $31 yesterday. If we each made $20 a day 5 days a week that would give us an extra $800 a month. The plasma place is open again too, so he may donate tomorrow.

Anyway, my stomach was all messed up due to the poor sleep. I doubt it’ll do me much good but I’m going to give the mouthguard another try soon.

Anyway, in this nightmare I had, I was in an adult version of Valleyhead, thanks to my parents who were alive. Everyone had their own room, though. I visited a woman’s room and liked the way she had it set up. I also seemed to know her well. She was on the ground floor and had a door open to the outside. It was cold, dark, and snowy, wherever it was.

Then we were all in a common area sitting in rows of benches. There were about 5 people on each bench and about 6 rows.

Just got the referral and nearly fell flat on my ass. I tripped on a bump in the sidewalk but because I’m so fat and so exhausted I had to run several steps to catch myself when I could normally catch myself in just a second. I really think I’m going to have to see a sleep specialist. This is just ridiculous. I don’t understand how Tom and others can get used to poor sleep.

Back to the dream. My father visited one time and asked why I didn’t take advantage of a certain grant I had and make a decent career for myself. Why didn’t I become a lawyer? he asked me, leaving me feeling worthless and not good enough and wishing I’d thought to ask him why he didn’t become a lawyer or get some “important” job like that himself.

As we were all sitting there, perhaps to watch a movie, I heard a really loud plane all of a sudden, and thought to myself, oh no, please tell me they don’t fly that low here! But then I looked out the window at the end of the long room and saw a plane heading right for us. I thought we were all dead for sure, but it plowed through the other side of the room.

I had a feeling this dream meant that it wasn’t going to be a good day, and it wasn’t. But I now know more than I did earlier and will write about it some other time. For now, I just have to hope to hell I don’t have a nightmare tonight, too.

[klbwriting]

Pirate’s Heart - Chapter 1

Perfect Color, or Not

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Warning: so this chapter is pretty dark, Kaz’s backstory is dark and there is suggestion of sexual assault but it is not described

Song: Perfect Color - Safety Suit

Taglist: @sixofshadowandbone @thedelusionreaderbitch @itsemy01 @angelicdanvers @marinettepotterandplagg @screen-to-stage @aysegust @sagewrites111 @lilyoflower @hey-peeps @starjane312 @spawn0fsatan @myalupinblack​

Yellow nice to meet you

Do you know that you just blue my mind?

It was the perfect conversation, I think that I red about one time

And I told a white lie when I told you, I've never been green with envy you

You are the perfect color

 The song would not get out of Y/N's head and she hated it.  Pekka sang it to her about her tail all the time.  And she hated Pekka Rollins.  Well hated him as much as she could without a heart.  Why was she thinking so much anyway?  Wasn't she sleeping?  Why was she moving and why did she hear voices?  She groaned, eyes slowly opening to see two teenage girls standing above her.  They were gazing at her with curious eyes and she tried to wipe her own eyes, only to find her wrists were tied to the table she was laying on.  

"She's awake Nina," she said a girl with bronze skin and dark hair.  

"I can see that Inej," the other girl, creamy white skin with brown hair and freckles.  Nina was light eyed while Inej had dark eyes, and both girls were fourteen, maybe fifteen years old.  How long had she been asleep?  It couldn't have been that long, she didn't feel any older.  She turned her head, finding a mirror on a table nearby and seeing that she didn't look older, only dirty.  

"Where am I?" she asked.  She knew she was on a boat, she could feel the sea moving them, but how did she get there?  She was in the jungle before, bleeding, stabbed where her heart should have been.

“You’re on the Menagerie,” the one called Nina said. Inej tried to shush her and Y/N could hear footsteps nearby.  

“What have you girls brought me?” a beautiful blond woman asked, entering the room.  She was dressed in fine silks with an intricate peacock feather tattoo on her face, making her look almost like an animal herself.   Y/N felt a very strange pang of fear, dulled by her lack of heart, but she felt it enough to worry about this woman.

“Tante Heleen, we found her in the jungle when we were hunting,” Inej explained, her eyes downcast.   Y/N was fast learning that this woman was not to be trifled with, but she didn’t care.  She wanted out of these bindings and she would do what she needed to survive.  

“My, my, she is filthy, we will have to clean her up, get me the sponge and some water,” she demanded.  Nina did as asked, and Heleen started to clean her face.  “Not particularly special in the face, homely and plain.  Face too round for most men…eyes are dark but not special, lips are too pale will need color,” the woman continued, cleaning down her body and commenting on everything.  Breasts were too small, stomach too round, hips too wide, legs… She stopped at her legs, staring in shock as the bright scales that still dotted her thighs. They were remnants of her tail in case she ever got it back.  Heleen demanded Inej get a message out at the port for the commander, they had something special for him.

“What is it Tante?” Inej asked.  The look Heleen sent her made Inej run.   Y/N was becoming very aware of how this ship worked.  Heleen was a captain of some kind of pleasure vessel and all these poor young girls were stuck here attending to the men who paid for them.   Y/N was disgusted, and she could see from the look on the woman’s face that she was going to be the centerpiece of some kind of show for this commander. Like hell she would have another man touch her without her permission.   Y/N looked around the room and realized she would need to wait for her time to arrive.  She started to pretend to be scared, her acting not very good, it had been a long time since she’d been around anyone and Heleen saw right through it.

“O now, I see, you’re fearless are you?” she asked, a snake like smile on her face.  “Well, let’s get you dressed and shackled.  The commander will want us to report back to Argoes immediately.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed.  Like hell she was going anywhere near Argoes, not when Pekka was going to probably be there.  She would bide her time, wait for a moment to strike.   Y/N may have been a lovestruck mermaid but she was also a rare tail, trained to defend herself.  She knew things were different with legs but her upper body defensive maneuvers should be the same.  

Heleen had her hands shackled and took her to a room full of clothes, dresses in bright colors, silk, and lace.  Nina had followed, listening as the captain listed items for her to retrieve.  While they were distracted by clothes Y/N slid a hat pin into her hand, starting to work the cuffs.  Humans learned many things about mermaids and nearly none of them were true.  The idea that they were stupid, unable to function at the same level mentally as humans, they were underestimating Y/N right now and she was pleased.  

The child, Nina approached her, getting her dressed. Y/N saw the girl look at the hat pin, saw the shackles were no longer together and instead of outing her the girl said nothing.   Y/N smiled, she would let the girl live whenever she killed Heleen.  She wasn’t a monster, at least, she didn’t think she was. Heartless or not she wasn’t going to kill a child who was clearly being used by adults for terrible things.  

“Let me cut this string…” Nina said, moving to a dressing table and taking a pair of scissors and moving back to Y/N.  She cut a pretend string and slid the scissors into the sleeve of the dress she wore.  Their eyes met and an understanding crossed between them.   Y/N would kill Heleen, take this ship, and then she would take care of these children.  No more powerful men were going to use these babies for their own pleasure again.  

Heleen took her above, walked her to the side of the ship.   Y/N looked around, all the crew, everyone, was a child except for one man who seemed to be the muscle on this craft. All young girls of various ages, some as young as 7.   Y/N felt bile rising in her throat as she looked in the eyes of some of them, their eyes were much older than they should have been.  She looked at Nina and motioned for her to fall back a little bit. Nina took two steps back and sat down on the deck.  Heleen turned to face the mermaid as she stood, pointing to the island in the distance.

“Now, when we arrive at Argoes…” she didn’t finish her statement. Y/N sunk the scissors into Heleen’s eye, digging in as deep as she could.  She pulled them back out, feeling the blood on her face but not letting the warmth distract her.  As soon she killed Heleen the man came storming over, lumbering a large. Good.   Y/N ducked down, sliding under him and kicking out her leg.  He ran into it, nearly snapping it in half as he faltered, trying to balance.  For a moment she thought he would regain his footing and come for her but then Inej and Nina came out of nowhere and pushed him, sending him toppling over the side of the ship and into the sea.   Y/N stood up, rubbing her knee as she leaned to the rail of the ship.  

“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that…” she started.  Nina and Inej just shrugged and the rest of the girls on the ship looked at her.  She felt her soul ache for these children and realized maybe her soul could harness strong emotions, but it still didn’t feel completely real, still dulled by her lack of heart.  O well, she would protect these children, make them into a force a nature, show the world that they were more than just a body to warm a bed.  

“Come on, let’s push her over,” Inej said so some of the older girls, moving to Heleen’s body.   Y/N held out an arm.  

“No, you are children, you shouldn’t be disposing of dead bodies, you shouldn’t even be touching them,” she said.  “Get the ship ready, we are sailing for any port except Argoes.” She struggled but finally tossed Heleen’s body to the sea.  Turning she sought out Inej.

“Inej love, did you send that message like Heleen asked?” Y/N asked, gently touching the girl’s face.  Inej shook her head.  “Good. Now, you and Nina are my first mates alright?  So, where have you always wanted to go?”

  Kaz Rietveld didn’t know how long he had been on that boat in the middle of the ocean.  He didn’t know what day it was, what time, all he knew was that he was starving and so very thirsty.  Sitting in all this water was making it worse.  He had tried seawater, even knowing that it would do nothing but make him sick, but he had been desperate.  God, is this how he died?  15 years old and in the middle of the cursed ocean.  Fucking hell.  He should have just let his uncle know he was alive when he had the chance, but instead he had hid, never wanting to go back to that horrid fortress.  But instead, he was just going to die here.  O well, what really was his life worth anyway, crippled leg from a botched escape with his brother when he was 11 and now, well now he was broken entirely.  He knew that the moment they got on that boat, but he had gone anyway.  

He was laying down, ready to die, when the water moved, waves hitting the boat harder than before.  He sat up and looked seeing a pirate vessel flying the black colors approaching.  He knew this was his only chance.  Kaz could die in this boat or he could try his best at getting on that boat.  He waved his arms, screaming at the top of his voice.  He thought they were just going to pass but then a rope ladder was dropped down the side as they pulled up next to him.  He scrambled up the ladder and dropped on the deck, panting.  

“Water…please…” he begged.  The men around him smiled, looking like they had found a present. One of the men handed him a cup and he drank before spitting out the burning drink.  Whiskey, not water.  The pirates laughed at him and he saw a few cabin boys standing by, looking fearful of him. No, not of him, for him.  Kaz realized that he may have escaped one prison and wound up in another.  The spirit of the sea witches clearly wanted revenge on his entire family.  Taking his parents before he could remember them wasn’t enough, claiming his brother wasn’t enough, now he was stuck here. Fine.  If the sea wanted a war, he would give it one.  

For the first six months of his time aboard the Crow he was a cabin boy, but just in name.  Truly he was whatever the other men wanted him to be.  He was relieved when they brought aboard women for a week or two when he could just be a normal cabin boy.  Unless the women liked him too.  He noticed the two other cabin boys clung to each other, Jesper and Wylan, keeping each other as safe as they could.  One of the crew, an honorable ex-navy captain named Matthias also tried his best to protect them.  He often would give sleeping drafts to the crew to give the boys a night to themselves, but even he could only do so much.  

Kaz waited, biding his time until the captain himself wanted a visit. Then he put the plan he had with Jesper, Wylan, and Matthias into action.  

         Matthias put the poison in the crews dinner, which they ate at 6PM before moving to do night work on the vessel.  They were all dead before 6:30.  The captain ate his dinner at 7PM so Wylan stayed in his cabin, distracting him by being a bumbling fool and getting a severe punishment for it.  Kaz would have felt bad but he didn’t know if he was capable of feeless anymore.  Jesper brought dinner to the captain and helped a bloody Wylan out of the cabin. Kaz slid in as they left and stood, watching the captain as he ate his meal.  

         “Come here boy, I want a better look at you, want to see what all the fuss among the crew is about,” he said.  Kaz swallowed the sick in his throat and approached, letting the captain touch him, roughly feeling his hands on him.  Then the coughing started and Kaz let out a breath of relief.  The captain clutched his throat as his airways closed and soon he was dead at Kaz’s feet.  

         With the help of the others Kaz had the crew overboard and they headed towards a port far from Argoes to gather a new crew using the money the captain had stashed in a vault in his office.  The four of them argued over who would be captain but Kaz won out, being the only one truly willing to kill for the title.  He decided that as soon as he got to port it was time to reinvent himself. Kaz Rietveld was no more.  It was time to take a new name and become something else.

[blushing-starker]

don't expect that line I previously mentioned because I'm chaotic and forgot about @starkerfestivals amazing omegaverse week since it goes hand in hand with finals and my brain only fit one of these events in my mental planner

Today's theme is heat/rut and it's slightly nff, has some sexual teasing but nothing too explicit. I'd rate this teen, is all I'm saying. I apologize for any writing mistakes, I'm finishing this at 11pm before collapsing in my bed.

Tagging @vaguekiwi cuz I mentioned this to her today

Needy little alpha

------------

Tony wakes up to a purring alpha throwing himself on top of his defenseless body with the force of a freight train driven by a drunk man on drugs. Peter's been told a thousand times before how yes, he may be as heavy as a goddamn feather, but it still aches when that super strength plops down and refuses to let the victim's lungs function adequately. But his boyfriend is a sadist who loves cuddles and making Tony suffer.

"No."

"You love my cuddles," it's true, they bring him pain and purple bruises everywhere but there's nothing quite as soothing as a content alpha kneading like a kitten at his chest, " and you know it. "

"Uh, that's false. Never said I love cuddles. I tolerate your octopus habits, there's a difference." Peter leans back with a pout and teary eyes, wobbles that God forsaken bottom lip like he always does whenever Tony denies the kid something and presents a challenge.

Nimble fingers slide up into, unfortunately, silver hair and nonononono that's unfair. He snarls, tries to infuse the air with as many displeased pheromones as possible so Peter can take a hint when nails scratch right above his nape and Tony's done. Unravels at this hobgoblin's feet and he's half way sure his soul goes out in a huff as little circles are pressed into the exact spot that causes him so much neck pain.

Peter unashamedly preens when Tony melts into their bed and starts pawing at him for more cuddles. "Say you love my cuddles and I won't leave the bed for an hour. Throw in a kiss and I'll rub your back."

He hates(loves) this kid. Hates(loves) how he sing songs as soon as the situation doesn't favour the actually responsible adult in the relationship. Hates(loves) the way Peter never misses the places that leave him sinking into fluffy pillows. Hates how, oh that's nice.

There are tiny kisses littered on a chest glowing blue, small indentations from teasing lips pressed into spread arms and cold hands.

"Ruts gotten you needy, huh, little alpha?" Not that this one was any different from all the other ruts they've shared since dating. Tony secretly adores Peter like this, extra affectionate the minute his shyness and fear of outside criticism is washed away, replaced with the need to shower his omega in love and attention. Yes, Peter has his heart 365 days of the year. Yes, he'd die for his tiny spiderling no matter what.

But this is just really nice, ok? Previous lovers were rarely alphas so this ritual of gluing their bodies together when rut came was an added benefit to being with Peter. That and the hormones he let out while happy soothed Tony to no end.

Peter nips at his finger, still a bit too early on for him to accept the nicknames. He blushes though, a pale pink highlighting a face much more lovely than the cherubs painted on the cathedrals of Rome. Jesus, he's whipped and all they've done is cuddle.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I love your cuddles. Cherish them. Want them every day for the rest of my life. But I love you, my needy little alpha with a fantastic," there's a pillow smashed against his face.

"If you say dick, I'm climbing down to wrestle Bucky and I won't let Karen record it for your spank bank. " Oh, that's a low blow.

He relaxes, let's Peter sink into him with a startled yelp, rolls them over, sits on the kid's lap and clamps his knees around a trim waist. Peter may be Spider-Man, but he's Tony Stark and Tony Stark doesn't lose in bed.

Well. Not unless he wants to.

"You do that and you can say hello to your toy, the one I know is stashed in your old room under the bed in a comic book box, because that'll be the only thing helping you out when the rut really hits." Will Tony suffer immensely if that happens? Yes. He's a sucker for a needy Peter being ridiculously horny and possessive. Thing is, you don't threaten a man's spank bank. No sir. Everything else is fair play. His carefully organized folders of viewing material are not to be messed with.

Peter's blush is on full blast, spreads over a long neck and absolutely delicious, no. Be strong, Tony.

"You know about the toy?" It's a squeak, normal voice rocketing upwards thanks to the position Tony's ass is in and the knowledge that his secret is out. Which wasn't even a secret to begin with anyway because Tony is in love with the only genius not smart enough to erase his browser history in the lab's computer. Which Tony uses. Routinely. Every day.

"Know about it? I've seen it. You left it out once, all used up on your bed while you were showering. You remember that, don't you? We had sex in the bathroom that day. Bruised my back and everything?"

Peter furrows his brow, works a plush lip and no, look away, Tony, look away. The kid is sin and indulgence and heaven and no.

"Oh. Oh." Whenever he thinks his boy can't go any redder, Peter busts out a new shade of pink.

"Yup. So. I'm pretty sure this is what you wanted in the first place. Maybe it wasn't your intention," he stresses when Peter's already launching up and nearly throwing him off in an attempt to reassure Tony that wasn't his purpose with the cuddles, "but you certainly wouldn't have minded this outcome. And by this outcome I mean my incredible ass on top of that fantastic dick."

Peter tries to suffocate with a pillow held over his face.

"You've got two choices, kid. You threatened the spank bank. The teasing is fine, you know I love when my pretty kitty shows his claws," a hand slaps his arm, makes him grin, " But threatening such an integral part of my mental stability? Wrong move, Queens. You aren't getting any until tonight, not even so much as a French kiss will be given. Unless you let me bite a mark on that amazing neck and don't push me away when I nuzzle you in front of the team. "

Well. Now he's definitely being thrown off of Peter's lap.

He lands on the other side of the bed with a groan, is assaulted by a whining Peter intent on receiving something to further postpone the urge for sex that's sure to hit him soon enough.

An alpha, Tony's learned, will usually be very cuddly and affectionate the first few days of a rut week. Then the possessive, protective side will slowly emerge. Nests of pillows, couch cushions, blankets and favorite pieces of clothing appear on the fourth sunrise. The next morning comes with the need for relief, for intimacy and a marathon of sex that'll leave any supersoldier exhausted by the end of it. The resulting days offer comfort, an aftercare of sorts, where the alpha and their partner show a soft affection similar to the beginning. Nests are utilized and bodies soothed. It lasts, at most, a week and the majority of the population only has to take slightly increased portions of food.

That's for people without the metabolism of four grown men.

Peter needs sex, as much as possible, so the itch for urgent intimacy doesn't result in Tony tackled to the floor of the lab in the middle of an experiment every day of the week. It's like giving him nicotine patches instead of a cigarette.

So now he's whimpering, tugging on Tony's clothes just a little too hard if the ripping sound is any indication.

"...sorry, Tony..."

"It's fine, I've got more. I'm not letting this go though. The teams' seen us fuck against a wall, their opinion and respect, your worth, didn't change. So come on. Just one little mark. One. And Bucky nuzzles Steve and Sam all the time. Hell, Pepper sometimes nuzzles me when I'm stressed out. Please, baby? "

There it was; Tony's secret weapon. Peter blushed like a virgin on a wedding night whenever he used pet names, but the genius knows his boyfriend enjoys the familiarity and subtle intimacy. Felt reassured that they were a romantic couple and not a mentor fucking his protege.

The kid nibbles at his neck, wraps gangly limbs around a body that's always been his to take comfort in. "Just one mark? And light, I mean it, Tony, light nuzzling in front of the team. For today. Then I can get what I want?"

He snorts, can't fully comprehend how the universe paired him up with someone so intent on making Tony's joints ache and creak. "Yeah, we can have sex later, Mr Charming. Subtle as brick, that Spider-Man. Let's go get you cleaned up, make sure that rut has a hard time getting my boy under the weather."

He goes to get up. He leans forward. He cannot, in fact, leave the bed.

Peter bites with a bit more pressure, drops his hips down harder and Jesus Christ, they're never seeing the light of the kitchen if his boyfriend can't wait til it's dark.

"Or..."

"I'm an old man, I need protein before you go jumping tired bones that have to spend two hours updating your suit." Ok, so maybe he's slightly bitter and annoyed at not having enough stamina (or refractory period, for that matter) to keep up with a repressed teenage superhuman. It's not his fault Pepper keeps bringing Krispy Kreme donuts to the office meetings.

It'd be rude not to eat with the others anyway.

"You don't have to do anything." Ah, it's one of those ruts.

Tony softens, smoothes a hand down a back that could hold a plank under a five story building with ease, kisses a heated cheek.

"Needy little alpha." It's his turn to whisper and nuzzle against soft skin.

"Kind, not so little omega?" Tony laughs, presses their lips together so Peter can see what's it like to taste a smile radiating with joy and love. Slowly clicks the button on the nearest nightstand; unless someone is dying , it'll just be the two of them in the room.

(There was an incident once. Groot may have been traumatized by a situation involving superstrength, webs and the Ironette costume Tony only adored when it adorned Peter's body.)

"I do so love my needy little alpha needing me, don't I?"

His boyfriend blinks, grins at Tony as if he's just hung the moon and stars for his spiderling and ok, a little sex early in the morning isn't that bad.

"You love my cuddles too."

"Shut up and kiss me, Queens. I'm not getting any-"

They don't talk about anything too important after that.

----------

A little sex early in the morning actually is that bad when you miss a meeting with the U.N and show up smelling like sex, infatuation and, oddly enough, strawberry.

Rocket doesn't stop teasing for months.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 11

CLICK HERE IF YOU ARE A FIRST TIME READER

TW for this chapter: more mild smut. more memes. more hijinks and shenanigans. coffee make the brain go skrrrt. bruce fluff & thor being a good bro™. some1 is catching ✨feelings✨. Previous chapters in the link above the cover pic.

Beta reader is @miscmarvelwritings so don't be shy, give her a read. She's the PB to my jelly.

"I don't know about you..." Taylor Swift softly sang from the speakers.

"Bitch, I hope the fuck you do!" I shouted, tumbling into the kitchen with the grace of a giraffe on acid. The smell of coffee and fresh omelettes was mouthwatering. 

"You look… Good," Peter stared at me, his coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth. The tone of his voice bore very little understanding of the situation he found himself in.

I didn't sleep that night, instead pursuing a scientific quest right after being finger-fucked by Tony Stark. I blame the suits - he had one partially disassembled not ten feet from the puddle my juices had made on the floor - and well, I never said I had a great attention span. One terrible, inappropriate joke had led us to smirking to each other from both sides of the suit as we brainstormed how to best modify it for impromptu bondage sessions. If Peter could have heard us go at it, he'd never set foot in Tony's lab ever again.

On my mighty quest to quench the thirst for knowledge, I completely neglected basic hygiene, so the me that rolled into the kitchen that morning still had yesterday's outfit consisting of fishnets and Tony's hoodie, possibly stained with cum and pussy juice. As a bonus feature, infamous raccoon eyes had made an appearance, courtesy of me rubbing my face multiple times throughout the night.

"I'm feeling my oats," I declared proudly, sitting down next to Peter, making grabby hands at the coffee machine.

"I'm tempted to ask..." Clint handed me the steaming hot dish full of holy bean juice. "But I think I'd rather not." Pointedly, he moved away from me, just enough to make it known he was wary.

"What just happened?" Stephen Strange blinked owlishly.

Boy was he a sight for sore eyes. The wizard wasn't Tony, of course, but his plain white tee left very little to imagination, pulled tight across his toned chest and lean arms. The grey sweats? Illegal. That's a bonk and a ticket to the horny jail for me.

"You didn't get to sleep? Again?" Peter asked, exasperated.

"Sleep who?" I chirped, feeling way too energetic for someone running on some illegal drugs and a single orgasm. It was easy to shrug off the concerned stares I kept getting from the adults and Pete since my already wacky attention span decided to quit it's job without notice.

"Guys, have you seen… oh, there she is!" Tony scrambled into the kitchen, holding his head. That manic look did nothing for his complexion, but then again, I'd take him even filthy and crippled. "Don't just disappear like that!" He snatched the half-empty coffee cup, downing it's remnants in one go and immediately going for a refill. "We didn't finish programming in the shibari function..." He mumbled, absentmindedly running a hand through his messy, greasy hair.

"I..." Peter was still frozen. "I'm not sure I, uh, follow."

"So, me and Tones had this absolutely BRILLIANT idea ..." I started, leaning back in my chair. "But the execution, as usual, needs more work."

"Yes, I can see you've been having ideas," Pete's sass was ignored by both me and Tony. The man was kind enough to clumsily plop a coffee cup in front of me as he was beelining for the fridge. "What are you trying to install? Shib-what?"

"You don't want to know, Pete, trust me," Clint made big eyes at me from across the room. "I'm scared of you," He added, pointing an accusative finger in my direction.

I gave him my best manic stare, probably overdid it by a wide margin. Barton shrunk back, slinking subtly behind Stephen who cleared his throat.

"So I've heard you had an incident yesterday," The doctor was looking at me with concern and pity. "Do you need to visit the medbay?"

About a dozen unsaid and very inappropriate responses later, I simply shook my head negative. My mouth was not to be trusted whilst I was so distracted. Plus, he was hot. I kind of tended to think with my vagina instead of my brain around hot people.

"Good morning," Wanda entered the room, stopping briefly at my side to give me a hug. "Ugh, finally," She muttered the words, looking first at me, then at Tony. 

I raised my eyebrow in a silent question and she just smiled, reaching for her own coffee cup.

Tony mercilessly towed me back to his lab once I polished off two omelettes and another cup of coffee - what would've been my fourth was snatched out by an amused Stephen, all stern and firm and magical, meaning he simply whooshed it out of existence as I was raising it to my mouth. He didn't appreciate my choice of expletives, either, none too fondly rolling his eyes and beginning a lecture on heart attacks. Whatever, Tony was my knight in shining armour and we left the kitchen quietly plotting our mechanical plots right over the annoying doctor's mumbling. 

There was quite a lot of delicate soldering involved in the gauntlets of the new suit. Having to construct and fix everything on the go proved to be harder than building a robot; even for Tony, the genius engineer himself. We had burned ourselves and nearly dislocated our wrists too many times to count. Thankfully Friday ran the calculations in the background, so we just did the manual labor part.

And coding. The pounding in my skull, the acid in my loins. My God, I hated coding during a hangover. Tony didn't fare any better and that was the best consolation, really. Despite the consumed caffeine, he passed out somewhere during the initial stage. I held out not much longer, barely catching myself as I was reclining against him on the very floor we were building on, scattered cups and tools and glowing holo-screens keeping us company. 

My sleep was deep but not deep enough to miss a pair of deep male voices contemplating how to best move mine and Tony's sleeping bodies somewhere more comfortable. The engineer was a cuddler, it turns out, and refused to unwind himself from my prone body, going as far as to kick one of the men - I later learned it was Thor who got a swift punt in the shins from Tony when the Asgardian and Banner attempted to untangle our combined limbs. In the end, they settled awkwardly piling me on top of Tony and Thor single-handedly carried us all the way to Tony's penthouse, depositing us in the absolutely magnificent fluffy, enormous bed.

The bed? I wanted one as soon as I landed on it.

The fishnets? They were beginning to cut into the soft parts of my body, causing an uncomfortable stinging and itching sensation whenever I moved.

"Bwucie," I slurred with my eyes shut, feeling the man rustling around with a blanket, tucking us in. He was just the sweetest scientist.

"Sorry, we tried not to wake you up. Go back to sleep, Princess," He whispered, leaning closer to my face. His breath tickled my hair.

"M'kay, jus' wanna get these off," I weakly pulled at the offending piece of clothing.

The man chuckled. "That looks uncomfortable," Before softly sliding his hands up my legs, hooking his fingers under the stretchy waistband and pulling them down. His hands were hot and soft; my moan was softer but he heard it nonetheless, hand briefly stilling on my thigh.

I snuggled deeper into Tony, rolling onto my side and unashamedly throwing a leg over his hips, happy to find his jeans were off, too.

It appeared that Tony's teammates had already developed some sort of care protocol for their resident mad scientists. Bruce's and Thor's actions had been executed with a practiced care and gentleness. The warm fuzzy feeling in my chest blossomed fully as Bruce once more tucked the blanket around me, tenderly patting me on the back and Tony on the shoulder.

"You'nThor, y'the best," I managed to wiggle out the words out of my muddled, uncooperative brain before returning back to the dreamland.

It felt like another ten minute nap when I woke up again. The lights in the room were off, the NYC skyline providing the illumination instead. Tony was still in bed with me, his breathing even and the quiet hum of the arc reactor steady under my ear. It was the first time I'd been close enough to him to hear the sound of it. 

Sleep slowly seeped out of my body, lead disappearing from my limbs. It seemed like I hadn't moved at all. Once my head cleared up, the confusion seeped in. I'd gone to second base with Tony and we did science and never spoke of it again. He didn't kiss me, didn't touch me more than usual - but didn't resist a good ole sleepy cuddle.

What now? I never thought I'd actually get this far. Some part of me - probably the same part that sent me on a romantic novel reading spree a couple of years ago - thought he'd wake up, confess his secret love and attraction for me and we'd seal it with a kiss. Yeah, no, that sounded disgustingly unrealistic even to my own ears. There was no way I would be kissing someone with this swamp I had going on in my mouth.

I wasn't actually that naïve. Why would a man like him pursue something serious with a girl like me? I was a child in his eyes. In fact, all of the Avengers minus Wanda and Bucky treated me like a child. I knew why and I still hated it. I've been taking care of myself in all the ways but financial for years, surely, they had to have noticed that. Teachers in school certainly did. Bruce did, to some extent, I had to admit begrudgingly. Even if his behaviour was really peculiar sometimes.

"Do I make a comfortable pillow, Princess?" A chuckle startled me out of my musings. Tony sounded relaxed and warm and cosy.

"Yeah," I answered honestly, tilting to see his face. He was giving me that lopsided smirk, the one he previously saved for science and Peter and Clint's baking ventures. Something within me stirred, painfully tightening my chest, and I fought against it to preserve this memory like this - happy, carefree.

His thumb found it's way around me, tracing the line of my jaw with surprising tenderness. He was looking at me like I was made of glass. Like I was the most beautiful sculpture he'd ever seen.

I scrunched my nose when his finger found my lips. "I need a shower and a toothbrush," I declared, not knowing what else to do. All of this - the atmosphere, the shared comfort, the looks - it felt too intimate somehow. Having to be on full display of his intelligent, deep brown eyes was terrifying: I felt like crying one moment and laughing the next.

"I was having a moment here," Tony snorted indignantly but relented nonetheless, slowly pushing himself up in a sitting position. 

I admired his broad shoulders and the dips and valleys of his arms as he stretched; he caught me staring and winked, of course. I retaliated with skimming my fingertips under the hem of his tee, lightly scratching my nails over his defined abs, delighted with his shiver. 

"Behave," He sternly mouthed, following with a smile.

"Never," I smiled back, slipping into banter with comfortable familiarity.

He then led me to the huge walk-in shower, unashamedly stripping off his shirt and socks on the way. Boxers were the last, flying somewhere over my head. My hormones were a raging inferno, or, at least that's what I would have said if someone asked me why the 'loading' icon was hanging over my head as I stared at Tony's round, firm ass. I had to touch it. I absolutely had to touch it, at least once in my life. 

My dignity was saved by my own yawn. Tony's hands used the opportunity to slide his hoodie (RIP) over my head, exposing me to the cold air. I shivered in my lacy bra and panties until they were gone, too. My flaws stared back at me from the wall-length mirror and with the way Tony's hands gently settled over my stomach, another hand copping a feel of my breast, I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Beautiful, Princess," He simply said, having noticed the frown on my face.

"No, you," I automatically replied, smirking.

"Me? Nah," He shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing to his arc reactor. "Sexy, however... I'm definitely fucking hot," He leered, pressing his hips into mine with a knowing smirk.

I wiggled my butt, taking my time to turn around and face him. I saw right through the defenses he'd put up. The team didn't start calling me "girl version of Tony" without a reason - I knew we were quite similar in the less desirable character trait category. Impulsive, selfish. Defensive.

Angry red lines spanned across his chest, some faded, some raised. In the middle of it all, the arc reactor shone like a blue little sun in its metal framing. I traced around it, feeling the uneven skin, bumps and dips of it. "It keeps you alive. That's more than enough. For me," I placed a chaste kiss right in the middle of it. 

I wished he didn't have to have the thing. I wished he'd never had to go through what he went though in Afghanistan - for me, the press release I'd read was enough to get a grasp on the fact he was tortured and hurt and fucked up in there.

Stepping into the shower, I retreated from him, retreated from my feelings getting in the way and ruining the fun. The least I wanted to do was humiliate myself by crying out of... Out of what, pity? Lovesickness?

"I'm starting to see why everybody else thinks we might be related," Tony's chuckle sounded tired and slightly forced.

"I hope not," A moment to figure out what knob to turn and hot water rained down my body. Almost instantly, the tension in me melted away. "I'm not really into incest and shit."

"Ew," He walked under the stream, sighing agreeably. "But you're into bondage, so you've got that going on for you."

"Yep. Bondage and hot old dudes," I shrugged, reaching for the shampoo.

"I definitely qualify for all three," Tony promptly snatched the bottle out of my hands, standing behind me to do the tedious task of washing me. I allowed, guiltlessly enjoying the treatment. His dexterous fingers massaged my scalp, caressed my body. 

A moan slipped out of me at the glide of his hand across my nether regions.

"Tut-tut, Birdbrain is going to pitch a fit if we're late for dinner!"

"Fuck the Chicken," I announced petulantly, attempting to follow the motion of his hand with my hips. He held me firmly by my stomach, only succeeding in adding fuel to the fire within me. "Tony-y-y..."

"Nu-uh," He replied, but the smile hidden in my shoulder and the boner poking me in the hip gave him away.

"Sir?" I tried, getting a low groan in response. "Master? Owner? Daddy?" 

His breath stuttered at the last syllable, teeth closing none-too-gently around a patch of my skin. I felt a bruise bloom under his mouth, the delicious pull of it making me realize I'd be marked by Tony for days. A full-body shudder erupted from me at the thought. 

"You're trouble," He growled, grinding his own arousal into my ass. "Filthy, spoiled brat," Tony punctuated his words with another claiming bite on my shoulder blade. 

"I'm your trouble now," I smirked, relishing in all the attention my body was getting. The fingers that granted me sweet ecstasy at night a fresh memory in my mind, I relented my own urgent need in favour of repaying the man of my dreams for his troubles. 

One smirk and my knees rested comfortably on the strangely soft floor of the shower. I came face to face with Tony's hard cock. It stood proudly, the flushed tip of it dripping - with water or pre-come, I didn't know, but was eager to find out. 

"Fuck," Tony gasped, gazing down at me in astonishment as I tongued the slit of his cockhead. "You dirty little thing," He seemed to gather his wits quickly enough, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. 

He was just about to find out how dirty, I decided. There was something satisfying on a purely primal level, seeing a powerful man absolutely losing it with his dick in my mouth. Rapidly, I swallowed as much of him as I could. His girth throbbed. 

"Ruin me?" I popped off, resting my cheek against the hardness of it, tugging on his free hand to place it in my hair. My own arousal flared in response to his bewildered hunger.

Tony wasted no time in fisting a hand in my hair, carefully but firmly putting my mouth onto his cock. Inch after inch disappeared within my mouth; I was breathing through my nose as he slowly began fucking my mouth.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ, Princess, fuck," The mantra fell from his lips, echoing in the large room, mixing in with the water still pouring onto our bodies from above. The heat of it had nothing on the smouldering fire in my belly where it coiled tight and low. Tony's musk on my tongue, the firm hold on my hair. He truly held me, in body and in mind. There was nowhere else I'd rather be than on my knees for him.

I moaned around him causing a stutter in the moderate tempo. Our eyes met: his, wide and gleaming captured my own and I couldn't look away. With a wanton moan, Tony increased the pace, it quickly became brutal and punishing. I held onto his thighs for dear life, wordlessly pleading him to use my mouth for his own pleasure. 

And he took it, shamelessly, emptying himself into my mouth with a groan that nearly made me come untouched. It was beautiful and I swallowed every drop of him, refusing to let the evidence of his bliss go to waste. 

"Fuck," His voice was ragged. 

I rested my cheek against his thick thigh, catching my breath. "Good?" Just to quickly be pulled to my feet, trapped between his hot, wet body and the chilly tiles of the nearest wall. The shiver that ran through me was only partially caused by the sudden change in temperature.

"You did so good, you're my good girl," He mumbled against my lips, sliding his tongue into my mouth without any restraint. His other hand slid between my legs, immediately toying with my clit. That and the hastily spoken praise coupled with the feverish way he was licking himself out of my mouth sent me over the edge, until I was falling, stumbling head-first into an ecstatic abyss.

"Mmm... Tony," Dreamily, I savoured the moment.

"Oh, we're back to first name basis?" He snarked, finally turning off the water.

Pliant as ever, I followed him out of the shower and into his walk-in closet where he pointed at a row of t-shirts and hoodies. I grinned mischievously as I took my pick. "Daddy?"

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @softie-socks @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn

[princeanxious]

The Royal Librarian- Chapter 1

Chapter 1- “The Road to Perfection is Destructive.”

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Future analogical, future sidelines royality, sidelines established dukeceit, background remile

Word Count: a little over 3k

Warnings For This Chapter: Virgil’s got anxiety and is a bit self depricating, brief mentions of panic attacks, Virgil stays up and works himself for so much longer and harder than is healthy for a normal person in one session, boi highkey overthinks a ton when he’s not occupied. Don’t work yourself for 24 hours straight like Virge does, it’s not good for you.

Minor notes on Virgil’s mental state in this fic: Virgil has ADHD(as reflected by my own life experience) that shows up in different ways here and there, and he suffers from RSD(Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) which drives Virgil’s need to be perfect or fail till he damn near collapses from exhaustion, which also just feeds into his chronic anxiety. Thats all for now!

Chapter one(you are here!)|Chapter two(coming soon!)

Bonus stuff:

-the Rough Library Layout

[[MORE]]

Quiet. Such a word was practically synonymous with Virgil’s existence. The young adult practically grew up in silence, sought quiet spaces out like a moth drawn to a flame. And like a deer spooked by a snapping branch, he often fled from loud groups larger than three. He had been a quiet child, content to lose himself in any book he could get his hands on, reading for hours in any quiet atmosphere he could find. Alone, and content because of it.

So it was really no surprise he picked up a local library apprenticeship when he’d turned fifteen, and was a well-versed and well-read librarian by age nineteen. He had his lifelong friend Patton to thank for making him apply alongside hundreds of others to the opening position of the Royal Astra Family’s castle Librarian position, a year later. And, to be fair? He’d only applied because he’d been sure his resume would never have been seen, let alone selected, if only to simply placate his best friend’s excited begging.

He didn’t account for Patton’s connections as the Royal Head Cook to shift that margine of possibility to reach at least being seen. Though Patton chalked it up to the fact that he’d always talked about Virgil around the royal family anyway, long before the position had needed a replacement. It seemed to be just Virgil’s luck that ‘Virgil’ just happened to be a very uncommon name.

The panic attack that followed after he received a letter that his resume had been selected alongside a select few others for further evaluation had been a rough one. Still, he held out hope that his perceived inexperienced youth would save him, the stress and responsibility of such a serious job couldn’t be trusted with some ambitious kid like him, could it?

And, besides, it’s not like Patton’s constant praises carried that much weight, right? That's just how Patton was, a personified ball of sunshine! It was why Virgil was never surprised to hear Patton mention the royal family and staff by name on accident, or mention a silly story involving them in private, he’d clearly become close to them as the Head Cook. Though, the more he thought about it, he realized that.. Well, it’s not like the royal family had known Patton as long as Virgil had. Patton could be too trusting, and tried to see good in everyone, and well, perhaps the royal family trusted his judge of character over just simple skills. And wasn’t it just peachy that Virgil was lifelong best friends with said ball of personified sunshine? (Not that he’d ever trade their friendship for the world, never. It was just Virgil’s problem that he could never seem to tell Patton no, huh?)

Eventually, a nerve wracking week passed before Virgil finally had his answer in the form of an acceptance letter hand-delivered and an accompanying uniform and granted permissions to traverse and move into the castle grounds, all ordered and signed by King Thomas himself.

Apparently, his suspicions over Patton’s influence had indeed won out.

Three days later, Virgil finds himself silently saying goodbye to the home he’d made on his own, not as terribly forlorn over the loss as he thought he’d be. The small cottage he’d been renting didn’t feel much like home to him, anyway, not like a library did. Still, there was a longing to hide from the large change crashing into his life, and thrice he’d hid under his covers and cursed his weak will against Patton’s puppy eye’d pout. Eventually though, he’d talked himself out of his panicked haze, just in time for his first shift the following day.

“I can’t believe I let Pat talk me into this.” The ravenette grumbled as he leaned to the side. Using his weight and momentum to shift the sliding ladder he was perched on, he slid closer to the next book he’d been reaching for.

“Become the castle’s new Librarian! It’ll be fun, he said! It’ll help sooth my anxiety to work with even more books and even less people, he said, the head cook who works with at least 20 other staff each hour to maintain a steady meal plan for the entire castle staff daily!” The little librarian huffed to himself, resignation seeping out with each controlled breath.

His first day hadn’t been an easy one, and though he hadn’t expected it to go smoothly, he certainly hadn’t expected it to become such a mess. It wasn’t his first time working as a librarian, but leave it to good ol’ Virgil to let life make his days as eventful as possible!

From the moment he woke to the time he had his lunch break, not that he would actually willingly take a break nor need one yet, the day had been.. busy, to put it lightly.

It’d been storming when he woke, and though he was on time to get ready and leave, he’d only realized that his umbrella had broken the month prior. It had left him to make a twenty minute dash in the pouring rain when he found no other options.

He was plenty grateful for a bathroom stationed just inside of the library building entrance, where he hurriedly rushed inside to change out of his soaked attire. He’d been smart enough to pack away his official Royal Librarian uniform into a water resistant bag with a few additional dry essentials, and let his common clothes get soaked instead.

In a short six and a half minutes, Virgil was changed and mostly dry, though there was little he could do about his damp hair aside from comb his fingers through it. With his wet clothes packed away, he made it into the library on time to begin his first very long shift.

He’d already been sworn into secrecy when it came to occasionally dealing with the royal family’s history and artifacts in the future, and with his first and hopefully one of very few ever meetings with King Thomas out of the way, he was officially the new Royal Librarian. And now, also the only. As he was told in no certain terms that the last had retired and fucked off into obscurity before anyone had realized that the library had been left in disorganized chaos.

The old coot had apparently made his own system for everything, and hadn't bothered to write any of it down. From sorting sections to assigning books to genres, none if it clear and often very, very unorganized.

Virgil’s first big task was to comb through the entire damn building and use a new system, one that made sense. He was to reorganize every book and every section, using the appropriate genres and sorting. This way the royal family could actually functionally use the library and not waste time sorting through chaos.

This was where Virgil found himself three hours later, on the verge of a minor mental breakdown as he’d just barely sorted an eighth of the books on the main library floor into the Dewey Decimal system.

He’d had plenty of empty tables at the beginning of his journey, and right now every single one had some few stacks of books on each, labeled accordingly. Aside from his muffled ranting and the pattering of rain, the library was relatively silent.

It was odd, being alone in such a gigantic library. It almost reminded him of home.

He paused for a brief moment, having set down the final few books taken from the bookshelf he’d been working on. He’d gone through just one row of 6 bookshelves, and had 7 rows left to go, and that was just barely counting putting books back in the previous shelves as he went. A whine left him as he realized just how long this project was going to take.

“Fucking fuck.”

Somewhere between the second row and the third, Patton had stopped by to check in on Virgil. He found him hard at work sorting the fiction section on the left side of the building, tables half forgotten as Virgil attached unobtrusive non-damaging number labels to each and every book. Stacks of books lay carefully placed on the floor against each shelf, seperated by label and lack of label.

“You already look so at home, Virge!” The head cook whisper-shouted, though the sentiment was not necessary as the only other being in the library was the librarian himself.

“Yeah yeah, hush you. I’m a bit too swamped for ‘I told you so’s at the moment. So, what's up?” Glancing up at the taller man, Virgil briefly noted a small package wrapped in cloth was held in his hands.

“Can you spare a minute to eat?” Patton giggled, but Virgil knew better. He’d known Patton since they were kids, it wasn’t a question. Or a decision to be made. With a sigh, he placed the book he was holding in its place before turning to the cheery cook. “Yeah, I can.”

“How’s the kitchen today?” He asked lightly, having eaten the light meal quickly in order to get back to sorting. Patton hadn’t commented, nor had he been shooed away when Virgil began sorting again. He contently sat out of the way to finish his own lunch, his original goal having been accomplished.

“Oh! It’s going great today, honestly. Not too many mishaps from the newbies today either, so that's a bonus! And well, you know, making mistakes is in human nature but, they’re learning so quickly, I’m so proud of them! They’ll be taking my place by fall, just you wait and see! And, well, Roman stopped by earlier to swipe some snacks for Prince Logan, his brother, and himself. You know, the usual.” Patton chuckled, and if Virgil had looked, he’d seen the besotted look Patton always had when he talked about the head knight of the prince, he’d seen it a hundred times and was bound to see it a hundred or so more.

“Oh, speaking of,” Virgil butted in playfully, “I’ll finally get a chance to meet this knight and shining armor you’ve been swooning over for over a year now, huh?”

He watched Patton’s freckled face flush bright red, sputtering and then coughing on his mouthful of food. Virgil just cackled delightedly, stepping over to give Patton a few hard pats on the back to be sure his friend didn’t choke.

He laughed again when Patton gave him a pout and a soft “You’re so mean to me, Virge!” Eventually Virgil was able to placate Patton with a gentle hug, and the cook was sunshine and smiles again.

A finished lunch break later had Virgil finally sending Patton off, back to the warm bustling kitchens in the main castle building while he moved on to the next portion of his task.

He quickly found the steady back and forth rythme soothing. Pick a few books up, put them away. Pull a few books out, sort it by number as per their section of genre, set it in the right place. It was a blessing to find that there was just enough of a consistency to the previous plan that he could find up to five to six books in the same category in a row, and each set of books could be similar in subject, usually ending up just one section away. Often was the wayward book that found itself out of place, though he had assumed that these were often books just placed back haphazardly considering their subject patterns.

Often the most scattered and random books had ended up being of a few select categories. Without fail, he found that it would end up being a book on Space and Astronomy and/or Mathematics, in-depth Anatomy of Plants and Animals, young adult Fantasy Adventure novels, or Horror novels. It was.. Sort of odd, how there had been no section for each and all of these books, and yet there were so many evenly scattered. Perhaps that had been on purpose then, not haphazardly placed. But why?

Too busy to think deeply about it, he designated spots fitting each book type, and decided he’d figure out what he’d do with the puzzle later.

It was 6 pm by the time he’d finished the fourth row, and Patton had stopped by briefly to check on his best friend. He watched Patton’s merry expression drop some, concern seeping in as he took in his best friend’s progress.

“It’s almost 6:30, Virgil. Have you had another break yet?” He asked, watching his best friend continue moving back and forth. “Aren’t you tired? It’s been a little under 12 hours at this point, kiddo.. dontcha think it’s time to call it for the day? I mean, you’re already halfway there!”

“Library hours, at least Librarian work hours, don’t end till 9. And yeah, I guess I’m a little tired? But I’m in the zone, Pat. You know how I get when I’m in The Zone. If I stop now, who knows how long it’ll take me to finish sorting the other half?” Virgil rambled, half distracted and still trying to keep a vice grip on his concentration. “And besides, King Thomas said he’d be checking in on me tomorrow.”

“But Virge, you know he doesn’t expect you to have it done in one day. Thomas isn’t like that! That’s why he gave you a whole week to settle in, so you could move into the Library’s living quarters-which you haven’t done yet, might I add!- and get the library situated.” Patton stood stiffly, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Virgil was as stubborn as he himself was when his mind was made up.

“Look, Pat.. just, I’m sorry. You know I hate to worry you. I’ll try to stop at 10, go home and get some rest, and tomorrow i’ll move my stuff into my new home here. And, i’ll take a break from sorting for a few hours. Okay?” Virgil reached out, taking Patton’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He let Patton pull him into a tight hug, and didn’t resist when Patton briefly rubbed at his tense shoulders.

“Okay. Just, take care of yourself, Virge, okay? If I find out you stayed out an hour later than 11 pm, you’re gonna be in big trouble mister!” Patton giggled, lightening the mood the way he knew how.

“Yeah, yeah, hear ya loud and clear, Dad.” He watched Patton beam at the nickname, and moments later he watched Patton disappear behind the library’s main entrance door as his friend left him be, reassured. Virgil gave a heavy sigh, looking down guiltily at the stray book clutched in his hands.

“Let’s just hope ‘trouble’ just means a week of disappointed reprimands like last time…”

Hours later, Virgil’s head jerked up from his sorting as a father clock somewhere in the library dinged, signalling 10 o'clock. Biting his lip, he walked to the front doors and examined his options. He found he could lock the library from the inside, and pulled down the shutters. Briskly, he moved to cover each large window with their thick drapery, finding the adorning cloth thick enough to keep the low artificial light from seeping out. He dimmed the inner library lights so the library looked closed, but otherwise the building was still functioning from within.

Unless someone else had keys to the doors of the library, no one would know that the librarian was still stationed and working within. No one could see out, and more importantly, no one could see in. Which meant that Virgil was safe from Patton’s wrath if the Cook came to check on him, temporarily at least.

“Fuck, Patton’s gonna be so mad..” He muttered to himself, leaning against the librarian’s desk with a deep sigh. He’d briefly admired the beautiful desk earlier in the day, from the intricate carving to the beautiful dark mahogany. It would serve him well in the future, he hoped, after the thorough ‘grounding’ he knew he was going to get from Patton.

He shook his head to free his thoughts. There was no sense in getting in trouble and feeling guilty about it if he didn’t do anything to learn from in the first place. It was time to get back to work, and if he was lucky, he’d finish the main body of the library by the time his next shift started. Then, he could try and play it off, like nothing had ever happened, he’d just keep Patton out of the library till tomorrow to hide his finished work.

11 pm came and passed as he worked, and when he looked next at the clock, he found it was nearly 4 am. Tired but determined with only one row left, Virgil trekked on with a new vigor. All-nighters weren’t anything new to Virgil, not in the slightest. He was a creature of the night who rarely got a full night's rest to begin with. And sure, it was rare he worked his body so hard and for so long, but fixations were hard to break once in The Zone, it’s not like he could feel it past the hyperfixation haze.

Patton had often told him off for it when they were young, but as time passed they’d come to realize that’s just how Virgil was. Laying down did nothing to lure his mind to sleep on even the tiredest of nights if his insomnia had something to say about it. Better that he used the extra time to be productive, rather than spend 6 hours tossing and turning in bed, numbers and thoughts crowding in his head, and only getting up more restless than before. Patton often just tried to ease the aftermath if he could help it.

Sliding the last book into place was like sliding a final puzzle piece into a massive puzzle. The triumph of accomplishment had never felt so good, not like this.

Though, he quickly found himself aimless not 10 minutes later, seeking errors to fix and lost books to give a home. His brain wasn’t ready to let go of it’s fixation just yet, but as each second crawled by, he found himself recentering into the real world.

His body ached, and he was exhausted. His stomach gnawed at him weakly in hunger and his eyes watered from staring unblinkingly for so long. He eyed the chair behind the librarian’s desk, his desk now, he reminded himself.

“Screw it.. The Library’s sorted enough, I've got the rest of the week to make it perfect. A ten minute nap won’t hurt, right..?” He huffed to himself as he pulled the window curtains open one by one. Shuffling over to the main library doors, he unlocked them and raised the shutters. Soft morning sun rays fluttered into the connected windowed hallway just beyond the doors. He smiled at the tiny beauty of life, spotting the main library windows letting in the same comforting, dappled light.

Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he plopped into the chair at his desk, finding it soft and comforting. Leaning forward, he rested his head on his arms, and under the fluttering morning light, succumbed to sleep’s gentle embrace.

Unknowing of the rude awakening that was soon to come.

Chapter two

[nexyra]

I got an ask for Qrow Branwen so here it comes !

My fav ship(s) for the character

I think my favorite ships for Qrow are Cloqwork and Fair Game ! Cloqwork lacked screentime in terms of canon content of course, but I love the potential here. I also have a things for shipping the sad men together xD There are a lot of REALLY great Cloqwork fanfics out there and I love seeing people write about these two <3 It's in the details but I think there's something interesting here. With Qrow who is convinced to be a curse, who came from such a harsh background... And with Ozpin who is so convinced of humanity's inherent goodness and that anyone deserves a chance. At the same time they're both very complicated people who I think would interact in cool ways. Ozpin is wise but does have a mischievous streak that I think also helped in making them both get along. Qrow is much more perceptive than he appears and that's also good for dealing with someone as secretive as Ozpin.

Fair Game also had a very good start ! The relationship was admittedly a bit tilted toward Qrow's recovery in the show, but they were nice to see together. Clover was perceptive & caring as well as patient. All great qualities for a relationship with Qrow, who has a hard time breaking down his walls and a shot mental health. At the same time, Atlas is very professional, straight-to-the-point and I think Qrow is a real breath of fresh hair in that environment. He brings a different viewpoint to the table, he's very loyal & caring and it's clear that his sass amused Clover greatly. We didn't get to learn enough about him, but Clover's VA hinted that Clover's trust was a fragile thing and he wasn't a fan of showing vulnerability. Qrow, who gives everything he has in all his relationships, would have been a great balm for that uncertainty. So yeah !

My least favorite ship(s) for the character

There are, of course, any & all ships between Qrow & the kids or Qrow & Salem's team. But outside of these obvious "nope", I'll have to go with Jailbirds. This is COMPLETELY personal but I have a really hard time liking Robyn's character as of V7 end/V8 so I'm barely interested in her dynamic with Qrow. I did appreciate her talking down Qrow from revenge because he was only doing it for his own sake but... That's about it. I find her way too abrasive (hidden behind her shiny Robinhood looks). And whereas Clover (imo) was pretty good at getting Qrow to face his issus head-on & building him up, I feel like Robyn relies more on humour & deflection... Which is an art Qrow is already acquainted with, and not the best coping mechanism for him. Aaaand I just feel like she put Clover down several time in order to lift Qrow up. That, plus the queerbaiting controversy, plus her having indirectly participated to Clover's death... The ship makes me a bit uncomfortable.

My fav & least fav platonic relationship(s) for the character

My fav platonic relationship for Qrow is his bond with Ruby ! I really hope they bring it back because these two were GREAT together. Ruby's admiration was adorable. Qrow's nonchalent but clearly protective streak. They care about each other A LOT and I really loved them together. I hope they can have more moments together like back in V3-V4 or V6.

I'm not sure what my least liked platonic relationship would be. Saying Robyn again feels like beating on a dead horse but I don't really have a problem with any other ones. They're all, if not kind & good for him, at least interesting (like Raven)

My favorite thing about the character

The combination of his sassy/cynic personnality and how loyal & caring of a person he actually he is. Qrow is rough around the edges, leans easily into banter but he cares so damn much. He fit so easily next to Ruby's peppy enthusiasm in Vol 1-3, and then he was just an incredible badass and yet so damn vulnerable human in Vol 4-6. I liked that about him. How all the pieces fit together

My biggest criticism for the character

Well I have 2 things to say about that. First : V7C12 With Friends like these. What the fuck was this episode qkfazkfhkgh Qrow's brain was nerfed SO DAMN HARD, I was genuinely pissed while watching the episode. This was just a string of dumb decisions from everyone except Tyrian. But I digress -

In a more general sense, I'd say... putting Qrow in the sidelines. Him falling further into depression was a sound decision. It was interesting and fitting of his character imo. But I feel like they tied "Ruby having enough of his alcooholism" and "Ruby growing away from adults" in a way that kind of.... just put Qrow to the side and doesn't allow him to do much. In V6 finale, Qrow expresses understandable concerns about their plan to steal an airship, but instead of dealing with that Ruby's frustration with his cynicism is aired out and... the timing kind of makes the whole thing weird becaus Qrow isn't allowed to disagree with their plan ("we'll do it with you or without you") and then has to trust Ruby and let her go which AGAIN is a great moment in itself. But all that put together just like... rid Qrow of his function as a parental figure because Ruby is the leader now and he's just... kind of following along.

When was their writing at the peak according to me (ex : best season)

Okay for this one Q, I'll have to go with Vol 4 and Vol 6 for very different reasons. V4 was great because we really got to get to know Qrow. His complicated relationship with Raven. How BADASS his encounter with Tyrian was I freaking loved it. What his semblance and how it shaped his life. And it also let him be vulnerable through the poison & seeing Ruby repay his care was very nice.

Vol 6 for fleshing out, taking his issues & drinking more seriously. Showing more hopelesness and cynicism, and that he had a real drinking problem and he wasn't just a fun drunk. Plus the loss of faith in Oz showed how much Qrow needs stability and secure certainties to orbit around despite his nonchalant personnality. But I like it a bit less because it was the starting point of putting him on the side kind of.

A song I think fits them & why

Ship in a Bottle (Steffan Argus) ➸ A song about being alone in your fight, in the sense that your life is like a sail on the ocean and you are the only captain, the only one who can choose what to do with it. At the same time, there are several mentions of a "captain" as if the singer/Qrow adresses someone else. It's reminiscent of his relation with Ozpin or Clover : speaking of a deal, of being honest and sharing what's on your mind. Qrow thinks too much, he's scared and he sinks more & more as he delves into his cynicism (V6). Qrow cries, things get worse, the mention of the glass echoes his struggle with alcooholism. And the Scarewrow loses his brain, "lose touch with all the things that made [him] feel sane."

+ Problem child (Simple Plan) The Star song (Amanda Palmer) Would anyone care (Citizen Soldier) Wasted (8 Graves)

A headcanon to make up about them

Qrow didn't have the most normal childhood and because of that he had to learn a lot for Ruby & Yang. Notably, Qrow had absolutely 0 notion of what was an appropriate presents for young girls. As a result, he tended to simply bring back from his travels whatever shiny thing might have caught his attention. Could be a weird flower. Could be a pretty knife. Or even junk that his corvid brain latched upon.

Tai designed a look(Tm) that Qrow learned to recognize as "No, not appropriate." After a while, Yang learned to mimick it (but rather at random, she didn't really recognze what was appropriate and what wasn't). Ruby always liked his presents though.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I CLEARLY would rewrite V7C12 so that Qrow & Clover keep their brains kzjhfkqhzk There were ways to reach the same conclusion without like... having a Qrow-Tyran team-up which was REALLY weird

I see 2 main possibilities to stick close to canon content - After the crash, Tyrian gets free but he keeps playing dead for a bit. Since there is no 3rd menace, Clover and Qrow's argument devolve into a fight as seen in canon. At one point, Clover manages to briefly disarm Qrow. They discuss for a bit, you can even put the exact same dialog as in the ep. Then Tyrian takes action, moving out of the shadows to kill Clover with Qrow's discarded weapon. Braincells saved. OR - Instead of having Qrow & Tyrian outright team up, Tyrian just... keeps instillating doubts in their mind. Qrow & Clover are temporarily allies in taking Tyrian down but because of this, they don't TRUST each other which cause missteps and make them less effective. At one point, Qrow tries to attack Tyrian who is behind Clover. But because neither Qrow nor Clover really have faith in the other at that moment (and because Tyrian is poisonning their mind), Clover automatically steps back or aside. He doesn't entirely trust Qrow. Because of this small hesitation, Qrow's attack fails. Tyrian manages to disarm him. Tyrian uses Qrow's weapon to kill Clover. There could even be some message here about the lack of Trust & letting Salem divide friends... something of that caliber in any case 🤔 It can even parallel V3 where Qrow did the same thing with Ironwood & Ironwood refused to stand aside even if he thought Qrow meant to attack him... Could lead somewhere ! Like, in V3 Qrow had faith that Ironwood wasn't to blame. Only Ironwood feared that Qrow blamed him, but Qrow knew & trusted that Ironwood wasn't to blame. In other words, Salem didn't divide them. Here, Qrow & Clover let Tyrian get into their head. And as a result Clover dies. "Together we stand, Divided we fall"

My guess for their MBTI/Enneagram

I'm still mulling on it right now but I think he might be some kind of ISTP 416. He has some weird 7ish behaviour but his need to orbit around someone/a goal, his relationship with Oz, how close he stuck to Tai & Summer sounds closer to 6 fix. He wants people to go home to. Certainty and security. His independance definitely is there but seems emphasized moreso out of necessity.

One aspect that I think would be nice to delve deeper into ? (optional)

I'm not sure mhmmm maybe his relationship with Summer ? It would be both cute & interesting. As well as finally giving us insight into who Summer was

[lewis-winters]

(gif by @lyselkatzfandomluvs)

oh? me? writing about single dad!lewis who is a disaster human being but a good dad to a precocious little girl named Bea who adores him but at the same time thinks her daddy is the silliest person to ever exist?

you bet your ASS i am.

anyway, here have this headcanon list:

Bea is Lew's little girl from a one night stand. her mom didn't want to abort, but she didn't want to keep her, either. Lew considered putting her up for adoption, but the second the doctors let him hold her he knew that that just wasn't an option.

at that point, Lew never really knew what love was. not really. but looking down at that lil bundle in his arms that resembled more a bean than human, he decided then and there that that is exactly what true love feels like.

Bea is AMAB and has always known she was a girl. Lew always indulged her, especially when she finally learned how to talk and walk and have opinions. if Bea said she wanted to wear a dress or play with dolls or grow out her hair, he'd let her and he'd sass down anybody that let her feel like she couldn't. bc of that, Bea never thought that she was anything but a girl for ages.

i mean, the only thing she truly hated was her name. bc it was a boy's name and was therefore very ugly.

when she was four, she told Lew and everybody that would listen that she wanted to be called Beatrix-with-an-X instead of the name they gave her. she heard it on tv one day and loved it so much, she just decided to use it and that was that.

I wouldn't say Lew didn't have his moments of crisis over it-- he had a whole paradigm shift, and he definitely had to read up some stuff and talk to people, but he never let Bea know it. that's his baby girl. and he loves her. he'd never forgive himself if he'd ever let her feel otherwise.

he calls her BumbleBea on a regular basis, but in his head and when referring to her to anybody else, he calls her Little Miss Nixon

occassionally Little Miss Hypochondriac if she's being particularly fussy that day

bc Bea is VERY fussy

she's under the belief that her daddy doesn't take care of himself very much. she is right. Lew does not like to admit it.

she prepares his vitamins and reminds him to drink water and eat his veggies

they take care of each other a lot

Lew makes sure Bea does her homework and is polite and gets dressed real nice and is making the right friends

Bea makes sure Lew remembers to brush his teeth or eat breakfast or drink water or dress up warm during the winter

their little mantra in the morning is--

Lew: Be good, but if you need to be bad--

Bea: Don't get caught!

Bea also understands sarcasm a bit too well for a baby child

Lew says it's the natural Nixon gene. Blanche says it's bc Bea spends way too much time with Lew.

Bea calls Lew two things: Daddy, on the regular, and Dada when she wants to be cuddled or carried or held or comforted

Lew has NO idea why she does, but every time he hears her call him Dada while holding out her arms in a silent request to be picked up, he melts into a puddle

George, Lew's old college buddy and Bea's godfather, and Blanche are her regular babysitters. she loves them both so much but she definitely loves Blanche more because when she's with Aunt Blanche she gets presents

George treats her like a mini adult, which just kinda reinforces why she's so fluent in sarcasm to begin with or why she's half as mischievous as she is.

Bea is a morning person. Lew is a night owl. when Bea was a baby, this was definitely a problem, bc she'd have Lew running to her side at 3 am, so much so that he just moved her bassinet to his room and then just little by little let her migrate to his bed and let her serve as his alarm clock.

but when she started to walk and talk and become big enough to do things on her own, they've come up with a system where she'd get up, try her best to make Lew coffee, then wake him up with kisses

the coffee is never good but Lew swallows it down anyway

Lew is very good at braiding hair for some reason

Bea always did say that her Daddy is fit to be a stay at home husband bc he keeps track of their household stuff better than his at work stuff

Lew doesnt work at the plant-- Stanhope didn't like the name Beatrix, let's just say. Lewis told him to go fuck himself. thankfully before doing that, he saved enough money to sustain him and Bea until he could find a job. also, he has a group of very good friends and an amazing sister who stuck by him and Bea, so really, leaving Nixon behind to get a fresh new start in New York with his baby girl was the best decision he has ever made

(Lew always says Bea saved him somehow-- taking care of another human being helped him learn, little by little, how to take care of himself. how to function. he wants to be a better man for Bea, wants to be able to be somebody she's proud of. and by wanting that and doing everything to be that, he's managed to heal himself. day by day. it hasn't been easy. but it has been worth it.)

(he still drinks, though. but never in front of Bea. and never more than a glass. he can't afford to go down that road right now. not with Bea.)

Bea meets Dick first. she's seven years old in a brand new school being run by her dad's college friend and her godmother, Kitty and Dick, fresh from his last tour in Iraq, is there to visit Kitty's boyfriend and fellow teacher, Harry, who is his old college buddy.

Bea likes Mr Winters very much and talks about him to Lew when she gets home

Dick, of course, is easily charmed by this precocious lil girl with an inquisitive nature and an oddly dry sense of humor. He's planning on getting a job in the school's administrative branch so he's there quite a lot. Bea always stops to talk to him, and he never fails to humor her. He rather enjoys her company.

Lew, otoh, is getting very jealous

all Bea can talk about is Mr Winters said this and Mr Winter said that and ooohhh did you know Mr Winters was a soldier? that's pretty cool

Lew has a 9-5 desk job. Bea doesn't think that's very cool.

bc of this, Lew does not like this Mr Winters on principle

All of Bea's godparents (George, Kitty, Lip, and Ron) and her Aunt Blanche think this is hilarious

Everytime Lew sees them, he grumbles about Mr Winters. This, of course, drives Kitty to find a way to introduce them.

so, during during the Parent Teacher Conference, Lew meets Dick. and he finds he does like Mr Winters after all. he likes Mr Winters a lot.

Dick, otoh, sees Bea light up and run into Lew's open arms, giggling when Lew peppers her face with kisses and raspberries, and immediately knows he is very much In Trouble.

Bea, being perceptive as she is, picks up on their mutual crushes on each other and thinks they're meant to be (she's right, of course) and immediately starts trying to push them together.

Bea: Mr Winters, do you like bad boys?

Dick, who most definitely has always had a thing for dark haired, rakish characters with hearts of gold and is also blushing very hard: Uh... sure I do

Bea: Great. Because my daddy is bad at everything.

it becomes Bea's mission to get her daddy and Mr Winters together

she doesn't have a plan for it. she just waits to throw them at each other at every opportunity until something happens.

she's very determined. Lew would stop and admire her ambition if only he wasn't busy fumbling into this new relationship with Dick while also doing his best to be a good dad.

and it's all very cute and fluffy and nothing bad ever happens ever bc this is my au, gdi, and i'm allowed to be as indulgent as i want, thank you.

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

Caffeinated drinks, black dots and I should’ve stayed at home

Kanene’s Notes: Heya, heya awesome beans! Howz you are all doing?!

I am very glad that I finally finished this idea dfghjkderty. Shinsou was the second character that my mind screamed that I NEEDED to put in a cat cafe and kjhgtrertyu I think that one is a litol more funny and fluff than hurt/comfort, like the one with Midoriya, but worry not! In the end of the day one more kid is adopted :D

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Dadzawa and Yamadad and their relatonship can be seen as romantic, if you wish.

* This happens in the same universe as This Fanfic Here and you can also find it on AO3.

* There is passing out due exhaustion, sleep deprivation and cursing, but besides that i don’t think that there are any more warnings. This is more funny and fluff.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing the manga/anime Boku no Hero.

* Something around 2.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Oh!! If you have an idea for another scenario in this universe, hmu! I would love to hear it !!Thankys so much for reading this. Take care! Drink water! Eat well!! Pet a cute animal today!! And please sleep a bit, okie? <3 Byeioo!~

                         [~*~]

Shinsou blinked for what it felt the fifth time on the last minutes, which was probably the same amount a normal human being was supposed to blink but right now it just felt wrong. He rubbed his stinging eyes again, suppressing another yawn, firm on his purpose to concentrate his brain enough on the task of remembering his order, an almost impossible action by the way a growing headache involved his mind since he woke up.

The teenager focused again on the colorful, full of doodles of paws and whiskers menu, wishing for the first time in nearly two months attending the place that the drinks’ names were objective and direct, and not awful cat puns that made his braincells prefer to combust themselves instead of gathering the necessary information to remind him of the beverage he should ask.

 He squinted his eyes, dots appearing in the air. Hm. Definitely not a good sign. Maybe he should order two of the most caffeinated drinks instead of just one? He stared the menu again, frustration flaming on his veins as the words blurred and lost their signification, dancing together with the café’s lights.

 And it was only 7 AM.

Perhaps he should have stayed home, on the safety of his bed and the darkness of his room. He knew he should have cancelled his training.

 And yet, even thinking about that possibility made Hitoshi’s stomach be consumed by anxious tugs and knots, leaving an unpleasant taste of displeasure on his mouth. His trainings were one of the best moments on his entire week. They were events he would catch himself smiling as he thought about a newest move he learned or how his body seemed to recover quicker from the lessons. Or even how good, how right and free he felt on the gym, tired and sore, in the moment that his mentor nodded, proudness flicking in his eyes.

 … How amazing it felt to look at the mirror and see that same feeling reflected on his own gaze.

 He couldn’t deprive himself of that sensation, even if dealing with the painful consequences of his sleep deprivation and probably a lecture if his mentor caught him was the only other options.

 “Just one more. Just one more person and then I can ask for the strongest caffeinated shit here.” Yeah. This time those cups would be enough to make him endure at least his afternoon classes, he repeated to himself in mumbles. Two cups. Two cups and some minutes petting a cat and he would be ready. He would be ready for the world and society and the whole being a functional human being thing. And then he would get on the metro and nap until he gets home where he would have the real opportunity to properly sleep. Almost there. Just two cups. Two. Two cups.

 Gosh, he probably sounded like Midoriya, mumbling non stop like this. A mental image of the energetic teen looking as tired as Shinsou and drinking coffee as if his life depended on it popped on his brain, leading to a sudden urge to giggle manically take over the purple haired boy, and for the way some other customers eyed him warily he possible vocalized that impulse as well, limbs feeling at the same time too much heavy and too much light.

 He was so fucking tired.

 “Next one!” Loud. So loud. Shinsou obligated his body to step closer, opening his eyes enough to realize that dark spots still painted his vision. Huh. When did he close his eyes, again? “Good morning, little customer! How can I help you today?”

 Hitoshi stared at the figure in front of him, senses slow like he was under water, trying to understand the distorted sentences being directed at him, the dots growing and twinkling. Black dots were supposed to be able to do that?

 The world swayed a bit under his feet. He tried to move his lips but they didn’t obey him.

 “Little customer?” The voice sounded worried, and maybe that is what compelled the boy to take a deep breath, putting all his will in forming word after word when a nauseating wave of tiredness hit him, leading his conscience’s grip in reality weaken.

 “I am going to pass out.”

 And then the world got completely black, his senses disappearing together with a background screech.

 Well, fuck.

 […]

 Yamada had seen a lot of crazy, strange things while working at the cat café.

 As example that one shift when an adult of blue hair, strict pose and clear exhaustion dripping in waterfalls from his form was convinced that he was in a library and fiercely tried to return a book to them, doesn’t taking a ‘no’ as answer until the blond was left stupefied with a book of “The Secrets Hidden in The Bottom of The Ocean” on his arms.

 Or that occasion when a boy with a blank expression wearing Victorian clothes and completely surrounded by crows opened their door, looked from a side to another, stared at the deepest parts of Yamada’s soul, analyzing all his dark fears and secrets before slowly blink and say “Wrong store, my apologies” walking back and calmly ignoring the hissing and battle yowling of dozens of cats and crows.

 Or the day a green haired woman with a kind, calm aura just walked behind the counter completely unphazed by Hizashi and Aizawa’s unbelieved looks, made two healthy snacks, patted their cheeks saying ‘You two need to eat more, dears’ and then disappeared as if nothing had happened.

 However, none of those events ever prepared him for the moment which purple eyes would stare his in an unfocused state, not really looking at anything and a wobbly smirk – if he wasn’t accustomed with Shouta’s grin, he would easily call it ‘creepy’ – would paint his customer’s pale face, the silence ringing alarmingly on his ears.

 “Are you okay, little listener? Do you want to sit for a minute? You look extremely tired.”

 As the words came out of his lips, a spell seemed to break, the other’s face getting even paler, smile falling and eyes widening leaded his body to stumble forward instinctively, something on his guts screaming for him to get ready. A few other customers on the line grumbled in impatience, looking at their watch and protesting. Somewhere, in the deep part of his brain, Yamada wondered why those things only happened when Aizawa was out and no procedures for those kinds of situations were previously discussed on their contract.

 “Hey, guy,” a blonde teenager behind the paralyzed one said, tipping forward in an attempt to catch the other’s expression, his kimono following each move, “are you… here with us?”

 “Little listener?”

 A hesitant poke on his cheeks, two pair of eyes warily watching a third.

 His mouth finally moved.

 “I am going to pass out.” His voice was light, stitched together by certain. His legs trembled under his own weight, body collapsing.

 “You WHAT?” A terrified shriek mixed itself between Hizashi’s words, flying across the whole store.

 “Oh, shi-”

 His blonde client didn’t waste a second before holding the other, arms locking under his armpits in a strange kind of hug, knees weakening with the sudden, unexpected effort, the limp teenager not even flinching with the touch, laying there completely motionless.

 Hizashi blinked, gulping, adrenaline exploding on each one of his fibers, color slightly draining from his own face, a piece of his conscience wishing with all its strength for this to be only a dream. When his eyes opened, everything would be the same.

 He blinked, the deafening silence still crushing the room, one set of black eyes staring at him in confusion and growing panic, another set closed, heavy, dark circles under it.

 Right. He didn’t have time for this.

 So, he blinked again, finding himself in front of them both, pushing his feelings under a mask of a calm, an easy reassuring smile already slipping on his face, crouching to get the legs of his customer, catching the gaze the other and winking, “let’s get him on a more comfortable position, right?”

 A determined nod, quick, careful steps as they both laid the purple haired one on a small couch placed under some shelves, having to gently dislodge three sleeping cats, who hissed in irritation. The voice of Nemuri, attending the rest of the line filling the space and being acknowledged in the back of his mind, serving as a firm ground and helping his muscles to relax, even if just a little bit.

 Hizashi stared the young boy in front of him, looking somewhat peaceful, a bit of color having already returned to his face, soft snores coming out from him.

 … Hitoshi. That is his name, right? He wasn’t a new client, always coming at every fifteen days, always by morning and always caffeinated drinks that only Yamada - on his most delirious moments - ever thought in trying, quick to go to play with any feline who appeared in front of him. Although, he never stayed more than ten minutes, the quiets ‘bye’s he gave to the felines never failing to melt Yamada’s weak, bleeding heart.

 A childish voice pulled him right out of his thoughts.

 “Mom, is he dead?”

A snort escaped his lips before he could help it. Kids.

 “Sir?” The teenager shook a small device with a shiny screen in front of him, the logo of a new rock band he hadn’t a chance to listen to yet on the background “I found his phone, I think we should call his emergency contact…?”

 “Of course! Thank you, little helper!” He ruffles his hair, flashing a smile and thumbs up as his finger quickly clicked on the call button, listening, not trying to show his impatience as it ringed.

 “You’re late.” A tired voice answered him, and Hizashi felt his entire body relax completely, right before the surprise shook its frame, too much pieces clicking together in a puzzle he didn’t even know he was solving.

 “SHOU?”

 [~*~]

 “I am sorry.”

 “You will be writing a formal letter apologizing to Hizashi, Nemuri and to me, our classes will be cancelled for this week and, if I notice you didn’t recover properly on this free time, for the next week as well. I am not going to stand by and watch you running yourself to the ground, damaging your potential because you lack of some sense of self preservation, do I make myself clear?” Shinsou tried to not visibly flinch at his sensei’s words. He almost forgot how much intimidating Aizawa could be when totally serious. They stopped by the Cat Café’s door, the black eyes staring at him.

 “Yes, sir.” He answered, lowering his gaze. Shouta sighed, his worry stopping to come out as harsh and necessary words to materialize itself in the form of him patting the boy’s head, messing his hair for a few seconds before opening the door and getting into the establishment.

 “Good. Now come in, Hizashi has been worried and he won’t stop pestering me until he sees with his own eyes how you are.”

 Hitoshi didn’t had time to question how someone that he just met – if you consider passing out in front of him a proper meeting – could be worried about his well-being when, as the door clicked behind him, an excited screech filled the room, forging the realization that maybe that weird high sound before his faint wasn’t just the ring of his ears.

 “SHINSOU!!” And, in a blink of eyes, the blonde was in front of him, hands on his face, turning it from a side to another, up and downwards, “You look so much better with some color on your face! I am glad that you finally took some necessary rest, huh? Your eyeshadows even got lighter, which, phew, is such a relief! For a very terrifying moment there I almost thought you would be as bad as this guy right here.” Yamada locked his arms around Aizawa’s shoulder, using the time to take a breather and smile, gladly giving the younger some time to process the flow of words thrown at him. “You gave us both quite a scare, kiddo.”

 “I am deeply sorry for inconveniencing you and interrupting your work, Yamada-san.” He bowed, a slight embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks.

 “Just please don’t do that again and you will be fine, little customer.” Hizashi then squinted his eyes on his direction as Hioshi brought himself back to his previous position, shoulders tense and straightened back, much different from his previous more slouched pose. Yamada’s eyes got a few inches wider. “You gave him The Talk!” He turned himself to Shouta, his excited sentence, loud enough to probably making his friend deaf, if the black haired adult wasn’t already used with the other’s attics, previously covering his ears before the outburst.

 His response was a grunt, Aizawa dislodging himself from his touch with scoff and half heartedly mumbles, ignoring the confusion on his pupil’s gaze. “Maybe he looks like that because of your total disregarding of personal space.”

 “Don’t worry,” Hizashi put his hand at the side of his mouth, as if he was confiding Shinsou’s a secret. “He only does that because he is worried about you, too. Don’t let yourself to be fooled by his grumpy façade. He is a mother hen at heart.”

 “I am going to lock you outside and give all your CD’s to the kittens a their new toys.” The other threatened, going behind the balcony and turning the coffee machines on, preparing the store to open. The few cats who were already wandering around the place yowled and meowed in despair, as if the blonde hadn’t feed them fifteen minutes ago and they were starving under the hands of such unloving and uncaring creature. Aizawa crouched and distributed the treats hidden on his pockets for everyone of them, nevertheless. His friend used the distraction to mouth a ‘see?’ at the younger’s direction, eliciting a snicker from him, his body language more relaxed.

 “Feel free to do whatever,” Aizawa proclaimed, not staring at the boy, who felt a flower of warmth blossom on his chest. “Just be sure that all your homework is completed by lunch time or the moment you decide to go. Sushi is probably napping now, but when she wakes up, I will warn you.”

 “But first,” Hizashi clapped, capturing the attention as he walked with a dance on his step to the bakeries, taking two plate on his way. “breakfast! For you both. And that means something substantial and not just a cup of coffee.”

 Shinsou startled from the table he decided to place himself, shaking his head. “Yamada-san, it’s okay, you don’t need to-”

 “Nonsense, nonsense! I want to. Eating breakfast alone is just sooo boring, you know?” Hizashi spun on the place, almost throwing the muffins and breads around as Ochaco used his distraction to attack his shoelaces. “Uravity, stop, I need those.”

“Her name isn’t Uravity.” Shouta appeared again, bringing drinks and yawning, his focus changed to the boy’s. “Better give up. I’ve been fighting against him for years now.”

 “Also, her name is Ochaco Uravity Fluffy Second and you just refuse to call her that because you’re just jealous of how much genius I am.”

 “I refuse to call her that because I care for her sanity.”

 “Lies, lies.”

 Hitoshi snorted, hiding his smirk behind his hand. “I prefer his name better, sensei.”

 Aizawa watched them high five between the cheers of the blonde with an unimpressed expression. “Cheeky brat.”

 “You’re just grumpy because he has a good taste. Friendship ended with Shouta, now Shinsou is my new best friend.”

"I am truly devasted." Aizawa deadpanned, taking a long sip of his beverage, hiding his smirk as Shinsou snorted, Yamada's dramatic wailing in the background.

 And, as the playful bickering engulfed them between the warm food and purrs, Hitoshi decided that maybe losing his weekly training wasn’t so bad if that was what waited for him.  

[hmgfanfic]

Talk about all the Fillory worldbuilding in LQoF, please :)

THIS IS INEXCUSABLY LATE. I’m so sorry!

And I wish I could say it was just my scatterbrainedness, which is definitely a constant factor, but it was also that when you sent this, I was deeeeeeeep into writing the final few chapters of Little Quirks of Fate and I was kind of... in my head about it. It took a lot longer to finish than I had planned (a cardinal sin to my particular combo of severe ADHD and Type-A personality) and I was spending excessive amounts of time making sure I figured out a satisfying ending by my own exacting standards, so I just didn’t have the headspace to think through my early process yet. Very sorry about that :( But now that I’m finally done, I’m excited to look back! So if you’ll indulge me a very late answer, I’d be tickled. 💗

Long ramblings and major fic spoilers under the cut.

The truth is a lot the world building came down to character stuff foremost, followed closely by my preferences as a writer. I adapted the world to the story I wanted to tell, while using the little bits of information we’re given in canon as a baseline, rather than building the story around the world. And that was a lot more fulfilling for me, since I only really love worldbuilding through the lens of character, rather than as an exercise unto itself (though it’s super fun once you get rolling.)

To explain what I mean by that, you need to know that Little Quirks of Fate was originally going to be a oneshot. My plan was about 25-30k (lol) of a pure S2 retelling, only with Quentin in the role of Fen. It was also going to take a much more traditional enemies-to-lovers’ path—with Quentin as an active member of the FU Fighters—and the whole thing was going to be in his POV. Also, they weren’t even going to kiss until after the bank heist (which, yes, was going to be a thing here), but that got abandoned the fastest in favor of trying my hand at smut. But two things made me realize I needed to significantly shift course:

1) I was struggling to make Quentin actually feel like Quentin. I wrote this very atmospheric early scene at the FU Fighters encampment, with lots of description of the bonfires and the way their shirts dyed in Fillorian red looked like blood (you get it.) It took place in the black of night, shrouded in secrecy, and when Bayler questioned Quentin about his new husband, Quentin said something like, “He’s a drunk idiot, we have the advantage.” It was all very lush and dramatic, but it really, really, really didn’t feel like Q in any recognizable way to me. Now, I’m not someone who thinks Q needs to be a precious sweetheart all the time, but what I was writing didn’t have his idiosyncrasies or a motivation that felt true to who I feel he is.

2) The draft was DEFINITELY missing Eliot’s story and his perspective. I certainly don’t think Eliot’s POV is always necessary (sometimes not having his direct thoughts heightens tension in romance especially), but it felt really necessary here, to fill in the gaps of what Quentin was assuming and also—more importantly—because the events were just as impactful on him, but in a very different way. So I knew I was missing half the narrative, but that meant I would need to deal more explicitly with the Beast (i.e., Mike, the most devastating storyline to me, personally) and I really, really didn’t want to do that.

My first step in making a more recognizable Quentin was figuring out a way he could more or less use the same syntax that he does on the show. Voice is the first way I connect with a character, so while many writers in this fandom thrive at modifying speech patterns and keeping the heart of a character alive, keeping close to Quentin’s canon speech was an easy fix for me in a story I was excited to get rolling. Sort of like the old adage of uplifting your strengths before putting outsize energy into things you struggle with.

The easiest way I could think to give him the same syntax was to figure out a way Quentin spent some significant time on Earth during his formative years. And once I rewatched 2x06 and was reminded that Ess went to Phillips Exeter Academy for high school, I lost my damn mind. I started sketching out ways that Quentin could get there too and that’s how I built out the idea of Umber brokering a marriage deal with the actual landmass of Coldwater Cove, which included an education opportunity for the boys (in a nod to Fillory’s patriarchal nature), and also the reason why Umber did that, which was to take advantage of his brother’s orgy mistake with the first Children of Earth to usher in a more productive and orderly Fillory. So that created a whole new set of rules and essentially a whole new world for me to play with... all for the sake of Quentin getting to say “fuck.” It was that important to me. :p

And as I worked through all that, I realized I also wanted to give Q magic, since Quentin’s relationship with magic is something I’m interested in. But I had read on ye olde Tumblr that the reason Illario uses a wand in 2x06 is a nod to the books, where Fillorians specifically aren’t Magicians and that’s the rationale for the Children of Earth royalty. And while I generally see the books as interesting supplemental material with zero bearing on the television show canon, I still said to myself, “Self, wouldn’t it be kind of funny if Quentin was the only native born Fillorian who had magic and so the FU Fighters believe he’s the chosen true High King, but instead of it being because he’s ~special~, it’s because Umber made a clerical error? Lol! Hilarious!”

So while all my questions for how to explain all THAT spun out into more and more detail, at the same time...

I caved to the idea that this story was going to be a No Beast AU, just like my last two stories, mostly because I really couldn’t bring myself to deal with the Mike of it all, even tangentially. I could have just changed that single element, but I’m not a half-measure gal! But I still wanted to stick with the vague background theme of Fillory = adulthood from a questing perspective and I wanted Julia leading the charge this time, but without the sexual assault that occurs in canon. So obviously, the answer was avenging all of the murdered and cannibalized “grown-ups,” i.e., master Magicians, by seeking out help from the gods in a balanced Fillory free from the devastation of the Beast. Duh! ;)

So then, like anyone would do, I rewatched every episode up to 4x11 that makes a mention of Fillory and took about twenty pages of notes on the canon worldbuilding, along with an analysis of how much a particular piece of information would be impacted or not by balance in the realm. For instance, the existence of geraniums (per The Fillorian Candidate and Tick’s misunderstanding of “power plants”) and the lack of diamonds as a precious stone (per the River Watcher not knowing the value of Margo’s earrings in Knight of Crowns) struck me as static facts unaffected by Ember’s reign of chaos. But I shifted the overall feel of Fillory to one that’s more functional and a lot more bureaucratic, leaning on things like the existence of socialized health/vision/dental insurance (the idea of which is canonical, per a petition from the beavers requesting dental coverage from acting High King Josh in Ramifications), strict taxation plans, and an overall sense of thriving Ceremony to show Umber’s influence.

Basically, I wanted Eliot to inherit a much, much easier Fillory to rule—especially with the highly educated Quentin as a built-in and passionate advisor—mostly so it wouldn’t completely strain credulity when a lot of his energy goes toward his love life rather than the intricacies of ruling (though Margo would say he still favored his personal life more than he should have, and she wasn’t... wrong. He wants to be a husband more than a king!) But I specifically made it so most of the chaotic elements were played as whimsical (sorry) quirky shit or smaller hints of greater injustice (see: Ember getting rid of STDs, but still letting magic-poor citizens die of sepsis because that’s too boring to deal with), all while a cataclysmic danger lurked under the surface.

After that, I just filled in details as they worked with character stuff and plot stuff, and I tried to make sure they didn’t contradict each other in a way that couldn’t be chalked up to “chaos.” I basically lived with the Fillory map open all the time and also took screenshots of Benedict’s map of Loria, which gave me alternate ideas for the overall feel of the landmass rather than just the kingdom. And pretty much that’s the basic process I used to create the world! It was extremely fun, and I learned a lot, though I’m *definitely* focusing on some pure relationship kind of stuff for a while because... oof, sometimes it was a lot.

Annnnnnnd if you’re still with me, here’s some stray observations, for funsies:

I wanted Quentin and Eliot’s starting points to be more mature than in the show. Quentin when we’re introduced to him as an adult in LQoF is a lot more jaded and cautious than S1 Q, which is because in this world, his S1 mentality happened while he was on Earth and came to a head during the throes of his fucked up relationship with Bayler. Similarly, Eliot had already gone through a lot of shit too, and was much more self-actualized by the time he agreed to be High King here than in the show. It was still out of desperation for purpose, but not coming out of a direct trauma spiral. I think if they had been younger, both in age and mentality, the story wouldn’t have worked because they would’ve blown it up day two. They’re both still disasters, as we like to say, which is why the... everything happens, but they’re not disasters in the exact same way as in early canon. I thought of them as closer to their S3 selves, pre-Mosaic.

While I mostly kept Quentin’s syntax the same as on the show, I did change it up in some ways to reflect his Fillorian upbringing. The most obvious was replacing “goddamn” with “godsdamned” and “Jesus” with “Hades,” but I also made him slow on the Earth idiomatic uptake and slightly more likely to use passive voice and less likely to use contractions, especially early on and especially when speaking with Fen. He also said slightly out of date things even for someone who last remembered 1999, since Earth was still overwhelming despite his immersion. E.g.: In the epilogue, he asks Eliot if he can spend some time “Googling the World Wide Web” instead of watching Gossip Girl together, even though by 1999 most people were saying “on-line” or “the internet” by a pretty wide margin. But in my mind, the first term he learned was World Wide Web and he stuck to it like glue.

I originally had a full-blown coronation scene, where Quentin helped Eliot with the answers to the 90s questions via subtle charades, such as flapping his hands at his sides to give him the answer “Wings” (and Eliot was eventually going to Eliot-Logically use that moment to argue to Quentin that maybe Q really is the true High King since he was the one who actually answered the Knight’s questions, etc.), but I cut it and only showed bits and pieces in flashbacks because it didn’t really matter. They had to treat it seriously because it was An Event in this version of balanced/un-Beasted Fillory, with a full audience bearing witness, but the whole thrust of the external plot was about dismantling that moment and the concept of monarchy in general, so giving it too much weight outside of the Eliot and Julia friendship felt disingenuous to the story I was telling.

This is also why it was important to me that Margo hated the title High King Eliot the Kind, even though I only brought it up textually once or twice. But in my view, she fucking hated it and never came around to it. Which isn’t because she doesn’t think Eliot is kind, it’s that it felt like a simplification of all that he is, and the coronation ceremony in general felt similarly shallow. It wasn’t just the four of them working out their shit on the beach; it was true ceremony after a year of questing toil and a lot lingering uncertainty/resentments (especially regarding Julia), so it was too Big Shiny Happy Bow to her.

Yet on the same theme, my greatest regret was not being able to work in the fact that Margo’s title for Penny (King Penny the Persistent) was supposed to be half-sincere and half-sex joke. She did genuinely admire that he stuck it out even through his initial heartbreak because he gives a shit about his people underneath it all, but—and this is a very important headcanon to me—she admired his dedication to the art of the female orgasm even more.

I was originally also going to include the One Day More sequence with way more details—such as Umber taking the Javert lines, Ember taking the Thenardier lines, Bayler taking the Enjolras lines, and Penny taking the Marius lines, but... uh... writing a musical number is apparently not in my skill set. Also, honestly, the weirdness of the original is its whole charm and so I didn’t want to improve upon perfection. See also, in a more serious way: Eliot bowing to High King Margo on the Muntjac, the events of Plan B, and Quentin & Penny in the Flying Forest. Would not touch it!

My favorite Fillorian detail was either the guy who sent a citizen petition requesting a “smidgen” of Eliot’s earwax for an undisclosed purpose, or the use of the verb “to peg” to describe a Pegasus flock greeting an outsider with honor. They encapsulate the obscene yet pristine feel I always tried to give Fillory.

My favorite subtle(-ish?) ironic moment is Ess, the heir to a hereditary monarchy, taking Quentin to task for not honoring the anarchy patch on his high school backpack. In general, I don’t like everything being neatly resolved, including on an overarching world level. And I very strongly felt they had ZERO business meddling in Loria, so it left some fun-to-me unanswered questions. Will Ess usher in democracy for Loria based on his experiences on Earth? Maybe! Maybe not, since tradition’s a hell of a drug and Loria has its own history and complexities. Who knows?

I misread the town name Sutton as Sultan on the map the first time I referenced Bayler’s hometown (Sultan’s Ridge), but instead of going back to fix it, I just made it a sister town. Whatever!

I do not know how Quentin got a full bookshelf of Earth literature back to Fillory with him. Magic, I guess. (That’s the answer to anything I didn’t totally think through.)

I occasionally get asked whether Quentin and Fen were physically related. The answer is no, though it doesn’t totally matter. But I intended heart-cousins to be more like close family friends. (Though I actually originally had a joke where Eliot still wasn’t sure by the epilogue, but it didn’t land/feel realistic so I cut it.)

The details of the magic frequency poisoning were DEFINITELY what I thought through the least. My main goal was to have something catastrophic happen to Fillory based in part from the historical actions of the Children of Earth and Ember, patently ridiculously but with lasting consequences. Hence, god orgy that took away Fillorian human magic and sent out a slow poisoning of the overall magic “frequency.” It sounds all well and good, but it’s definitely something that would fall apart with even the lightest bit of prodding. It serves it’s purpose though, so I figured the gaps could be filled in or politely ignored. ;)

This question was way too much fun and a helpful retrospective for me! Thank you so much for indulging me, many moons ago. 💗

[1989dreamer]

Mountains of Shrapnel for Sterek Big Bang 2021

Written for @twsterekbigbang’s Sterek Big Bang 2021, in collaboration with @mrkgrl​ (whose art is just delightful and so, so amazing!).

Word Count: 34,083

Summary: When Stiles returns after graduating, he discovers that Derek Hale is back in town. He also learns that Derek has somehow managed to fill an entire house with so much junk it isn't functional anymore and is on the verge of being condemned as unlivable. Stiles uses the excuse of helping Derek clean out his hoarded house to reconnect, aware that what used to be a teeny-tiny crush is not so small anymore. Emotional baggage makes an interesting bedfellow, but so does the revelation that Stiles might not be as alone in his crush as he thought he was.

Tags: Hoarding, Hoarder Derek, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Redeemed Scott McCall, Mentions of Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Mentions of Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Not Nice Deaton, Human Scott, Canon Compliant to the end of 3B, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Vomit Scene, Derek Hale is in Therapy, Love Potion, Emotional Healing, They get a little sex happy toward the end, Reconnection

Warnings: Kate plays a large part in an element of the story although she does not appear on screen; vomit scene.

Note: The scene that features vomiting starts at "Maybe it was something he put in the pot pie?" and ends after "Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom."

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

Graduation day came and went rather uneventfully despite the fact that Dad wouldn’t let Stiles wear jeans under his gown and either his head had shrunk since they’d measured him or they’d gotten his head size wrong so his cap refused to stay on his head if he bobbed his leg too hard.

After the long drive home, he and his dad went out to eat at The Burger Joint on the edge of Beacon Hills. Stiles glared at his dad when he ordered the double bacon cheeseburger deluxe.

“What? I’ve been eating well otherwise. I deserve a treat. Besides, it’s not every day your son graduates top of his class.”

“Did it have to be a double bacon burger?” Stiles asked. He was about to continue griping, hoping to at least badger his dad into not eating all of the bacon when the door jingled, catching his attention. Normally, Stiles would have checked who came in and then gone back to his conversation, but the person was an unexpected face. “Is that Derek Hale?”

Dad twisted in his chair until he could see what Stiles saw. Derek fucking Hale stomping his way up to the counter, phone in one hand, money in the other, glowering steadily at the poor clerk as they traded him the money for a bulging bag.

“Yeah,” Dad said. “He moved back to town, oh, about a year ago now. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” Stiles said. He jumped up from his chair and hurried to catch Derek before he left the building. Derek looked far less unsettled than Stiles felt at seeing him again.

“Stiles.” He nodded. Stiles swallowed hard.

It wasn’t that he and Derek hadn’t kept in touch, except…that’s exactly what happened.

Derek had left Beacon Hills halfway through Stiles’ junior year of high school, changed his number (and sent Stiles a “Here’s my new number” text about six months after, but he’d forgotten to mention who it was, so Stiles had thought it was one of his classmates and by the time he’d figured out that it was Derek, the number had been changed again), and practically disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Stiles’ mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate so he just stood there in Derek’s way. What could he say? “I missed you”? Derek obviously hadn’t missed Stiles since he hadn’t contacted him outside of that text.

“Derek,” Stiles finally managed, and then his dad grabbed his arm and dragged him back a few steps.

“Derek, nice to see you again, son. How’s the house treating you? Have you found a job yet? We’d better let you get to your food. See you around. Take care now.”

Dad forcibly steered Stiles back to their table and pushed on his shoulder until he sat down. Derek didn’t move for a long minute. He stared at the Stilinskis with a sullen glare before squaring his shoulders and setting his bag of food down on a table to dig out a notebook. He borrowed a pen off another patron and wrote something down. He returned the pen, picked up his bag, and approached their table.

“This is my address and my number,” he said gruffly, almost stabbing the paper at Stiles’ face. “Congratulations on your graduation. Sir,” he nodded at the Sheriff, “always nice to see you. Have a good meal.”

Stiles grabbed the paper and Derek spun on his heel and marched away.

“He’s gotten better about that,” Dad remarked and then dug into his burger which must have arrived when Stiles was busy gaping at Derek.

He picked up his own burger, a much more modest cheeseburger deluxe. “You said he moved back to town last year?”

Dad paused, thinking. “At least,” he said. “In some ways, it feels like he’s been here forever. He keeps to himself mostly, but I think he’s a good neighbor to have. He’s been nominated for that community thing they created three years ago. You know the thing.”

“The Good Neighbor Program?” Stiles asked, a little cheekily.

“That’s the one. I think he might win it this year.”

“This year? Wait, what about last year?”

“Mrs. Halvershiem won it last year,” Dad said. “Derek was too new to town then. But he’s certainly done a lot in the months he’s been here.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles wouldn’t have thought Derek would do anything other than hide away from the world. He did a lot of that before, which Stiles mostly doesn’t hold against him. He stood up when he needed to. If anyone deserved to shut the world out, it was Derek. Life had dealt him a shitty hand and then kept piling on the bad luck.

The fact that Derek was back in Beacon Hills at all was a miracle. One which Stiles would use to reconnect.

If he was honest with himself, he’d missed the big guy. He’d missed the supernatural. He’d still gotten up to a few mostly un-supernatural shenanigans in college but nothing could ever beat the exhilaration he’d gotten when one of his plans went right and Derek was right there with him, backing him up.

Stiles had been mad at Derek for a long time after he’d left, and he didn’t know if his dad had told him that he was back that he wouldn’t have reacted badly. Some of his anger was directed at Derek because Stiles had realized that he was a little bit in love with Derek, like, a crush or something. Most of his anger, though, was because Derek had left him behind.

Once Stiles had sat Dad down and fully explained how Dad was right, he wasn’t gay, but not because of how he dressed. Stiles was bisexual, not gay. Some days, it still hurt having his dad dismiss him like that, but Dad was trying his best to be supportive and understanding now, and that’s all Stiles wanted, really.

He wondered if Derek knew what his orientation was back in high school. If he did, he hadn’t said. Honestly, Stiles hadn’t ever asked him if that was something he could smell.

But now, with no prompting from either Stiles or Stiles’ dad, Derek had given Stiles his address and his phone number. That was something that would never have happened back in high school.

Stiles felt like he was forgetting something majorly important, but staring at the paper with Derek’s surprisingly neat handwriting, he couldn’t think what it could be. That is until he heard the ice in his dad’s glass of water.

The bacon on his dad’s burger! That’s what he forgot!

Stiles glared at his dad, but nope, it was too late, Dad had already eaten everything.

He didn’t even look a little bit guilty as he finished off his water and stacked everything neatly.

Stiles hurriedly started eating his burger. “Hey, can we visit Derek today?” he asked through a mouthful of meat and bread.

Dad had retired a few months earlier, working part time at the bakery downtown instead of as the Sheriff anymore, so it wasn’t like he’d have the excuse of patrolling anymore.

“Sure. Been meaning to get out that way for a while now. I think Derek works out of his home so it’s rare to see him around town.”

“Is it rare for him to pass out his address too?” Stiles folded the paper, tucking it deep in his breast pocket. He was not going to lose that paper if he could help it.

“That I don’t know. We all kind of just know where he lives now. It was a big thing when he moved back. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just remember how upset you were when he left the first time, and I didn’t want you to get hurt again if he wasn’t going to stick around.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Look, why don’t you call him later, set up some time to catch up?”

“That’s actually a really good idea. Thanks.”

Stiles finished his burger while his dad went to pay. He and his dad didn’t have plans for the rest of the day, but Stiles didn’t want to duck out immediately just to possibly reconnect with an old friend. It wasn’t like Derek was going anywhere in the next twenty-four hours. He would call him tomorrow, he decided. Today could be all about his dad. After all, they hadn’t seen each other for almost two months while Stiles was busy finishing up his classes. He wanted to hear about what his dad got up to in his retirement when he wasn’t baking cupcakes.

He patted his pocket one more time, soothed by the crinkle of the paper. And then he gave his attention back to his dad.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek answered his phone with a gruff, “Hale.”

Stiles slapped his forehead. Of course Derek wouldn’t recognize his number. Stiles had had to change it a few months back when an incident with a currently incarcerated ex-classmate of his escalated to the point that Stiles had a few new scars and a few new friends in the Berkley Police Department.

“Hey, this is Stiles.”

“Hi.”

Still gruff. Well, some things never changed.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over coffee or something?”

Stiles couldn’t remember Derek ever drinking coffee, so he was hoping that he did or else this would get even more awkward than just trying to talk about things that weren’t supernatural-related.

“Sure. The bakery your dad works at serves coffee. We can meet there.”

Stiles didn’t want his dad to have the inside scoop, but maybe Derek would feel more comfortable there? Maybe he wasn’t comfortable at all and Stiles really shouldn’t be trying to meet up with him. Maybe—

“Are you breathing?” Derek asked, a different gruffness to his tone. Stiles recognized it as his concerned tone. Derek was concerned for him. Aw, wasn’t that sweet? Last he knew, Derek couldn’t stand the sight of him, hence why he skipped town. Or at least, that was what Stiles had told himself for a few years.

“Yes, I’m breathing. The bakery is fine. What time did you want to meet?”

“Are you busy in an hour?”

Stiles checked his wrist for a watch he’d never worn, but he’s just graduated. He has no plans aside from catching up on some sleep. He’ll always make time for Derek anyway. He’d always regretted the way they hadn’t kept in touch, and now faced with the opportunity to rekindle the friendship, he won’t let a little thing like being busy keep him away.

“Nope. Not doing anything. See you then?”

“Sure. Thanks, Stiles. Bye now.”

Stiles stared at his phone long after Derek disconnected the call. That was new. The Derek saying “bye” thing. Usually he would just hang up.

It’s been six years. Maybe Derek really has changed. Stiles was interested to see just how much of an actual adult Derek was.

Back in the day, it had been easy to forget that Derek was only like twenty-one to his sixteen, and even worse when Derek was twenty-two and he was seventeen. Dad had started taking Derek around to crime scenes and everything. Stiles had almost expected Derek to start working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department in an Official capacity, and then shit hit the fan.

Kate Argent returned, kidnapped Derek—twice—and nearly murdered them all before she was finally put down.

When it was all said and done, Derek had looked at all of them gathered outside his loft where the final stand had been made, shook his head, and just walked away.

The text came later, after a year, and by then Stiles’ hurt had been so ramped up that he’d refused to even acknowledge that it was maybe Derek’s way of reaching out after taking some time for himself.

Now, though, Stiles would give anything to go back to the day Derek walked away and follow him.

Regrets wouldn’t get them anywhere though, so Stiles set a timer on his phone, sat down at his computer, and dicked around until it was time to go to the bakery.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad waved at him when he walked in. Stiles was still unused to seeing his dad in an apron with one of those little paper hats on his head instead of his Sheriff’s uniform, but he had to admit, his dad looked far more relaxed behind the counter of the bakery than behind the wheel of his cruiser.

The interim sheriff wasn’t seeking reelection this year, and Stiles was terrified that his dad would be pressured into running again. Half the town still referred to him as Sheriff.

Stiles hadn’t asked his dad if he planned to run, half-hoping that by not talking about it, he wouldn’t influence him to accept the nomination.

Dad pointed at one of the tables, and Stiles almost sagged in relief. He’d half-thought that Derek might stand him up, but there he was, sitting at the table, a puzzle book in front of him along with a mug of steaming liquid and an untouched puff pastry.

Stiles sat down across from him and without looking up from his puzzle, a crossword, Derek pushed the coffee and pastry toward him.

“Don’t you want anything?” Stiles asked, unsure if he was supposed to accept Derek’s offerings.

“Not hungry,” Derek replied, filling in a word. He set the pencil down, closed the book, and settled back in his chair. He didn’t cross his arms, but his expression was flat and stony enough that he might as well have.

“How are you?” Stiles started. Derek was standoffish, and Stiles could understand why. He didn’t have the same time as everyone else. To Derek, Stiles hadn’t been his friend for years. To Stiles, he could still remember the visceral pain he’d felt when he realized that Derek was leaving them behind after everything they’d been through, but they were still friends.

“I’m fine,” Derek said. “How about you?”

“Great. Just graduated.”

Derek nodded. “I know.”

“How about you? Did you ever go back to college?” Derek had confided once that he’d been enrolled in New York, but had dropped out when Laura was killed.

Derek shook his head. “Never felt like it. I did a bit of trade school though. Picked up welding and furniture restoration. I do both on the side.”

“On the side of what?”

Derek shrugged. “Of life, I guess? I don’t really need to work. I just do.”

Stiles had transferred Derek’s address into his phone in case he forgot the paper somewhere and lost it. “So, if I randomly stop by your house, you won’t always be there?”

“Not on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Derek said. “On Tuesdays, I fill in at Scrappers Galore and Thursdays, I help out at Raquel’s Antiques.”

“So any day but Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Stiles repeated.

Derek squinted at him, suspicious. “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “I guess. Why? You planning on stopping by unannounced?”

“Only if you want me to. If you want me to always announce whenever I’m planning on swinging by, that’s great too.”

Derek tapped his book, thinking. Stiles had forgotten how much he missed Derek’s everything. And not just because he was handsome and nice to look at. (Yeah, he’d figured out pretty quickly that he’d like both men and women, and that he’d likely been very attracted to Derek when they’d first met.)

No, Derek was more than a pretty face. He was compassion embodied, caring, kind (once he got out of the survival mode he’d been in when they’d first crossed paths), and more than generous.

It was a little unsettling that Derek seemed to be hedging his words with Stiles, unsure if he wanted to fully trust him. Stiles wanted to remind Derek that he was the one who walked away, not Stiles, but he didn’t want to accidentally push him too far.

They were reconnecting, after all.

“My house isn’t the cleanest,” Derek finally said after a long moment of silence between them. “I don’t need to hear about how I should be doing this or doing that. I’m in therapy, but right now, we’re at a stage in my life where I can’t do certain things.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Hey, no judging here.” The only reason he kept his room clean was because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to think at all. Clutter worsened his ADHD, and no amount of medication was going to make him focus on the things he should if he was constantly distracted by his surroundings.

Dad had helped him clean out his room last summer when Stiles had returned only to find that all the things from his childhood and high school years sat heavily on his mind, making what was supposed to be a relaxing time very stressful.

He half expected Derek to be the same way, but maybe not? Derek didn’t have an ADHD diagnosis, and likely wouldn’t ever get one, so that was probably not it.

Derek picked up his book. “It was nice talking with you, but I need to run an errand. Call me later if you want to come over.”

“Hey, no, yeah, it was really good to see you. I’ll definitely call you later.”

Derek ambled off, and Stiles was probably imagining that he looked more relaxed than when Stiles sat down. Huh. Maybe he and Derek were still friends.

He picked up the pastry, taking a large bite. Well, Derek still knew what Stiles liked to eat. A sip of the drink revealed that it was the coffee order Stiles used to drink in college. It wasn’t bad, but it was more sugary than Stiles liked now.

But it was still very thoughtful of Derek. And besides, there was time now for Stiles to teach him his new coffee order.

He finished the drink and pastry quickly, dropping a tip in the jar for his dad, and waving as he headed outside.

For some reason, he really didn’t want to go home, so he texted his dad that he was picking up some stuff for supper and headed to the grocery store.

He parked next to a Camaro that reminded him strongly of Derek’s. It was even black too. Once inside, he grabbed a cart and started wandering the aisles, adding things he thought could make a delicious, healthy supper.

When he went to pay, he found himself behind a tall, broad back that was oh-so-familiar. He didn’t need to smell the woodsy aftershave or see the slightly scraggly hair in need of a trim to know that he hadn’t just been reminded of Derek’s Camaro: it was actually Derek’s Camaro. Derek’s errand must have been grocery shopping, although from the look of his cart, it wasn’t so much groceries as junk food.

Stiles never imagined Derek to be a junk food eater, certain that the chemicals used to mimic natural ingredients and flavors would have been off-putting for a werewolf and his heightened sense of smell and taste.

Derek must have either smelled him (likely) or sensed him staring at him (also likely) and turned around with a tight smile.

Stiles just waved. He wasn’t in the habit of accosting his acquaintances in the queue to pay.

He made a telephone sign with his hand, and Derek nodded.

The amount of food that Derek had bought meant that he’d likely still be putting it into his car by the time Stiles got out to Roscoe.

He’d talk to him then. Invite him to supper. He’d gotten plenty of ingredients for two people, and definitely more than enough to accommodate a third.

Besides, it’d be nice to see if his dad and Derek still got along. He hoped so; otherwise his renewed friendship with Derek was going to be awkward.

It was unfortunate that Stiles had lost all his other friends, also shortly around the time that Derek had left. In fact, Derek’s leaving had caused such major infighting among them that Stiles and Scott still weren’t speaking to this day.

Lydia and Kira, caught in the middle, had bonded over their refusal to take sides (although, privately, they both admitted that Stiles had more of a point to his argument that Scott had caused Kate’s return, something Scott refused to accept and Stiles refused to revisit now for fear of becoming enraged again). Lydia and Kira had ended up getting married after two years of dating and now were living on the east coast while Lydia studied at MIT and Kira got her teaching license.

Stiles hoped they’d had better luck keeping in touch with the others, but he also didn’t think they’d made an effort with Derek because, to be honest, neither of them were very close to him to begin with.

Still, Stiles wasn’t one to shy away from something just because it was hard. He had gone from ignoring a problem and hoping it went away to confronting it head on because then it wouldn’t just grow bigger behind his back and knock him off his path again.

He paid for his groceries and hurried out to the lot. Derek was indeed still piling bags into the trunk of his car.

“Hey, so I’m making pesto, and I was wondering if you wanted to join my dad and me for supper.”

Derek spun around, even though there was no way he didn’t hear Stiles behind him. “Uh.” His eyebrows went up and then quickly lowered. Confusion at being asked and masking that confusion. Good to know Stiles could still read him. “Is your dad okay with that?”

Stiles waved away his concern. “My dad loves you,” he declared, almost positive that it was true. After all, his dad hadn’t glared at or threatened Derek at the diner today.

Nor had he gotten between them when they caught up at the bakery.

Derek’s eyebrows wriggled again before finally relaxing to their normal position on his face. Stiles stifled a comment on the bushiness of them. He didn’t know if Derek was self conscious of any part of his body, and he didn’t want to accidentally dredge up anything for him.

“I highly doubt he actually loves me,” Derek said. “No one really does.”

“Hey now.”

Derek rolled his shoulders, less of a shrug and more of a so-life-goes motion. High school Stiles would have agreed with him, maybe cracked a self-depreciating joke about himself to lighten the mood. College graduate Stiles was wiser and less infatuated with nihilism.

“Seriously, I’ve never seen him look so happy to see someone who wasn’t me.”

Derek still didn’t look like he believed Stiles, but that was okay. Stiles was back in Beacon Hills for a while. He could work on him, make sure Derek knew just how much he was treasured.

“I heard you’re up for the Good Neighbor award this year.”

Derek ducked his head, blushing hotly. “I don’t know about that,” he mumbled.

“Hey, if they hand you the award, just say thanks and move on. I’m sure you deserve it anyway. You did a lot for us back in the day.”

Derek scoffed. “As if. I did more harm than good and you know it.”

“Well, I for one appreciate what you did for me. And before you deny it, you were helpful, if a bit scary.”

“I got people killed. Can’t forget that.” Derek dropped his gaze down to his feet. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can make it to supper.”

“Please don’t,” Stiles said softly. Derek’s head snapped up. “I want you there. I want to reconnect with you. I’m not inviting you out of pity or because I think you can’t feed yourself.” He sighed, stepping forward, hand raised so that Derek had plenty of time to decide if he wanted to step out of reach. When Derek didn’t move, Stiles set his hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze before pulling back entirely.

“Okay,” Derek said, a little breathlessly. He swallowed hard. “Okay, I’ll be there.When?”

“Give me about two hours and it should be ready. Pesto doesn’t actually take that long to make, but I think we’d both appreciate some time to put away our groceries.”

“Okay. I’ll be there. I promise.”

Stiles beamed at him, which oddly made Derek blush. Huh, food for thought. “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. It’ll be great to catch up some more.”

“Sure.” It was probably just Stiles’ imagination, but he thought Derek’s tone was a little cold, as if Stiles had said something unfavorable. “See you.”

Stiles waved to him and then got into Roscoe and drove back to his dad’s house.

Dad wouldn’t be off work yet, so Stiles took some time to put away the groceries, clean up their nicest set of plates, and set the table before he pulled up a recipe on his phone and got busy.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek arrived at the house at the same time as Dad. Stiles could hear them greet each other on the doorstep. He waited a decent two minutes while they exchanged pleasantries and Derek gave Dad a bottle of wine he brought with him.

“Ah, Stiles loves this brand. Thanks.”

Stiles threw open the door. “Come on in,” he said brightly, taking the bottle from his dad. Both his dad and Derek know him well: this was his favorite vintage right now. “The food is ready.”

Derek shifted awkwardly before stepping into the house. He looked uncomfortable and on edge even though Stiles had double checked to make sure the wolfsbane his dad grew now that Chris Argent was off globe-trotting was out back in the shed. Maybe he could still smell it?

“Thanks for inviting me,” Derek said, almost too quiet to hear. He cleared his throat and asked for the bathroom.

“You know where it is,” Dad said, clapping him on the back. “I’m going to get washed up, Stiles. Supper smells great.”

“Thanks. I’m going to put this on ice. Anyone want a glass with supper? Not sure how well it’ll go with pesto, but we can try it!”

“I think I’ll try some,” Dad called over his shoulder. “You got any of that non-alcoholic beer left?”

Derek reappeared before Stiles could answer. He still looked terrified but at least he was still standing in the front hallway.

“Come on.” Stiles held out his hand, waving Derek toward the kitchen. “We can grab everything and set up in the dining room.”

Derek followed, and then stood still while Stiles loaded his arms with plates, silverware wrapped in napkins, and a serving utensil. Dad grabbed the dish with pesto, and Stiles wrapped the wine bottle in a wet paper towel and stuck it in the freezer, setting a fifteen minute timer on his phone.

Once the table was set, a centerpiece collected from the back garden Dad worked on in his spare time, and the wine collected after the timer went off, they all sat down. Neither Stiles nor his dad had cared to say Grace since before Mom died, but the way Derek folded his hands and stared at his plate, spoke volumes. Stiles nodded at his dad, and Dad spoke a quick few words before holding his hand out for Derek’s plate.

“Guests are served first,” he said gently when Derek politely refused.

Derek surrendered his plate, and Dad heaped it full. Derek winced at it when he took it back, and Stiles made a mental note to send him home with some Tupperware if he couldn’t finish it.

Or maybe Derek didn’t like pesto? He had seemed at least a little enthused when Stiles invited him, but maybe Stiles was reading too much into it?

He was overthinking things. He needed to not do that. Dad dished up some pesto for Stiles and then himself, and Stiles wondered if Dad liked the pesto at all since he hadn’t taken near as much as he normally did.

“So, Derek, how are you liking being back in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles turned a horrified eye to his dad. What kind of question was that? The last time Derek was in Beacon Hills, he’d been assaulted by a phantom from his past, all but run from the town, and everyone who cared about him was either dead or disgusted with him, Stiles included.

Although, if Stiles was honest with himself, he wasn’t as disgusted with Derek as he was with himself or Scott. Derek had just been reacting to the stress and repeated assault from Kate.

“It’s been good,” Derek said. He poked at his food before putting a small bite in his mouth. He chewed for almost a minute before he swallowed. “The people have been nice.”

Ashamed, Stiles stabbed at his own food. He hadn’t ever been the friend Derek needed. He didn’t know why it was so important to him that he do this, invite Derek for supper, go out for coffee to catch up, when even two years ago, he couldn’t find the time or patience for him.

“I’m sorry we were such assholes,” he blurted out.

Derek frowned at him. “We?” he repeated. “Are you apologizing for you or for everyone?”

“Everyone.”

“Don’t. I don’t want it. I was an asshole too.”

“Yeah, a surviving asshole.”

Derek smothered a chuckle. “Still an asshole.”

“Can we suspend the assholes at the dinner table?” Dad asked, pointing his fork at Stiles. “You’re sorry. Derek’s sorry. I’m sorry. Can we please just eat?”

“It is good,” Derek said. “The pesto, I mean. You’re a good cook, Stiles.”

Stiles took a moment to bask in the glory of the compliment before he set aside his plate. “So, Derek, is there any chance I’ll get to see where you live now?”

Derek glared at his plate. The change in expression gave Stiles pause. He vaguely remembered Derek telling him he couldn’t judge him for how he lived, not that he couldn’t visit him at all.

“I’m not ready for visitors,” Derek mumbled.

“Okay.” Stiles tried to bury the flash of hurt, but from Derek’s even more miserable expression, he wasn’t successful at all. “I mean,” he tried again, “I can wait until you’re ready? Or I can help you if that’s what you need? I’m not going to judge you.”

Both Dad and Derek turned their heads to stare at him. Stiles sunk in his seat.

“You know what I mean.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his plate.

Derek sighed. “I appreciate it. I really do. I’ll have to think about it. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly okay.” Stiles returned to his food, finishing his wine with a long swallow. He gathered the plates while Dad picked up the rest of the pesto. “I made a cheesecake,” Stiles said, mostly for Derek’s benefit so he wouldn’t take the opportunity of being left alone to duck out early.

“You’re actually going to let me have a slice?” Dad asked, surprised.

Stiles lightly slapped at his arm. “Of course you can have a slice. You’ve been doing much better with your diet. And besides, it’s low fat.”

Dad’s face falls. “Low fat?”

“Yes, low fat. It’s still delicious.” Stiles gave his dad one of his most mischievous looks, one his dad probably thought he retired after leaving his teens behind. “Or did you not want any?”

“No, I’ll take a slice. I probably won’t eat more than that.” His dad grabbed glasses for milk. “I mean, one is probably all I’ll need.”

“You can have two,” Stiles said magnanimously. “I’m sending the rest home with Derek.”

Derek was still sitting in his seat, thank goodness. He hurriedly shoved his cell phone under the table, shooting Stiles a guilty look.

“If you have other plans, you can go to them. You don’t have to stay for my sake.”

Derek shook his head. “No, it’s something for tomorrow.” He got a determined look in his eye before pulling out his phone again. “I could maybe use your help,” he admitted. “That is, if you have time.” He showed Stiles the screen.

It was just messages from a number Derek hadn’t saved as a contact. Okay to drop off mom’s stuff at 10?

Derek’s simple Yes underneath it sparked a shiver of fear in Stiles that he couldn’t explain.

“What is ‘mom’s stuff’?” he asked. Before Derek can stop him, he flicked the screen to another conversation. It was almost exactly the same except it was “Aunt Catherine’s crap” instead of “mom’s stuff.”

“It’s just stuff,” Derek said, evasive. He pulled his phone back, locking the screen. “Sometimes it’s a lot of stuff, and sometimes it’s not a lot of stuff.”

“And Aunt Catherine’s crap?”

“Catherine?” Dad interjected. “Catherine Harper who died two years ago? Her nephew finally decided to clean out her house?”

“Yeah, and apparently decided to just dump her ‘crap’ on Derek.”

Derek flushed. “It’s not like it’s a bad thing,” he mumbles. More clearly he said, “I help them take care of unwanted things. I have a holding period, and if, after that period, they don’t want anything from their loved one’s things, then I dispose of it.”

“Sounds like they’re getting more out of this deal than you,” Stiles remarked, studying Derek to see his reaction. Predictably, he blushed harder.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh no?” Stiles started dishing up the cheesecake. “It probably is exactly like that. I know you, Mister. You don’t give enough thought to yourself when you try to help everyone.”

Derek accepted the plate. “Maybe I enjoy helping people?”

“To the point where they hurt you?” Stiles shook his head. “Dude, I was one of those people. You can’t say honestly that I didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m not holding a grudge.”

“Maybe you should.”

Dad grabbed Stiles’ wrist. “Let’s leave it alone for now,” he advised. “The wounds are obviously still fresh, but you’ll get nowhere if you keep picking the scab off before it can try to heal.”

He sat down and forked a large mouthful of the cheesecake into his mouth. “You’re right, Stiles, this isn’t so bad.”

Stiles acquiesced with a brief nod, tucking into his own slice. It wasn’t as good as the cheesecake he normally made, but for his dad’s health and inclusion in desserts, something Stiles had banned him from during high school, he’d gladly make it again.

Derek finished first and declined a second helping. Surprisingly Dad did too, so Stiles slapped a lid on the pan and handed it to Derek before he left.

“Can I come over around 10:00 tomorrow? Just to see what is being dropped off?”

Derek shrugged, nonchalant, but Stiles could still see the tension holding him stiff. “I’m not going to stop you.”

“Great,” Stiles said with genuine enthusiasm. “Text me the address?”

“Didn’t I write it down for you already?”

“Oh yeah.” Stiles smacked his forehead. “Sorry about that.” He patted his pockets until he came up with the crumpled paper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. Then, he walked to his Camaro, waved at Stiles after he secured the cheesecake in the front seat, and drove away.

Stiles returned to the kitchen to find his dad loading the dishwasher he’d finally bought after retiring from the Sheriff’s Department.

“That went well, I think,” Stiles told him.

“Son, I know you want to fix things, but some things take time.”

“I know that.” He blew out a breath. “It’s just…You know how we treated him when he came back to find his sister. His murdered sister.”

“The sister he did not murder,” Dad finished. They’d started referring to Derek like this after watching The Emperor’s New Groove one too many times when Stiles was on break his sophomore year.

Stiles blew out another breath. “I just wish we had been nicer to him. I mean, especially after we knew he had nothing to do with the murders.”

“Stiles, regret can only do so much for us. Go see what’s up tomorrow, but then let Derek dictate the pace. After all, it’s his healing that you’re so worried about right now.”

Stiles chewed on that for a minute before deciding that his dad was right. “I won’t push him if he’s not ready,” he finally said.

Dad sighed. “It’ll have to do. Now, do you want to watch a movie with me or did you have plans with your online friends?”

“A movie,” Stiles said automatically.

He’d make plans with Kira and Lydia later. For now, there was nothing better than getting to spend the night picking apart a movie with his dad. They both loved pointing out the inaccuracies in films, which made them unbearable to watch with anyone else. Besides, Stiles justified it as making up missed time. Dad had been busy most of his life. It was only fitting that now they could relax together when his dad had nothing more pressing than an early bedtime, and Stiles wasn’t as involved in the supernatural crises that used to plague the town.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek’s text with his address came in just before 8:30 a.m. when Stiles was in the shower, trying to wake up. Dad was already at work, so Stiles sent a text telling him that he was at Derek’s and will be home by supper, and then he packed a few water bottles into his backpack, grabbed some money from a stash he kept under his mattress, and then drove Roscoe to Derek’s address.

It was located in the solidly middle class residential district, the one right before where the Beacon Hills wealthy lived. Derek’s house was huge, by Stiles’ standards. It stood almost three stories tall and was nearly half a block all to itself. Someone had erected a fence around the property, six feet tall, with no spaces between the slats, and painted pale green to match the house. The front gate was wrought iron rendered into roses, the tops spiked.

Derek was sitting on an upturned bucket in the middle of the sidewalk, sorting a few piles of dusty books into three piles.

Stiles parked across the street so he wouldn’t block Derek’s visitor, and strolled up to him.

Derek barely paused in his sorting to grunt an acknowledgement at him.

“Do you need help yet?” Stiles asked. He picked up a book from the pile closest to Derek, gingerly flipping through it. The book was filled with poetry written by some author he didn’t recognize. The poems were stuffy, love in an abstract, don’t tell our families way that made Stiles sneeze. Or that could have been the dust.

He set the book back where he found it.

“Is this part of ‘mom’s stuff’?”

“No, this is part of Samuel’s things. He’s actually coming by today to collect all the books by Tomás Gibraltar.”

“And how long have you had Samuel’s things?” Stiles picked up the book of poems again. The author was not Tomás Gibraltar, so he could assume this pile was not one Samuel wanted. He grabbed a book from the pile Derek was sorting. This one was a Tomás Gibraltar book so he handed it to Derek and watched which pile he set it on, then he dove in.

“I’ve only had them for a few months. I thought I had more time. He was supposed to be back in Beacon Hills in another two months, but I guess his trip got cut short.”

“Good thing I’m early, eh?”

“Huh?” Derek quickly checked his phone. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll buy you lunch after Andrew drops off his mother’s things.”

“Cool.” Stiles added another Tomás Gibraltar book to the pile. “How many books did this guy write?” The pile already had twenty books.

“Over fifty, I think,” Derek replied, “which is a drop in the bucket compared to the number of books Samuel dropped off.”

Stiles stepped back and quickly counted the books surrounding Derek. He lost count at eighty-seven. “And just how many books was that?” he asked.

“Eighteen boxes worth,” Derek said. He stood up, stretching and rubbing at the small of his back.

“I guess even werewolves get backaches,” Stiles joked, flipping three more books into the Gibraltar pile.

“It’s a non-essential wound,” Derek said as he grabbed another stack of books. “It’ll heal when I’m done.” He looked up, stricken. “You don’t have to help long enough to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Stiles said. “I didn’t drag eighteen boxes of books out of your house.”

“That was the easy part.” Derek flashed him a brief smile that faded almost immediately when a large white SUV pulled up next to them.

A large man, gray hair, full beard, and mirrored sunglasses sauntered over to them.

“Derek.” His voice was jovial, but from the set of Derek’s shoulders, the man wasn’t a welcome visitor.

“Hey, Samuel. You said you’d be over by 9:30.”

Samuel made a show of looking at his wristwatch. Stiles would bet money that it was either a Rolex or a very good knockoff. “So I’m early. You’ve had two hours. You should have gotten it all done.”

“An hour,” Derek corrected quietly. “You called an hour ago.”

“Seriously?” Stiles set down the books he was holding. “What is your problem, man? You only gave him ninety minutes and thirty of those, you just took away?”

“Who’s this?” Samuel pointed at Stiles, flicking his fingers like Stiles was just an annoying fly.

“My friend,” Derek said. “But he’s right. You didn’t give me enough time, and you’ve shortened it considerably, so you know what? You can deal with your books yourself.” Derek stood up, grabbed his bucket and Stiles, and marched toward his house.

“You can’t walk away from a paying customer,” Samuel shouted after them.

“You didn’t pay me anything,” Derek said. He shoved Stiles through the gate, slapping the bucket into his arms.

“Is this a fight? Should I call the cops?”

Samuel squared off, snarling at Derek. Instead of a fighting stance, Derek instead grabbed a book from the Gibraltar pile. He held up a hand. “One step closer,” he gritted out between clenched fangs. Stiles held his breath. He didn’t know if this man knew what Derek was. He hoped Derek would be able to rein in his control and possibly endangered himself.

Samuel faltered his steps. He studied Derek, expression blank for a long few minutes before he shook his head and adjusted his sunglasses. “Fine. You’ve got til 9:30.”

“No,” Derek said. “You take your books now. All of them. If you don’t, everything is going to the dump. You have fifteen minutes to get this crap off my property before I call the police on you for trespassing.”

“You can’t do that. These books are my property.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you dumped them on him,” Stiles called. He was escalating the situation, but he couldn’t help it.

Derek didn’t deserve to be treated like his time wasn’t important.

Samuel could go kick rocks for all Stiles cared.

Samuel worked his jaw before stalking to the pile of Gibraltar books and gathering as many as he could carry and stacking them into the back of his SUV.

Derek watched him, periodically checking his phone to keep track of the fifteen minutes. Once time was up, Samuel still had over a couple hundred books. Derek left him then, locking the gate behind himself.

Samuel began cursing but Derek didn’t turn around, and after a moment to enjoy the sight of a full grown man in tantrum mode, Stiles followed him. Derek didn’t say anything when Stiles walked with him up his front steps and into his foyer. Stiles stopped still in shock.

There was so much stuff that his brain couldn’t quite process what he was seeing. Derek had already disappeared from view, and Stiles didn’t see how. Was there a path? Where did Derek get all this stuff from?

It was boxes and boxes covered in things like lamps, clothing, papers. There was so much of it that Stiles was afraid to touch it or even try to find Derek’s path because he was positive it was going to fall over and crush him.

Instead, he waited in the foyer, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he rocked back and forth, unsure why, but knowing that he was heading for a panic attack.

Derek returned with the empty pan and lid from the cheesecake, handing it to Stiles.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Stiles shook his head. He clutched the pan, squeezing it like it was a flotation device, feeling like it was one too.

Derek gently gripped his elbow and turned him around. They stepped back out on the porch, and Derek guided him to a chair. Samuel was still cursing, but he was now sitting on the ground sorting his own damn books.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, shaky. He was still on the edge, honestly could go either way, and he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Derek pressed down on the pan so that it was weighted against Stiles’ legs. He latched onto the sensation and used it to pull himself firmly into just-past-panic territory. Then he stared down at the empty pan.

“Did you really eat all the cheesecake yourself?”

Derek flushed. “No.”

“Liar,” Stiles countered.

“I didn’t,” Derek protested. “I gave it away.” His eyes cut away and Stiles couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He frowned at him, thinking back to every Hoarders episode he had ever seen. “Do you have a working fridge?” he asked.

“Yes,” Derek bit out. So, probably a lie.

“Did you not like it?”

“What? It was fine. It tasted almost like regular cheesecake. It was fine, Stiles. I told you, you’re a good cook.”

“So, why did you give it away? It would have kept for a few more days.”

Derek’s mouth twisted, and it was all the warning Stiles had before Derek stood up and stalked into his house. The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked.

Stiles waited a few minutes to see if Derek would reappear, and when he didn’t, he banged on the door.

After about five minutes, Derek finally cracked open the door. “What?” he snapped.

“Why are you mad at me?”

Derek pointed at the pan Stiles had left on the chair. “Why are you interrogating me about your cheesecake?”

Screeching tires and burning rubber interrupted whatever response Stiles was going to say, and they both watched as Samuel peeled around the corner. He’d left all the books that weren’t by his Gibraltar author, and Derek visibly slumped as he stared at the mess remaining on the sidewalk.

“I can help you pick them up,” Stiles offered. He briefly wondered where Derek would put them, or if he could even fit them into his house.

Derek eyed him. “Will you leave your cheesecake out of it?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

Derek opened the door wider. “Thanks.” He passed out a plastic tote, and Stiles took it. Derek stepped out, another tote in his arms. “I could only empty the two. I know there’s more, but I couldn’t find them right now.”

No wonder, Stiles thought meanly. With the mess in Derek’s house, it was a miracle he didn’t lose himself.

It took ten minutes to fill the first tote. Derek hefted it up on his shoulders and carried it back to his house. It took him ten minutes to empty it and come back, and by that time, Stiles had the second tote filled. Derek took it from him and again took ten minutes to come back with it emptied. He also brought the chair from the porch and Stiles’ pan.

“Why don’t you take a quick break while I fill this tote?”

Stiles shrugged. He wouldn’t say no. Besides, he was thirsty. He offered a bottle to Derek as he began packing books into the tote.

Derek accepted after a few seconds of cajoling. They were silent for a sip or two before Derek said, softly, “I know you’re disappointed in me.” He fiddled with the cap from his bottle, running it over his fingers and tucking it into his palm, only to start again immediately.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stiles said. He concentrated on taking small, even sips of his water. It was a shock to be sure to see the amount of stuff in Derek’s house.

“You had a panic attack because of me,” Derek said.

“Not you,” Stiles said. “Claustrophobia. It was a little tight and I lost sight of you.”

“Sorry about that,” Derek said, in a tone that wasn’t entirely truthful. Stiles wondered when he’d gotten good at reading Derek. It couldn’t have been in just the day and a half since they’ve reconnected. Maybe Derek had gotten easier to read?

“I’m sure a few cleaning sessions and the house will be right as rain.” He was lying through his teeth. Another thing he remembered from Hoarders was that if the front of the house was as jam packed as Derek’s, then the rest of the house was too. With two and a half stories, that had to be a million pounds of trash all stuffed into the poor house.

“A few cleaning sessions,” Derek repeated, numbly. “Yeah. Sure. Are you offering?”

“I mean, yeah, if you want.” Stiles didn’t have a job yet, hadn’t even applied anywhere, so he had time. Plenty of it.

Derek studied him for a long, long moment before re-capping his bottle and handing it to Stiles. “We’ll see,” is all he said before he got back to packing the tote with the books. Stiles estimated at the rate they were going, it would take another forty minutes to pick up the rest of the books.

“Do you think Samuel is coming back for the rest of his books?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know he’s not getting them. He dumped them on me and left me this mess to clean up, so he can go fuck himself.”

Stiles tripped over nothing, shocked at the fact that he just heard Derek swear.

Of course, he has heard him call people bitches, Peter’s nurse came to mind, but Derek tended not to swear, and Stiles hadn’t ever heard that word pass his lips.

“I’m sure he can,” he said, amusement evident in his voice. Derek scrunched his nose at him before lifting both totes onto his shoulders and walking toward his house. Stiles sighed. Of course Derek would take it as Stiles laughing at him. Oh well. At least Stiles could carry some of the books closer to the house so that it would at least take nine minutes for Derek to empty the totes instead of ten.

Derek could only carry one tote into the house at a time, so Stiles just stacked a few books around the second tote. He hadn’t made much progress before Derek returned. He frowned down at the books.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, disappearing back into the house with the full tote.

Hey, it’s something. Stiles left the tote on the porch and went to grab more books.

He’d gotten about half of the remaining books moved when Derek came back. He took a tote to the books still scattered on the sidewalk and shoveled them into the tote while Stiles hurriedly packed the books on the porch into that tote.

Okay, so it wouldn’t take quite another ten minutes. Stiles carried the last of the sidewalk books to the porch and then brought the chair there too, sitting down and finishing his bottle of water. As soon as Derek poked his head out, Stiles threw his water at him.

“Enforced break,” he said.

Derek didn’t argue.

“How are you feeling after all that?” Stiles kind of wanted to see where Derek was stashing all those books, but he didn’t relish the idea of another panic attack. Maybe now that he kind of knew what to expect he could go deeper into the house?

One look at Derek’s face, and he nixed that idea. He didn’t need to invade more than he already had. Dad’s words of wisdom from last night coming back to him. He couldn’t fix Derek just by cleaning his house. He needed therapy. Lots of it.

And he needed people like Samuel to stop dumping his crap on Derek. Obviously, Derek wasn’t in the right headspace to discard so much stuff.

And here came “mom’s stuff” to drop off even more crap.

Derek glanced up when a beat-up maroon Camry rolled to a stop in front of his house, parking in the same spot Samuel had been in nearly an hour ago.

“It’s Andrew,” Derek said, and the tiredness in his voice dragged Stiles down too.

“Can you tell him no?” Stiles asked, following Derek as he stood up and made his way down his drive. Stiles gaped in shock as three Uhaul trucks came into view. “Seriously,” he said weakly. “Tell him no. You have enough stuff, Derek. You can’t fit more into your house.”

“If I don’t, where is he going to take it?”

“To a storage unit,” Stiles said. “Or to the dump. Derek, seriously, this is not your problem. Please don’t make it be your problem.”

Derek sighed. “I gave him my word, Stiles. My word is the only thing that matters about me.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Okay, dude. Are you sure you want three Uhauls worth, though?”

Derek snarled under his breath, and Stiles resolved to drop it. Derek probably already felt horrible about having so much stuff. He didn’t need Stiles to rub it in and make it worse.

Andrew greeted Derek jovially, throwing in a quick hello for Stiles too. Stiles recognized him. He was a deputy under his dad. It was either his day off or he wasn’t working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department anymore.

Andrew also brought along a crew, as if he knew exactly what he was getting Derek into. Stiles stood on the side and seethed at how people were taking advantage of Derek’s nature.

“I can’t watch this,” he said before they got the first truck empty. “Derek, please reconsider this. You have so much more worth than just your word. Please let me help you.”

Derek waved him away. “I’ll catch up with you later, Stiles. Thanks for the help earlier.”

Dismissed, pissed, and more than a little miffed, Stiles stalked to Roscoe, threw his backpack in the backseat, buckled his cake pan in the front seat, and drove to the bakery.

The first bit of good luck he had had all day came in the form of his dad on break, sitting outside and eating a gluten free scone.

“It’s not actually that bad,” Dad said when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “It got a little burnt, so the owners said we could have them.” Stiles stole the rest of it and gave it back after one bite. “How’d it go with Derek?”

“Miserable,” Stiles said. “This whole town is taking advantage of him. You know the guy that was bringing his mom’s stuff to Derek’s?”

“Yeah.”

“It was Andrew Potts.”

“The deputy?”

“Yes. And you know what?” Before his dad could say “what,” Stiles continued, “He brought three Uhauls worth of stuff to Derek’s house! And you wanna know the worst thing?”

This time Dad did say, “What?”

“Derek’s house is completely full. Like, there’s nowhere to walk in there. I don’t even know how he’s living. And I’m pretty sure he lied to me about having a working fridge. Which explains why he only bought, like, junk food yesterday.”

“Wait a minute.” Dad held up his hand until Stiles fell silent. “Are you telling me that Derek Hale’s house is so full of things that he can’t actually live in it? And someone brought even more stuff to him?”

“Pretty sure he’s living in there,” Stiles said, “but yeah, that’s the gist of it. Like, I’d maybe understand if at least some of the things were Derek’s that he’d picked out. Instead, it seems like he takes crap from everyone. Do you know who Samuel is, gray hair, big beard, white SUV?”

“Samuel Johnson,” Dad said. “I think his son used to go to school with Derek.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole. He dumped a million books on Derek, like, two years ago, and then called this morning to get one author back. Then, after Derek was nice enough to bring his books out to be sorted—which I think he did mostly because there’s no room in his house to do it—Mr. Bigshot cut his time short, claimed Derek had two hours when he barely gave him one, and then left the rest of the books for Derek to deal with.”

“And I’m guessing Derek just took them back into his house?” Dad wrapped his scone in a napkin and tucked it into his lunch box.

Stiles clicked his tongue and pointed at him.

“Stiles, you know you can’t help Derek unless he wants it.”

Stiles deflated, sinking onto a seat next to his dad. He put his head on Dad’s shoulder. “I know,” he said, miserable. “I just hate seeing him being used like that and getting hurt too. He got mad at me when I asked him about the cheesecake.”

“Why would you ask about that?”

“Because he gave me back the pan. It looks washed, but there was a lot of cheesecake in there. He couldn’t have eaten it all himself, so he could have stored it, but he claims he shared it.”

“And you’re not mad because he shared it,” Dad guessed.

Stiles clicks his tongue again. “I’m mad because it was obvious he was lying about being able to store it.”

“I know this hurts, Stiles. I know it hurts a lot. I’ve had a few friends that started hoarding for one reason or another. For a while after your mom died, I thought we’d both become hoarders.”

“And then you stopped drinking as much.”

“Because I had you to think about. I almost let you get away from me, but I couldn’t stand to lose you too, so I cleaned up my act. I’m sure you realize that Derek doesn’t have anyone to do that for him. His only living relatives are so far away or he’s not on good terms with them.”

Stiles suppressed the shudder that always came with the mention of Peter Hale. That was one person Stiles had no desire ever to run into again.

Peter had left town after Kate’s second defeat, probably because he’d tried to take the alpha power from Scott, claiming that no such thing as a true alpha existed and that the power in Scott was really the Hale power, usurped by a chance of fate and the weakness of Derek.

Stiles had stepped in then, explaining that if the power were truly the Hales’, then they could take it back without force.

Scott had felt betrayed, as he told Stiles many times afterward, and also left town because he did not want to give up the power despite still not wanting to be a werewolf.

Things had gone downhill after that because, before Peter and Scott had left, Derek walked away from Beacon Hills.

Now Derek was back, Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott in almost six years, and as far as Stiles knew, Derek was still a beta.

“I don’t want to push him,” Stiles said, “but I can’t stand by and let people hurt him. Why doesn’t he think he has any worth?”

“Maybe he’s spent most of his life hearing that he doesn’t have anything to offer anyone,” Dad suggested. “Stiles, you need to ask him about his relationships. It’ll be hard, but he revealed something to me when I was Sheriff, that I think you need to talk to him about.”

“Will he actually talk to me or will he just push me away?”

“You won’t know until you try. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.” He reached around to give Stiles as much of a hug as he could. “I’ll see you at home. Love you, son.”

“Love you too.” Stiles ambled back to Roscoe, turning to wave at his dad before he went into the bakery.

Stiles sighed, letting his head drop back. He could go back to Derek’s, but that wouldn’t result in anything except maybe another panic attack and definitely another argument.

With no other choice, Stiles started driving, taking the turn to his dad’s house instead of going straight.

He wanted so badly to help Derek, but his dad was right. Unless Derek was receptive to receiving that help, nothing Stiles did would actually help him. In fact, he might end up hurting him worse than Andrew with his three Uhaul trucks or Samuel and his books.

It was hard not to go back, but he decided to wait until tomorrow, unless Derek texted sooner.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles frowned as he got closer to Derek’s house. He could see a cruiser parked a block down, and closer, a code enforcement officer’s car.

Really?he thought. Andrew came to drop off his mom’s junk and turned around and called in Derek’s house? What a fucking jerk.

Stiles parked in the same spot as yesterday and ambled up the drive. He found the code enforcement officer, a woman by the name of Tamara Reiss, standing on the porch, writing on a clipboard.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Mr. Hale, but this property is unlivable. Until it’s cleaned out, I’m condemning it.”

“The house isn’t in bad shape,” Stiles protested. Derek stood silent, holding what Stiles assumed were tickets from violations. “look, there’s obviously a lot of stuff inside, but that can be cleared out. The house itself—”

“Is a fire code violation,” Tamara said, pure ice. Derek flinched at her tone. “If Mr. Hale were to suffer an injury, no paramedic team would be able to extract him without significant risk to themselves. There isn’t any noticeable structural damage yet. At the rate of accumulation, though, there is great risk of the weight increasing to a point that the house can no longer remain on its foundation. Therefore, I am deeming this property as unlivable until it is either cleaned up or knocked down. Whichever course of action you wish to seek, Mr. Hale, I leave entirely up to you. I will return in two weeks to check on your progress. If there hasn’t been significant change, then I will have no option but to fully condemn your house. Have a great day.”

She signed her clipboard, pulled a red sticker out of her jacket pocket, and slapped a condemned sticker over the front door. Derek didn’t even wait for her to leave his property before he pried it off and slipped inside. Stiles frowned at the door. He was almost positive that it had been able to open completely yesterday. Now it seemed as if something was blocking it, preventing it from opening fully.

He followed more slowly, stopping in the foyer to take a deep breath. There indeed was more stuff. Stiles shuddered, scuttling sideways until he found the extremely narrow path Derek obviously used to navigate around his house. He passed several rooms, living room, dining room, downstairs bathroom, before he found himself in a kitchen. It was hard to recognize it as such because everything was covered in piles of things. Stiles looked around, trying to slow his racing heart. He could barely breathe, everything jumbling together in front of his eyes and closing in on him.

“Hey,” Derek said next to him, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, a shout escaping his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“I didn’t,” Derek said, put out. “You’re the one that followed me.”

“How the hell can you even find anything in here?” Stiles moved toward where he thought the fridge should be. He was rewarded when he shifted a pile of things and found the handle. He pried at it but could not get it to open. Derek sighed and tried his hand at it too, looking a bit frightened when even his werewolf strength didn’t seem to budge it.

“I guess you were right that it works,” Stiles said, leaning against it and hearing the hum. “But I was right too: you can’t use it.”

“I know I need to clean up.” Derek shrank in on himself, huddling down almost like he was waiting for his things to come and cover him like it had covered the fridge. “Will you help me?”

Stiles looked around at all the things surrounding them. It was overwhelming to say the least. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said. “And anyway, if we just clean it out, who’s to say that it won’t just come back? Three Uhauls, Derek. Is that the most stuff someone has ever dumped on you?”

“No,” Derek admitted without making eye contact. “Someone once dropped off eight Uhauls.”

“Was it Samuel?”

“No.”

Stiles thought for a moment. “Was it Catherine Harper’s nephew?”

Derek didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a leather purse that looked like it had gone ten rounds with a Chihuahua and lost badly.

“Derek,” Stiles said, “I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to help yourself.”

“I know,” Derek said, almost in tears. Stiles scrambled over the junk to stand in front of him, arms raised until Derek nodded once.

Stiles hugged him as tightly as he could. “I might know someone who can talk to you,” he whispered. Derek nodded against his chest.

“Is it okay if I throw out that purse?”

Derek didn’t answer, which Stiles took to mean no. It was all right. They needed baby steps. Agreeing to see a therapist was enough of a baby step today. There was always tomorrow anyway.

“Do you want to come stay with us until we get your house livable?”

“Isn’t your dad going to mind?”

“We’ll ask him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all. We might have some ground rules.”

“No, no one is going to drop things off at your house.” Derek laughed a little. It sounded bitter to Stiles, but that could have just been because Derek’s nose was clogged.

“And we’ll get them trained to stop doing it here too,” he promised, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wasn’t going to be made into a liar.

“Now, what say you go pack a bag of the essentials, like clothes, shaving supplies, anything else you think you might need for at least a week.”

Derek straightened, wiping at his face. “Thanks, Stiles. I’m sorry I’m being such a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Stiles automatically said. “That’s something we’ll have to work on. You have so much worth, Derek. I just wish you could see it.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Derek frowned down at their feet, letting the purse drop back down to the floor. “Do you need help getting out?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just a little too tight for me in here.”

Derek held out his hand, and Stiles took it. Together, they shimmied through the stacked paths, stepping over things never meant to be stepped on until Derek deposited Stiles by the front door.

“Are you positive your dad won’t mind me staying with you?”

“I’ll call him to double check right now,” Stiles said. “Why don’t you go get that bag? I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready.”

Derek nodded sharply and slipped back into the house while Stiles sat on the porch and dialed his dad’s number.

Since Dad was still at work, it just went to voicemail. Stiles filled him in quickly, told him they’d talk more at supper, and then he hung up.

Derek was ready shortly after that, with a single ratty backpack hanging off one shoulder, and they walked across the road to Roscoe. “Thank you,” Derek said softly as they pulled away from the curb.

“Hey, no worries. That’s what friends are for.”

“Are we friends or acquaintances?”

“I’d like to think that we’re friends,” Stiles said. “And I hope you see us that way too. If not now, then soon.”

“I think I’d like that,” Derek said, very quiet. He didn’t say anything else during the drive to the Stilinski house, but Stiles wasn’t worried. It was a lot to take in for one day, to be told he couldn’t stay in his own home, uprooted because people wouldn’t stop dumping stuff on him, thinking that he was going back on his word when really he was very overwhelmed, to having to move in with someone he wasn’t entirely certain was a friend. Yeah, Derek had to be feeling a little rough right now.

Stiles could give him some space and time before approaching him with his therapist’s information. He could only hope that Derek was still as open to help in a few hours or days as he was now.

Dad had called and left a voicemail by the time they got to the house, and Stiles played it, knowing Derek could hear every word.

Dad confirmed that Derek was welcome to stay with them as long as he needed, and that Dad still had some pull on the force if Derek wanted help cleaning up.

“I don’t know if he has as much pull as he thinks he does,” Stiles said, putting away his phone, “or if the deputies think they’re helping keep him out of trouble by doing what he wants.”

“He’s a likable man,” Derek replied. “They probably just want to keep tabs on him because they enjoyed working for him.”

“Ah, there is that. Anyway.” Stiles pointed at the house. “I’m in my old room, but we have a spare room that Dad converted to an actual guest room when I was in college. I’m not sure if he thought I’d bring some friends home with me or what, but it’s there, and now it’s yours.”

“You didn’t have friends in college?”

Stiles shrugged. “I did, but no one I was close enough with to invite home for break.”

“What about Scott?” Derek snapped his lips shut as soon as he said the name.

Stiles shrugged again. “We aren’t really close anymore,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I mean, we had a pretty big fight the last time we talked.”

“I can imagine.”

Stiles didn’t know how much of what happened after Kate was defeated again Derek remembered. He was pretty out of it by the time they got to him.

“Anyway. Let’s get you inside and settled. Do you want anything for lunch or are you…?”

Derek seemed so small sitting in Stiles’ passenger seat, clinging to his backpack. Small wasn’t a qualifier Stiles had ever thought he’d use in conjunction with Derek, but here they were.

“Do you need some more time?” Stiles asked gently. Derek shuddered, shoving the door open and sliding out.

Stiles jumped out, landing lightly while Derek stood still, like he was waiting for the concrete to swallow him.

He trailed after Stiles slowly as he headed up the walk and unlocked the door. Stiles waved him through and then had to step around him when Derek stopped in his tracks.

“I’m getting some water. Want some?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer. Derek was bowstring-taut, getting ready to fire something, and Stiles thought it might be panic.

The water trick was something Stiles’ third grade teacher used to do when he started having panic attacks in her class. He couldn’t focus on panicking at the same time as drinking.

He returned to the entryway and pressed a cool glass into Derek’s hands, taking his backpack at the same time.

Derek stared at the water like he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, but Stiles was relieved to see him take a small sip. A few moments later, Derek had finished the water and was looking around the room with more alertness. Stiles put the glass in the sink and then started up the stairs.

He paused halfway, and asked, “Wanna see your room?” Derek nodded, following him up the stairs.

The guest room had been a nursery when Stiles was a baby, then it was his mom’s office, then it was locked up tight while both he and his dad processed their grief, and then, after all of that, Dad had finally unlocked it, aired it out, and painted it light green.

Dad had invested in a queen size bed frame and mattress and bedding that matched the walls. He’d commissioned a desk and chair from a local woodworker, adding a dresser later when he realized that the closet was too small to comfortably fit more than a suitcase and a few hangers.

Overall, the room was nice. And it had been therapeutic for his dad to redo it. Stiles had taken his hint and had repainted his room last summer, changing out some of his Fathead stickers for more sophisticated posters of indie films Stiles had no intention of ever watching, and updating his furniture from the pressboard crap at department stores.

Derek poked his head into the guest room. “It’s nice,” he said. “Like a hotel.”

“Oh!” Stiles ran to the bathroom, digging under the counter until he found the shoebox his dad kept samples in. He came back to the guest room and pressed unopened bottles of shampoo and conditioner into Derek’s hand. He added a tiny bar of soap too.

“I wasn’t sure if you were able to bring any of those things with you,” he said, eyeing the backpack with outright suspicion, “but we have, like, a million of those things, so feel free to use them if you want.”

“Thank you.” Derek closed his fingers around the toiletries. He picked up his backpack and stepped into the room. “Thanks for everything, Stiles.” He shut the door.

Stiles didn’t want to bother Derek anymore, so he headed downstairs and to the kitchen where he pulled out the ingredients to make a pot pie. He’d recently mastered savory crusts, and Dad enjoyed anything with added fat, so supper should go over well.

And if Derek wanted anything else, well, there were a bunch of takeout menus stashed in a drawer by the landline his dad insisted they keep for emergencies.

Stiles was just as insistent that in an emergency, they wouldn’t remember to use the landline. It wasn’t a fight he tried terribly hard to win, mostly because he knew they had the same number they’d always had, and it was one more tie to their past that Dad wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

Derek ambled downstairs after about thirty minutes, freshly showered. He settled at the kitchen table, hunching forward like he wasn’t warm enough. Weird. It was maybe in the upper 70s in here. Stiles himself was over-warm, although he attributed that more to moving around than the fact that his dad didn’t believe in running the AC until the thermometer was about ready to break 90.

“Are you okay?”

Derek began rocking back and forth.

Stiles stared at him, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. It took far too long for him to realize that this was another panic attack. He immediately dusted off his hands, abandoning his crust. It would probably be ruined, but that was okay. It wasn’t nearly as important as Derek.

Stiles pulled a chair around to sit next to him, laying a hand first on the table top and then on Derek’s knee after an almost imperceptible nod.

Fine tremors raced up Derek’s legs, jerking the muscles underneath Stiles’ palm. He began rubbing soothing circles while providing a counterpoint by poking at the soft skin of Derek’s wrist.

Slowly, Derek came to a stop, staring down at where Stiles had begun poking him in rhythm to Foreigner’s Hot Blooded.

“Are you playing music on me?” he asked slowly, voice tight with the effort to not let it shake.

Stiles tapped a little faster. “Yes?”

Derek concentrated, his eyebrows sloping down while his mouth opened enough to show off his front teeth. Stiles suppressed the urge to make a bunny joke while Derek worked through the pattern in his head.

“I give up,” he finally said. “I don’t know what song that is.”

“It’s Hot Blooded,” Stiles told him. “Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?”

A quick shake of Derek’s head was all Stiles got, but it was more than he would have gotten six years ago.

“Okay. Do you want to help me make supper? We can order something for lunch after.”

Derek held up his hands, claws sticking out and then retracting quickly. “Yeah. I can help. What do you need me to do?”

Stiles smiled, patting Derek’s leg. “I’m making the crust now. It’ll have to rest for at least an hour before we can roll it out and put it in the dish. In the meantime, how do you feel about dicing up some beef?”

Stiles washed his hands again, pulling out a cutting board and a knife for Derek, who also washed his hands.

“This is one of my favorite recipes to make.” Stiles restarted the dough. “I found the recipe online and switched it around until it wasn’t nearly as unhealthy.”

Derek looked down at the beef he was cutting and then at Stiles’ ball of dough he was currently covering with cling-film. “I didn’t know pot pie could be healthy.”

“I said not as unhealthy,” Stiles protested, “not entirely healthy.”

“What do you want for lunch?” Derek asked. “You said something about ordering?”

“Yeah.” Stiles dusted his hands off and then washed them thoroughly, picking at the cruddy paste caked into his fingernails. “There’s a pizza place that always delivers inside of half an hour. Or we could get some Chinese. Oh! There’s a new Indian place that just opened.” Stiles dried off his hands and grabbed the stack of menus off the table where the cordless handset lived. He came back, flipping through the menus until he found the one for Dehli Rose. “Oh, no delivery,” he said, disappointed.

“That’s okay. What else do you have?”

Stiles fanned the menus so Derek could see them. It took a few minutes, but they settled on Italian. Stiles called in the order while Derek finished cutting up the beef and set it aside in a bowl before cleaning up the counter and washing the knife and cutting board.

“The food will be here in about forty minutes. That gives us plenty of time to make the filling.”

Buoyed by the way things were turning out so well, Stiles settled in at the stove, his smile stretching his mouth wide enough to hurt as Derek stood by his side, watching every move with a concentration he usually reserved for mysteries.

It was every bit as flattering as Stiles had ever imagined it to be. Not that he’d spent time imagining Derek studying him. Not at all.

He shook himself and re-focused on the stove. There would be time enough to examine whatever the fuck that was later.

For now, he wanted to enjoy every second he had with Derek before he inevitably pulled away.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Lunch was fantastic. Stiles couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting he and Derek had ever been in. They’d finished the wine, plated the food on the good dishes, and sat at the table, talking.

Well, Stiles kept talking. Derek just sipped at his wine and studied Stiles with that same intense gaze he’d had while they were cooking.

It wasn’t only the wine bringing a flush to Stiles’ skin, but he kept drinking for an excuse.

He wasn’t certain where the sudden flash of heat came from when he noticed that Derek was staring at him, but it was a welcome change in how Stiles usually felt whenever Derek crossed his mind.

That is to say, usually pissed off and vaguely angry. Derek had a talent for eliciting those feelings in people, Stiles included, even if he wanted to climb him like a tree most days. Hey, Derek had inspired more than a few jerk-off sessions in high school and college.

After the second glass of wine, Stiles realized he was fucked when Derek half-rose out of his seat to reach for the pasta carbonara and his shirt rode up, exposing a line of tanned, furred skin that made Stiles’ dick take interest.

Derek sat down with a thump, mouth hanging open, the serving spoon dangling from lax fingers.

“I’m sorry!” Stiles apologized, fanning his hand in the air, like that was going to do anything to disperse the obvious lust pheromones he’d just accidentally smacked Derek with. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Huh?” Derek slowly shook his head.

Okay, that was weird. He didn’t seem to be reacting in any way Stiles had ever seen before. Suddenly worried, Stiles hurried around the table. He reached Derek just as he slumped sideways. Stiles yelped, shoving himself underneath Derek’s side, trying to hold him up.

Two hundred pounds of werewolf was a bit more than Stiles could handle, and he had to let Derek go. At least it was a controlled fall and Derek didn’t hit his head.

Stiles didn’t know what had caused it. It couldn’t have been him, right? So what else was there?

Maybe it was something he’d put in the pot pie? But if that was the case, why would it take this long to cause Derek to react?

No, more likely it was because of the food they’d just eaten.

“Aw, fuck,” Stiles swore. “Am I going to have to make you puke?”

Derek, of course, didn’t answer, too busy being unconscious. Great.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, prayed his fingers were clean enough, and shoved his index and middle finger down Derek’s throat.

Within seconds, Derek was retching, pasta carbonara mixed with wine and garlic bread spewing out across the floor. Stiles jumped back. He didn’t want to leave Derek unattended if he was just going to pass out again, so he sat at his back, rolled him into the recovery position, and just listened as Derek wheezed and gagged weakly for a few minutes.

Once it seemed like Derek was recovering, he stood up and grabbed some rags to wipe away the sick.

“What just happened?” Derek asked thickly when Stiles handed him a glass of water and a tissue.

Stiles shrugged. “You tell me.”

Derek wiped his nose and then blew it, grimacing at the particles mixed in his snot. “I feel like a truck just ran me over.”

“Have you ever been run over by a truck?”

Derek stared at him, any pretense of bravado ruined by the fact that his eyes and nose were still streaming.

“Of course you have,” Stiles answered himself. He sighed. “Either you were poisoned, or you had an allergic reaction. Or you were poisoned to have an allergic reaction.”

“Was it something in the food?”

“Couldn’t take a chance. So, sorry, but I induced vomiting.”

Derek shook his head, tossing back the water like a shot. “Thanks,” he said as soon as he swallowed. “I’m sorry I ruined lunch.”

“No, I’m sorry you had a reaction. I don’t think it was on purpose.” Stiles knew the owners of the restaurant. They were an older couple who prided themselves on their longevity in a town that did its best to keep up with the hipsters of the big cities. They weren’t supernatural, as far as Stiles knew, but he also knew there were a lot of plants that could harm even humans if they were used incorrectly.

“I’m sure you’re right. I’ve never eaten there before. My mom wouldn’t let us, but she didn’t tell us why.”

“Well, that’s on your mom.” At Derek’s incredulous look, Stiles shrugged. “I’m sorry, but who tells someone ‘Don’t eat there,’ but doesn’t tell them why?”

He sighed again and went to the phone in the entryway. He dug through the menus until he found the one for the Italian place. Shame. Dad really liked their Alfredo sauce.

Stiles neatly tore the menu in half and then deposited it into their indoor recycling bin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Derek said. His voice was nasally and he kept clearing his throat. He also seemed a little green around the gills, like he wasn’t quite done purging. Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom.

“Of course I did,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. If we really miss their food, we can go there and get it. Until I know for sure what made you react like that, their food will not pass our doors.”

To make his point, he gathered up the dishes, scraping the leftovers into a bag that he immediately tied off and dumped in the outside trash bin. Then he washed the dishes, sticking them into the dishwasher for an extra sanitation cycle. Derek was sitting at the table again when he mopped the soiled floors with boiling water, ignoring Derek’s shocked face as he poured Pine-Sol disinfectant on it and mopped it with a fresh mop head.

By the time he was done, there was not a single trace of the food anywhere. Nor was there anything left of his lust, but for some reason, there was a strong desire to hug Derek and tell him that things would be okay.

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asked as he sat down again. “Is that something we can do now?”

“Talk about what?”

Stiles blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but this seems like something we should really talk about. I mean, you just had a reaction to something. Shouldn’t we at least try to figure out what it was before it happens again?”

“It won’t happen again.” Derek ran his hands over his head, scratching at his scalp in a way that reminded Stiles strongly of how he felt after eating something he had an allergic reaction to. He also started sniffling, rubbing at his nose.

“I’m sure it won’t,” he said soothingly, “but still, why would the Cabellos make something a werewolf couldn’t eat? They shouldn’t even be aware of werewolves, right?”

“We don’t know that they did it on purpose.”

“You’re right; we don’t.” Stiles snapped his fingers, pulling out his cell phone. “We can ask them, though. I’m sure they’d appreciate the heads up that whatever they’re doing to their food is making their customers have reactions.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It could have been an honest mistake,” he argued. “My mom never let us eat there, so I’m guessing she knew about any ingredients they used.”

“That puts the onus back on your mom,” Stiles pointed out. “You realize that, right? If she knew what they did to their food, she should have told you.”

“I guess.”

“Well, that kind of royally fucked the day, didn’t it?”

“At least we know I can eat your pot pie later.”

Small comfort that was, although Stiles bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say it out loud. Derek didn’t need sarcasm. He might need more medical attention, though. “Yeah. Say, how’re you feeling? Are you healing just fine or should we…?” Stiles let his voice trail off under Derek’s weighty gaze.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “Thanks.”

Stiles cleared his throat, choking on the awkwardness of the situation. “Well,” he coughed, “I think I should go job search some more. Why don’t you rest, and we’ll reconnect in about an hour to fully assemble the pie?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me already?” Derek smiled, so Stiles thought he probably meant it as a joke. Too bad Stiles’ brain couldn’t accept it like that. Some things were very literal for him, and people joking about leaving or being driven away hitting hard in a way almost no other words could.

“I would never try to get rid of you,” he said. “I-I—” no more words came, and Stiles fell silent, watching as Derek studied him, neither of them moving for a full five minutes.

Finally, Derek shook himself. “Stiles, I know you think you’re falling in love with me, but you aren’t.”

Stiles pointed at him. “You can’t tell me what I am or am not doing.”

He knew on some level that he’d always been attracted to Derek. It was half of the reason he’d asked Scott to confirm if werewolves could smell arousal. Scott had never confirmed, but hanging out with Derek had taught Stiles just how much at least Derek relied on his nose, so in the end, he’d gotten his answer.

He’d also worked to bury any feelings he might have for Derek because at the time it was an inconvenience to be in love with him. Stiles wanted to go back in time and slap himself.

How could he have been so stupid? Derek didn’t deserve people thinking that loving him was an inconvenience. He didn’t deserve the hand he’d been dealt. He also didn’t deserve Stiles sweeping his past actions under the rug while he tried to figure out how to woo him.

“Look, I don’t know where you get off telling me that I only think I’m falling in love with you when I’ve had eight years to do that all on my own.”

Derek’s face twisted interestingly, first with confusion, then derision, and then finally settling into the soft, caring face Stiles had rarely seen before Kate Argent returned from the dead to permanently wipe it off his face.

The fact that it was back and it was being directed at Stiles made his heart trip.

“Eight years?” Derek repeated softly. “You can’t have been in love with me for eight years.”

“Falling in love,” Stiles corrects, weakly. “I know it’s unconventional, but—” Something came over Stiles then, like a wash of cold water, and he spluttered for a moment. When he resurfaced, he couldn’t remember what he was about to say or even what had happened during the last twenty-five minutes.

Derek shuddered too, shivering hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“What was that?” Stiles asked. Derek didn’t answer. “Hey, are you hungry? I think the dough is about ready to be rolled, and after the pie is assembled, we can eat the leftovers.”

Derek wrinkled his nose. “Does it smell like Pine-Sol in here?” He sneezed into his elbow.

Stiles inhaled. “Huh, yeah. I guess it does. Does Pine-Sol always make you sneeze?”

“It’s just the chemical composition of cleaners. I’m okay with natural pine. It takes a while to kick in though.” Derek held up a finger before burying his face into his elbow again and releasing several loud sneezes. He sniffled miserably once he finished and Stiles handed him a box of tissues.

“Let’s go outside for a bit, let the room air out, okay?”

The soft, private smile Derek gave him right before he covered his face with a wad of tissues and started sneezing again made Stiles’ heart give a little contented blip. Huh. Apparently his control was slipping. Normally he didn’t think of Derek in that way because he knew a little of Derek’s past and didn’t want to be as bad as his exes—not that Stiles thought of them as Derek’s ex-girlfriends. No, they were something much worse, and he was glad that at least Kate was back in the ground where she belonged.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you agreed to stay with us,” he told Derek as they stepped out onto the front porch.

Quietly, from behind his tissues, Derek murmured his agreement. Louder, he added, “I’m glad you haven’t given up on me quite yet.”

“Oh,” Stiles laughed, “I won’t ever do that. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“You say that now.”

Stiles bumped their shoulders together. “And I’ll say it ‘til the end of time.” Fervently he grabbed Derek’s face, locking their eyes together, “Derek S. Hale, I will always stand by you. I’ll always be in your corner. If there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask and I will be there. Do you understand?” Derek nodded. “Good.” Stiles let him go. “Now, have I ever shown you my dad’s roses?”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad came home at 6:00. The pot pie had been cooling for half an hour.

Derek was upstairs in the guest room, dozing. He’d crashed shortly after the tour of the renovated backyard, and had accepted a Benadryl.

Stiles had prepared the pie and baked it. He’d divided his time between job searching, reading up on werewolf physiology, and trying to figure out what ingredient the Cabellos had used that made Derek react that way.

Dad inhaled appreciatively when he stepped into the kitchen to wash his hands and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge.

He drained it quickly, tossing it into the sink for later. “Supper smells good.” He handed Stiles a large bag of food from the bakery. “I figured it was probably a good idea to stock up on food since we’ve got another mouth to feed.”

“I’m sure Derek will appreciate it.” Stiles separated the items in the bag and put them into Tupperware. “Why don’t you go get him up? He had an allergic reaction to the Pine-Sol I used.”

“Oh, what’d you clean?”

“The dining room. At least, that’s the only place that smelled like it.”

“And werewolves are allergic to Pine-Sol?” Dad looked between the doorway and Stiles, and Stiles swore he could see his mind spinning.

“I guess,” Stiles said. “Derek mentioned that it was because of the chemicals or something. He also said real pine doesn’t bother him.”

“Interesting. So, what needed Pine-Sol in the dining room?”

Stiles frowned at him. He didn’t remember cleaning anything in there, but it was obvious from the smell. “The floor,” he guessed.

“Why?”

Stiles glared at his dad. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know!”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Oh my God, what is with you tonight?” He waved his hands in front of his dad’s face. “You are not the Sheriff anymore! Stop investigating me!”

“I’m not investigating you,” Dad said calmly. “I’m just trying to figure out why you had to clean something that you don’t even remember. If anything, I’m interrogating you.”

“Stop interrogating me!” Stiles fisted his hands on his hips. “Just go get Derek up.” He sighed, suddenly drained. “I think we might have eaten something too, but I can’t remember. We ordered from Cabellos, but I didn’t find any leftovers or anything.”

“So, I can investigate?” Dad’s eyes glinted and he all but danced out into the dining room. Stiles didn’t think it would be too far to find a deerstalker cap and a magnifying glass and let him roleplay Sherlock Holmes. Dad had missed being the Sheriff. Maybe this would satisfy whatever urge he might still have about running for the upcoming reelection in two years.

Stiles set the kitchen table. Last he’d smelled with his human nose, the dining room still stank of Pine-Sol, so it was going to be impossible for Derek to be in that room. Hell, it might be difficult for him to be in the kitchen. They might have to go all the way outside. Thankfully Dad had redone the back patio and stuck a table and some chairs out there. They’d have to steal a chair from the kitchen, but that would be the least of their problems.

Dad came back, leading Derek. “I think we might have to postpone supper,” he said grimly. Derek was still sniffling, and his nose was rubbed raw and his eyes were swollen almost completely shut.

“Derek?” Stiles’ heart skipped a few beats. Derek mumbled under his breath, wheezing as he lifted a tissue to his nose. “Hey. Um, we’re going to get you some help, okay?”

“It’ll be okay,” Dad said. “Let’s go to the hospital. I’ll drive.”

Derek stumbled after him, and Stiles brought up the rear.

As they passed the outside trash bin, Derek retched. Dad got a hard look in his eyes. “Here.” He tossed his keys at Stiles and detoured to the bin. “Found your Cabellos.”

Stiles got Derek into the passenger seat, buckling him in. “Are you going to drive still?” he asked Dad.

“Uh, no. You go. I’m going to look into this food a little bit more.”

“Why? What’s the deal with the food?” Something was missing, something blocked. It made Stiles’ blood pressure rise. Not being able to remember things he had done, not being in control of his own body still caused nightmares.

Derek groaned, rolling his head to the side so he could stare at Stiles with his slitted eyes. He was starting to shift, fur and fangs sprouting. Stiles swallowed his rising fear and punched the gas.

Traffic was light, and there were no deputies patrolling, so Stiles had them at the hospital inside of fifteen minutes when they lived forty minutes away.

Derek propelled himself from the vehicle before Stiles had it in park. He fell flat on his face.

“I’m beginning to think this is more serious than just an allergic reaction,” Stiles said under his breath as he put his dad’s truck in park and turned it off. Derek was already on hands and knees when Stiles got to him. He shoved his shoulder under Derek’s chest and used his body to leverage him all the way up.

“Some kind of wolfsbane,” Derek said, through his very swollen lips.

“So, poisoned,” Stiles said back. Through the door, the front desk nurse gaped at them, staring at the way Derek’s eyes kept flickering between human and electric blue. Stiles didn’t wait for instruction, moving as fast as he could considering he was hauling Derek’s almost dead weight. “He’s having a severe allergic reaction. He took some Benadryl about three hours ago, and that’s it for meds. We think it might be poisoning but he’s reacting as if it’s an allergy.”

He stopped at the entrance to the emergency room, waiting for the nurse to buzz them through.

“Please! He’s dying!”

The door opened and two nurses took Derek from him.

“Wait here,” he was told as the door shut in his face.

Stiles turned to the front desk nurse, and she shrugged as if to say sorry, flashing beta gold eyes at him. Stiles appreciated her gesture because it meant that Derek was safe here.

“You can have a seat over there.” She pointed at a bank of frankly uncomfortable looking chairs. Stiles didn’t care. He couldn’t sit anyway, he was too agitated. Instead, he patted at his pockets until he came up with his phone. He needed to speak to his dad.

Dad was already calling him by the time he fumbled the phone up to his face. He answered it, trying to ignore the way his finger was shaking.

The panic attack would have to wait. He couldn’t afford it. Not now. Please, not now.

“Dad.”

“Stiles, I’m on my way to Cabellos to find out what they put into the food. How’s Derek?”

“Not good, Dad. He’s inside. I’m stuck in the waiting room. What if he dies? What if they don’t let me in? He said it felt like wolfsbane, but, Dad, I’ve seen Derek when he’s been hit by wolfsbane. It doesn’t act like this.”

“It could be a different strain or maybe a different plant entirely. How often has Derek been poisoned by wolfsbane to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is wolfsbane poisoning?”

“I don’t know, but I do know it’s too many times.”

“Stiles, you ate some of the food too, right?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t react.”

“Or maybe you did, and you don’t remember.”

Stiles froze. His breath whistled in once and then stopped, choking him deep in his chest where his heart was trying to beat despite the absolute fear that had just iced him. Through numb lips, he asked something he couldn’t hear. Dad responded, a burst of warmth against his ear, but it did nothing to thaw him.

“Stiles!” Dad shouted. “Stiles! Put me on speaker right now!”

With no motor function, Stiles wanted to tell his dad that was an impossible task.

“Stiles!”

The front desk nurse’s face snapped into view, and Stiles desperately focused on her blue eyelids and dimpled cheeks. She was holding a paper cup of water, and she pressed it into his hand, guiding it up to his face so he could try drinking a little of it.

As soon as the first sip went down, Stiles grabbed the cup with both hands and sucked greedily at it. The nurse took his phone.

“Hi, my name is Emma. You are? Okay, John, he’s coming around. I’m just going to have him sit down, we’ll get him assessed. What was that? I don’t know, but I can ask. Are you sure?”

Her voice faded out, and Stiles lowered the empty cup. She was still talking, but he couldn’t hear her.

She walked away and came back with another cup of water. Stiles drank it too.

“Can you breathe with me?” she asked, setting both cups on the floor. When had Stiles sat down?

“I…can…try…” Every breath was labored, and Stiles rubbed at his aching chest, wishing his heart would stop trying to pound its way out. He hiccupped and leaned forward, inhaling through his nose for as long as he could. Shakily, he let it out through his mouth.

“Good,” the nurse said. “Again.”

Within minutes, Stiles was breathing normally, but he felt drained. It was like his muscles had decided they needed to go on strike right now. Jelly legs wouldn’t support him and he didn’t think he’d be able to make it far before his head decided a migraine was a nice addition to his shit sundae.

“Can you walk?”

He shook his head and then held it, groaning as his brain rattled around.

“Okay. I’ll get you a gurney. Just stay here. And here, your dad is pretty worried right now. I bet he’d like it if you could talk to him just a little.”

Stiles took the phone and automatically pressed it against his ear.

“Stiles?” Dad sounded like he was crying. “Stiles, are you okay? I’m coming to the hospital. I’m almost there. Okay, son? Hang on.”

“I’m here,” Stiles whispered. “I’m going to be okay, I think. It was just a panic attack.”

“A pretty bad one,” Dad said. “Look, I’m about a minute away. Are they taking you back now?”

“I think so.” Stiles looked up to see the nurse leading another nurse and a gurney toward him. “Can I keep talking to my dad?” he asked.

“For now,” the second nurse said. He stopped the gurney, kicking the brakes on, and helped Stiles up and onto it. As soon as he was securely on it, the nurse unlocked the brakes and wheeled him into the ER and into a bay, pulling a curtain around him.

Stiles pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Dad.”

“I’m almost there, I promise. Just hang on, okay?”

Hanging on seemed to be the only thing Stiles could do, so he just held the phone, listening to his dad breathing on the other end of the phone. He didn’t even realize it was still on speaker phone until Dad burst into the bay. Dad took Stiles’ phone, turning it off and tucking it into a pocket, a feat to be sure because as soon as Stiles saw him, he launched himself at him, hugging him tightly.

“I don’t know where Derek is,” Stiles said into Dad’s neck. “I don’t know if he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Dad murmured, stroking Stiles’ hair and back with a gentle hand. “I sent a text to Deaton and Argent to get information on what you were dosed with. I also sent Parrish to the Cabellos to get their recipe so we can see if there’s any ingredients on there that shouldn’t be.”

“For now,” the nurse who’d wheeled Stiles to the bay broke in, “we need to get you tested. We also, depending on your symptoms, might have to pump your stomach.”

Stiles clung tighter to Dad. “I love you, Dad.”

Dad ruffled his hair. “I love you too, son. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, okay?”

Stiles nodded, letting Dad help him lie back. Dad kept a hand wrapped around Stiles’, the warmth of it pulling most of Stiles’ fear from him.

He wouldn’t truly feel okay until he could see Derek for himself, fully healed and telling Stiles that it wasn’t anything to worry about, but for now, he was grateful for his dad sticking around.

Holding onto his father’s hand, Stiles was able to relax enough to halfway drift off, the adrenaline spike leaving him cold and tired in its wake.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles sat up when the doctor stopped in. Dad was texting on his phone, poking at the keys with a single index finger.

“Good news,” the doctor said, handing Stiles a stack of papers. “Your blood screen came back clean. Whatever you ate, you suffered no lasting effects. You’re free to go. I’ll get my nurse to come back with the discharge papers.” He wagged his finger at Stiles. “Now, just because you’ve got a clean bill of health, it doesn’t mean you don’t need some rest. Take it easy for the next couple of days. If you start to feel off again, don’t hesitate to come back.”

“And what about Derek?” Stiles asked.

The doctor frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss another patient with you.”

Stiles wanted to argue, but he didn’t think getting the doctor to violate HIPPA laws was worth his time with his former-Sheriff dad standing next to him.

“That’s fine,” Dad said, before Stiles had a chance to say anything. “Thanks, Doc.” As soon as the man left, Dad held up his phone. “Argent thinks he knows what happened to Derek. The good news is he’ll be fine. Deaton is stopping by with an antidote.” Stiles swiped his dad’s phone. Argent, Chris, in Dad’s phone as Reformed Hunter, thought that one of the ingredients the Cabellos added was part of a love potion. IT’S SOMETHING, Chris added in all caps, THAT WEREWOLVES ARE HIGHLY ALLERGIC TO.

As Stiles went to hand the phone back to his dad, it buzzed. He quickly lifted it again.

 IF ANTIDOTE DOESN’T WORK CALL ME I’M ON MY WAY.

Another buzz

Sorry. Don’t know why my phone got stuck. Coming as quick as I can. Let me know if things change.

Dad took his phone back, tapping an answer. “Okay. So, you wanna see if they’ll let us in to see him if he’s been admitted?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, sarcastically. He couldn’t help it: he may have been six years older since he’d first used it, but sarcasm was still his go-to for defense.

“Does that mean no?” Dad raised an eyebrow. Sheepishly, Stiles shook his head. “All right then, let’s go find him.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

In the end, they weren’t able to see Derek. He hadn’t been admitted yet, and no one was willing to tell them when or if he would be. In the interest of not being banned from the hospital—at least, that was the excuse he used—Dad led Stiles out to his vehicle.

“We’ll try later,” Dad said, reassuringly. Stiles didn’t answer. He buckled his seatbelt and stared straight ahead. It was his fault Derek had nearly died. He’d been the one to suggest Cabellos. He’d wanted Derek near him.

Derek wasn’t the only one cursed to have those he cared about injured.

“Do you feel like talking?” Dad asked when he parked in front of the house and shut off the engine.

Stiles opened his door, unbuckling his seatbelt, and stepping out. He looked pointedly at his dad until he unlocked the front door for him and then headed upstairs. Still not a word had passed his lips.

Dad sighed heavily. “I’ll be down here when you’re ready to talk,” he said. “I’ll get you when Argent gets to town.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Stiles muttered to himself, closing his bedroom door. He didn’t lock it, but he did kick off his shoes and climb onto his bed. He didn’t think he’d sleep, but almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his limbs grew too heavy to move, and he drifted off.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles woke up when his bed depressed suddenly.

He sat up, arms flailing as he panicked, hitting a warm body and recoiling.

“Ouch,” Derek intoned blandly.

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “They let you out already?” he asked.

Derek shrugged. He climbed off the bed and dropped heavily into Stiles’ desk chair. “Once Deaton gave me the antidote, there wasn’t any reason for me to stay at the hospital.”

“So does that mean Chris Argent is in town?”

Derek shrugged again. “I guess. Your dad let me in on his way out. I just assumed he was going to work.”

Stiles studied him. Derek looked haggard, as if the antidote had done only enough to stop him from getting worse. He wasn’t healing, or if he was, it was slow-going.

“Are you okay?”

Derek’s shoulders rolled in a half shrug. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, worrying at it while he refused to look at Stiles.

“Do you feel up to starting to clear out your house?”

Derek shook his head, jerking on the thread to break it. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and then tossed it into the wastebasket.

Stiles refused to be impressed. He could do that with a bit of practice. Derek used to play basketball, after all. It wasn’t that special.

“I think I just want to sleep,” Derek said, but he made no move to stand up and go to the guest room.

Stiles rolled his eyes and patted the bed next to him. “Plenty of room here,” he said, nonchalantly. Derek bowed his head before wearily climbing to his feet. He shuffled forward and face-planted onto the bed. Stiles stifled a smile as he grabbed Derek’s shoulders and worked him fully onto the bed. Derek must have taken his shoes off when he got in, because he was just in socks. His shirt was horribly wrinkled, his jeans a little worn, and his hair mussed. Stiles knuckled at his heart, trying to stave off the fondness he felt kindling there.

Derek didn’t need to deal with Stiles’ affection right now.

Derek turned his head, opening one eye to peer up at him. “I don’t mind it, you know,” he said softly.

“Mind what?”

Derek wriggled his visible eyebrow. “I like you too,” he said around a yawn.

“Bold,” Stiles said. He tugged at the blanket until he freed enough of it to drape over Derek. Then, he lied down again, one arm crooked under his head, the other between his and Derek’s bodies.

It was comforting just lying here, listening to Derek’s breaths get slower and deeper. It calmed Stiles enough that he started drifting too. Just before he tumbled back into sleep, he felt Derek’s fingers curl around his loosely.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles woke up alone, his bed still bowed as if Derek was lying there, but the blanket was cold. He’d been gone a while then. Sitting up and stretching helped dispel some of the fatigue still clinging to him, and he slipped off the bed, bending slowly at the waist and letting his spine lengthen until the muscle around it ached in a nice, warming pain. He straightened in the same, slow manner, breathing deeply.

Once that was done, he grabbed a change of clothes and took a quick shower.

His hair was still dripping by the time he dressed and wandered downstairs.

There, he found his dad, Chris Argent, and Derek sitting in the living room. Derek looked a little better than he had before their nap, with more color back in his cheeks.

Stiles pushed at him until he moved over enough to allow him to sit next to him on the sofa.

Dad was in his armchair and Chris was next to him on a chair dragged in from the dining room.

“You won’t have to worry about them doing that ever again,” Chris was saying. His face was set in a grimace, distaste and anger evident. “They fully understand what they did was wrong, and they don’t plan to do it again.”

“If they do…?” Dad asked.

Chris shook his head. “They won’t like the consequences. They understand that they got off easy this time. Next time, they won’t be so lucky.”

“You didn’t maim them, did you?” Stiles asked. He’d gathered that they were talking about the Cabellos and their poisoning of him and Derek.

Chris snorted. “Much as I wanted to,” he said, “I did not. But that won’t stop me from coming back and kicking their asses if they ever try to pull that shit again. They were incredibly lucky that most of their meddling was put down to food poisoning and not actual dosing.”

“So, they definitely whammied us with a love potion?”

Derek shuddered, hard, and Stiles clamped a hand onto his knee, which surprisingly, Derek did not remove.

“Essentially, yes,” Chris said. “I’d heard of it being done before, but usually they need an element of magic and nature.”

“Like a druid,” Derek mumbled, low enough that only Stiles seemed able to hear.

“Like a darach,” Chris continued, shooting an apologetic glance at Derek’s bowed head.

Derek shivered again, hands clenched to his sides. Blood ran from his palms, and Stiles noticed that he’d pierced his own skin with his claws.

Like a darach echoed in his head, and suddenly, he shivered too. All these years he’d thought Derek just had bad judgment when it came to his sexual partners. Instead, he realizes, too late, that Derek had been roofied with magic. Love potioned without the potion. Forced into a relationship he likely couldn’t say no to even if he understood what was happening at the time. And Stiles… Stiles had yelled at him, threw it back in his face. Belittled him for sleeping with the enemy.

He swallowed hard, squeezing Derek’s knee again before drawing back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Derek studying him without truly looking at him.

“So what happens now?” Dad asked into the heavy silence.

“Now?” Chris leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, we wait. Sometimes it takes a while for the effects to wear off even after an antidote has been administered.” He fixed Stiles with a knowing look. “Longer too if there was something there before.”

Stiles’ cheeks heat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is a horrible way to find out.”

“Find out what?” Derek asked tightly.

“That I’m in love with you.”

“I always knew that.” Derek flexed his hands, wiping blood onto his jeans. “What surprised me was how much I liked you too.” He took a deep breath and finally lifted his head. His eyes were human, a kaleidoscope of greens, blues, and browns, and he pinned Stiles with them. “Sometimes I still see you as a kid, someone I need to watch out for because you’re not understanding the danger you’re in, and then other times, I look at you and see what could be.”

“And what would that be?” Stiles hardly dared to breathe.

“I see a future,” Derek said, softly.

A future with him? Stiles cut a quick glance to his dad. Dad had a perfectly blank face but his shining eyes gave him away.

“You’re okay with that?” Stiles asked him.

“Stiles, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. Besides, I think you’d be good for Derek.”

“You two do make a pretty good pair,” Chris said, and Dad broke into a big grin.

Stiles turned to Derek. “We still have to clean out your house,” he said. Derek nodded. “We have two weeks minus a day.” Derek nodded again. “And you’re okay with me helping you?”

“I don’t think I’m going to get it done any other way,” Derek said, seriously. “You helped me stand up to Mr. Johnson. I think you’ll keep me motivated enough to finish the project.”

“Okay then. I guess I know what I’m doing with my summer.”

And if it felt a little like he was agreeing to spend all his time with Derek, well, he was. He couldn’t be happier.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The next day, Stiles drove Derek and himself to Derek’s house.

There was a sign on the door with the Code Enforcement officer’s notice that the house was considered unlivable but not fully condemned.

“I don’t get how that works,” Stiles remarked, reading it. Derek shrugged, unlocking the door and pushing his way inside. Stiles took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the piles of junk he was now expecting to find, and followed him in.

The house wasn’t any better, and Stiles fought his rising panic with everything in him.

“Do you know where you want to start?” Stiles asked, climbing over a pile that must have fallen after they’d left yesterday and into the kitchen. Derek stood in the middle of the room, looking around with the same panic Stiles could feel in his chest.

“How about the backyard?” Stiles suggested, struggling over to the door. He got the door propped open, leaning out into the bit of breeze that made its way into Derek’s fenced in backyard.

Here, Derek had constructed a few pop-up sheds and there was a tent tucked into a corner. Stiles had no doubt that the sheds and the tent would be full of things, but other than that, the backyard was clear. Stiles stepped out fully, walking toward the tent. He glanced back after a few yards to find Derek standing in the doorway, just watching him. “Are you okay, Derek?”

He shook himself and flashed a wan smile. Then he squared his shoulders and marched toward Stiles. Stiles waited until he drew level with him before he reached out and wrestled the zipper of the tent open.

“Okay,” he said to the stacks of sleeping bags, camping cooking utensils, battery-operated lanterns, and scuttling spiders. “Okay. So, we can work with this.”

“We can’t,” Derek said, zipping the tent closed again. “That’s Marie’s stuff. She’s coming back for it tomorrow.”

“The spiders too?”

Derek didn’t reply, walking to one of the sheds instead. He slid the door up and stared at the assortment of lawn care equipment jumbled inside. He didn’t say anything before dropping the door and turning away from it.

“Marie’s?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “Daniel’s.”

“Danny Mahealani?”

“No.” Derek glared at him, but he didn’t look mad. “Daniel. He works at the Sheriff’s Department.”

“Is he coming back for his stuff at all?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. He looked around the yard, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can get rid of any of these things. They’re not mine.”

“So why do you have them?” Stiles demanded. “How many people just dumped their crap on you because you wouldn’t tell them no?”

Derek froze, blinking quickly, like he was trying to dispel tears. Stiles rolled back his words in his head, his stomach dropping when he realized what he had said.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologized softly, hand outstretched to brush Derek’s arm.

Derek jerked out of reach, taking several steps back. His eyes were definitely watery. “My ‘no’ means nothing,” he said lowly. “That’s been proven time and again. I don’t need you telling me that too.”

“Your no should mean everything,” Stiles argued gently, aware that he’d unintentionally found a sore spot and did not want to keep pressing on it. “I really am sorry that I said it like that. It’s not your fault that everyone decided to use your good will to just dump their stuff on you.”

Derek nodded tightly, turning away from Stiles to quickly wipe at his eyes. Stiles pretended not to see and just moved back to the door.

“Can we sort anything in the house or do you want to take a break?”

Stiles knew they didn’t have a lot of time to waste like this, but they’d get nowhere fast if he pushed when Derek wasn’t ready. And having already made Derek cry was not part of the plan.

“A break would be good,” Derek said. He still wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, but he at least followed Stiles back through the house until they could step out onto the front porch.

Derek offered Stiles the chair on the porch and settled on the steps by his knee.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered to his hands. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“If you don’t, you’ll lose your home,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek shook his head. “Not a home. Not yet.” He glanced back at the house before facing forward again. “It might never be home.”

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles said. Derek started. “No, I don’t mean you. I mean the fact that your house is so full of other people’s things that you have no room for yourself. It’s your house, not theirs. Why don’t they come back for their things?”

“I never told them to?” Derek guessed.

“You shouldn’t have to tell them because they never should have brought it over in the first place.” Stiles made a note of the names he knew that Derek said had things on his property. Marie. Daniel. He only had two other names: Mr. Johnson and Andrew; but it should be enough to track them down and force them to help Derek clean up his house.

After all, this mess wouldn’t exist without their “help.”

“You’re getting angry,” Derek remarked. “I think the break is over.”

“Okay.” Stiles allowed Derek to haul him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Three hours later, Stiles climbed into Roscoe, waiting for Derek to buckle his belt before he started the engine.

They hadn’t gotten anything out yet. Instead, Derek just shuffled things from one room to another, sorting by some arbitrary method he didn’t bother to share with Stiles until Stiles was so frustrated that he’d moved them to another room where Derek just started the cycle again.

Overall, it was a very disappointing day, but Stiles was determined not to show Derek just how upset he was.

“Two weeks minus two days,” Derek said quietly. He stared out the window the whole drive back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

With two full bathrooms, they were able to shower at the same time, if a little quicker than normal since the hot water ran out faster.

After, they sat at the kitchen table while Stiles heated up leftover pot pie to eat.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t any good today,” Derek finally said after Stiles plopped a plate in front of him.

“Hey, not your fault. I get it, your brain got overloaded. We’ll just have to take it slower next time.”

“Will there be a next time?” Derek poked at his food. “Do you still want to help me?”

Stiles nodded. “I just didn’t realize how big of a job it actually was,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to pitch in. In fact, I think we should get more people involved. You know, like a cleaning crew.”

“It’s not my stuff,” Derek reminded him.

“I know. I meant contacting the people who left it with you. How long have you had it?”

Derek shrugged.

“Okay, well, I’ll look into the law on abandoned property today. You try to remember who gave you the things. I think we can get them to take it back without too much trouble.”

Derek gave him a hopeful smile, the first smile all day, and Stiles’ stomach twisted in knots.

He wanted Derek to smile more. He deserved so much more happiness. But as long as they had the junky house to take care of, Stiles knew there’d be more tears than smiles. He hoped they’d both survive the ordeal.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles printed the California Code dealing with abandoned property and then read over it carefully, searching up legal terms he was unfamiliar with. By the end of it, his head was swimming with too much information and he badly needed to pee.

Derek knocked lightly on his door and opened it when Stiles called for him to come in. He was carrying a mug of tea that he offered to Stiles before sitting on the bed and staring intently at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked over the rim of the mug.

Derek shook his head, dipping his head down not quite fast enough to hide the smile curling his lips. “Just you,” he said, “being you. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Stiles drew out the word before setting down the mug and walking quickly to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he went back to his room, wiping his hands on his pants. He’d dried them in the bathroom after peeing, but he hadn’t wanted Derek to leave his room, so he’d hurried back before they were fully dry.

Derek was still on the bed. He was holding the pages Stiles had printed, running a finger down the text, mouth moving as he silently read the words. Stiles sat down and drank more of the tea. This was more his style than the coffee Derek had bought him yesterday, and he finished it in a few swallows.

“How can they be my possessions when they were given to me to store?” Derek asked suddenly.

Stiles shrugged. “That’s what the law says. They dumped it on you, so it’s yours to do with as you please. Even if that means you throw it away.”

Derek grimaced, handing the pages to him. “That seems wasteful,” he said, softly.

“Dude, you’re living like a hoarder. That’s not healthy. At this point, worrying about wasting things is the least of your worries.”

“You’re right.” Derek stood up. He took Stiles’ empty mug and shut the door behind himself.

Stiles frowned at the pages, thinking over the words he’d used, swearing under his breath when he realized that he was accusatory. Derek didn’t need that. In fact, the way Stiles was pushing him, they would be lucky if Derek even managed to toss any of the actual trash in the house.

Stiles needed more help. Derek had mentioned being in therapy. Maybe Stiles should start there.

He turned to his laptop and opened a new browser.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek got an early start the next morning when first, Stiles slept through his alarm, and second, Dad hit him with the classifieds when Stiles tried to inhale some cereal so he could at least start the day with something in his stomach.

So, instead of watching Derek struggle to make progress, Stiles spent a few hours on his computer applying to jobs he was overqualified for. When Dad left for a shift at the bakery, Stiles shut down his laptop, slapped together a few sandwiches, and drove over to Derek’s.

Derek was sitting outside, head between his knees. He didn’t move even when Stiles honked his horn at him, knowing that with Derek’s hearing, he was being obnoxious.

Stiles dropped onto the steps next to him, shoving a sandwich at him.

“How’s it going today?” he asked carefully, biting into his own sandwich. Derek took the food, setting it on his knee and frowning down at the ground.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” he said softly. “I know you keep telling me that it’s my stuff now, and I can get rid of it, but I can still smell the previous owners.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t thought of that. He just knew that Derek’s house smelled stale and musty. A few things were moldy and stunk, to his human nose, like animal urine.

How Derek could stand to be in his house would remain a mystery, because while Stiles may not have had much tact in high school, always asking the wolves if they could smell things that were better left private, he had grown and learned to bite his tongue.

Derek sighed, poking a hole through the bread into the meat below. “Thanks for coming but I don’t think I can do anything today.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute,” he said. He crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing as quickly as he could. Once he had swallowed, he took Derek’s destroyed sandwich and discarded it into an empty trash bag hanging on the front door. “Up you get,” he said. “Pick out something. I don’t care what it is. Just pick it. You’re going to give me a list of pros and cons to keeping it. Whichever list is longer determines what happens with the thing.”

Derek shook his head, but he gamely stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Anything?” he asked.

“Absolutely anything,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and grabbed a bent tennis racket out of the junk in the foyer. He held it aloft, studying the chipped paint, frayed strings, peeling tape, and warped rim.

“Can it go?” Stiles asked after a few minutes. Derek pursed his lips, hefting it in his hand.

“I don’t know. I know I don’t have a use for it and it’s almost beyond repair, but it could still be fixed if someone wanted to invest the time in it.”

“Okay, so if that someone is you, are you going to invest the time in getting it fixed?”

Derek shook his head. “May Ehlberg gave this to me for safe keeping. It used to be her dad’s.”

Stiles didn’t know who May Ehlberg or her father were, but he guessed, from Derek’s faltering expression, that they were important to him.

Derek set the racket aside. “Mr. Ehlberg was a pall bearer at Paige’s funeral. May used to sit behind me in history.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Stiles said, and Derek stared at him.

“What?”

“Your loss,” Stiles repeated. “Of Paige. I know she meant a lot to you, and I’m sorry she died.”

Derek clenched his hands and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “I killed her,” he said tightly. When he opened his eyes, they blazed blue.

“Do you want to take another break?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head and grabbed another item, a wax orange that resembled a melted candle more than the fruit it was imitating.

“Can that go?”

“Mrs. Grecke used to make these. She gave my mom a whole set. This was the only one I found in the ruins of our house.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. If Derek could find a reason to keep everything in the house, Stiles was certain he would. He blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to do this to you yet,” he said, “but I think you need to be in therapy for hoarding.”

“Hoarding?” Derek looked around the foyer as if he was just now seeing it through Stiles’ eyes. He set the orange down carefully and then picked up a plastic cup with a string tangled on the bottom. “My cousins used to make these things all the time.” He tugged at the string for a moment before giving up when he realized it was irrevocably knotted.

“Did your cousins make that particular string telephone?”

“Not this one, no.”

“And you have your memories, right?”

Derek nodded.

“Then, it can go?”

Derek nodded again. He walked to the bag and opened it, dangling the cup in for a long, long moment. Stiles was almost positive that he was going to yank it out again, but Derek surprised him when he let it fall.

Almost as if his strings were cut, Derek sagged. “I think I need a break now,” he said, stepping out onto the porch. Stiles followed, unhooking the bag and stuffing it into the house before pulling the door closed.

“You did a good thing,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“Maybe.” He walked to his car and got in. Stiles watched as he drove away.

They’d only been cleaning for about three hours, and all Derek had to show for it was a sandwich and a children’s toy. At this rate, it would take decades to clear out the clutter.

Stiles sighed. He hoped Derek talked with his therapist about his hoarding.

“Two weeks minus three days,” Stiles told the house. Then he drove home.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad was back from the bakery when Stiles pulled up to his house. The Camaro was parked on the street. Stiles was relieved to see it. He’d been afraid that Derek might have decided to take off again. It was nice to see that he wasn’t running away anymore.

“Derek’s taking a shower,” Dad said. He had his feet up on the railing, a bottle of seltzer water in hand. “He wanted to let you know that he’s not mad. And that he hopes you’re not mad either.”

“I’m not mad at him,” Stiles said, sitting next to his dad and propping his feet on the railing too. “I’m mad at everyone who’s taking advantage of him.”

Dad raised an eyebrow.

Stiles sighed, crossing his arms. “A lot of people decided to just dump their junk on Derek, so his house is all junked up. He’s having trouble realizing that he can let it go.”

Dad hummed, sipping at his bottle. “You can’t push him if he isn’t ready.”

“We don’t really have time for him to get ready,” Stiles said quietly. “I was thinking that we could have the people who dumped stuff on him come and get it. I asked Derek to make a list of everyone who had ever given him things.”

“I could see if I can get some volunteers if Derek wants the help.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Dad shook his head. “It’s not your place,” he said. “Talk to Derek about it, okay? I know you have a deadline, but if you push too hard now, the source of the problem won’t be resolved, and in a few months, it’ll be just as bad if not worse.”

“You’re right.” Stiles thumped his feet down and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The next day, Derek had a meeting with his therapist first thing, so Stiles killed some time by making a chart with a countdown of the days they had left before Code Enforcement arrived to either pass or fail Derek’s house. Derek had hidden in the guest room after his shower and refused to come out before Stiles fell asleep, so he didn’t know what state of mind Derek was in, but he didn’t imagine they would make much progress at the house today.

Still, he could at least find something for Derek to store some items he definitely wanted to save. They could worry about the actual trash later. Dad was right: pushing Derek too hard now would be more detrimental than just giving him a shoulder to lean on when he got overwhelmed. That didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t going to track down every single person who had ever left so much as a dust bunny at Derek’s house and make them take it back.

He dug around the attic until he found an old, empty plastic bin. He washed it out, drying it thoroughly before putting it in his trunk. His dad still had a sports cooler, left over from Stiles’ days as a bench warming lacrosse player, and Stiles filled it with water and stuck it next to the bin. Then, he settled on the porch with the stack of California property laws and a highlighter, marking the sections he thought would be most helpful for Derek to read.

After about an hour of that, Derek returned. He smiled at Stiles but it seemed brittle, like he was stretched a little too thin at the moment.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, capping his highlighter and setting aside the papers.

Derek shrugged. “Mostly, I guess. I talked to Jerri about the house. She wants to see it.”

“Do you want her to see it?”

Derek shrugged again. “She thinks I’m holding onto things because of losing so many people when I was fifteen.”

“That’s probably a pretty good assessment. Come on,” Stiles pointed at Roscoe, “we can at least go look at it and see if there’s anything else you want to save, like that orange.”

“I don’t have anywhere to put things like that,” Derek protested.

Stiles bit his tongue to stop the almost reflexive Could have space if you cleaned your house that wanted to pop out. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I have a bin you can borrow. Just until we find some room for the stuff you want to save.”

“Thank you.”

They drove to Derek’s house in comfortable silence. It was almost domestic, and Stiles caught himself smiling and tapping on the steering wheel while Derek poked at the radio before turning it off when all the stations were too staticky to hear clearly. The only dark spot was when they parked in front of the house and Stiles remembered what was waiting for them. He was tired, and they hadn’t even opened the door yet.

Well, they were here. There was no point in putting it off. The sooner they got in there, the sooner they could leave.

Stiles grabbed the cooler while Derek carried the bin, and they walked up the steps onto the porch.

Derek set the bin down so that he could use two hands to unlock the door.

Stiles happened to glance over as Derek worked his key into the lock and noticed something sitting on the chair by the door. “Hey, Derek,” he said.

“Yeah?” Derek opened the door, picking up the bin and waiting while Stiles slowly picked up the cup with tangled string. He took a moment to steady his voice, furious and not sure why. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be here. He just wasn’t happy that the tiny bit of progress they had made had been so easily undone.

“Didn’t you throw this away yesterday?”

Derek flushed. “I took it out,” he mumbled.

“When? Why?”

“Last night. My cousins,” Derek said.

Stiles shoved it at him. “Do you want to save it now?”

Derek took it gingerly. He turned it over in his hands, studying it. After a few minutes, he set it into the bin.

Stiles nodded tightly. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t try to save everything. He didn’t want to drag the problem back to his dad’s house. Dad already had thirty years of his and Stiles’ mom’s things and some of Stiles’ things from high school. There wasn’t room for more crap.

In the foyer, Derek found the wax orange and added it to the bin. He picked up the racket and frowned at it for a long moment before carefully replacing it on the stack of dilapidated boxes he was using as a shelf.

“There’s some more sentimental things upstairs,” Derek said. “I’ll be right back.”

He slipped through the narrow pathways and Stiles retreated outside before the press of things made him panic again.

Just as he stepped out, his phone buzzed.

It was Dad.

“Hey, Dad. How are you?”

“I’m great. Listen, I just talked to Parrish. He says he thinks he can get a few of the guys together in the next couple of days to get out to Derek’s place and help clean up. Did you ask Derek if he wanted to do that?”

Stiles looked up, scanning the second floor windows. He couldn’t see Derek at all, but he thought Derek could hear him. “I haven’t but I will. I can text you his answer?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Also, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but Melissa said Scott is back in town for a few days. Apparently he’s taking over Deaton’s practice when Deaton retires in a few years.”

“Oh?” Stiles was not remotely interested in what his former best friend was up to. Nope. Not at all.

“Yeah. Melissa wanted to know if we wanted to have dinner with her and Scott.”

“She does know Scott and I haven’t talked in almost five years, right?”

“I think she’s hoping that you two will reconcile.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles looked up again. Derek was standing in a window now, looking down at him, expression twisted into concern. With a start, Stiles realized that he was able to parse Derek’s different expressions again. He’d missed that element of their communication, but he hadn’t been upset to discover that Derek was more verbal than he had been six years ago.

“I kinda don’t want to drag Derek over there without warning. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Derek pulled back, and a few minutes later, he was outside too. The bin was half full of things like a singed headband, a pair of gold hoop earrings stuck in a large card, and some books. Derek set it aside and pointed to the steps. They both sat down.

“Hey, Derek, is it okay if some of the deputies swing by and help us clear out things?”

Derek hesitated before nodding.

“He said yes, Dad,” Stiles said into the phone. To Derek, he said, “Melissa wants to have us over for dinner soon. Do you want to come with or…?”

“No, thank you.”

“So does that mean you’ll come too?” Dad asked.

Stiles sucked his lip into his mouth and chewed on it. “No,” he finally said. He wasn’t nearly ready enough to forgive Scott for what had happened. Maybe someday, but someday hadn’t come yet. “I don’t think I can do that. Sorry.”

Dad sighed. “I’m sure they’ll understand. And boys?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you. You’re doing a good thing.”

Dad hung up without waiting for a response. He probably realized he wasn’t going to get one. Derek didn’t look like he believed Dad at all, and Stiles didn’t blame him. When was the last time someone told Derek they were proud of him? Probably not since before the fire.

“Do you want to try cleaning anything today?”

Derek shook his head. “I think I’ll call Jerri and see if she can come out here tomorrow,” he said. “For now, I want to show you what I found.”

Stiles tucked his phone back in his pocket and turned his full attention to Derek as he explained about the trinkets. He had rings from his aunts, one of Peter’s ties that hadn’t burned up, the headband from Cora, the earrings from Laura. Books that belonged to his cousins and to the pack. Derek flipped through a heavy tome.

“This is our bestiary,” he said, turning pages until he came across an entry for kanimas. He traced the tail of the illustration. It looked almost nothing like what Jackson had looked like, less lizard-like and more humanoid. “It’s been in our family for centuries. Peter gave it to me when I moved back to Beacon Hills last year.”

“And where did Peter get it from?”

“He has a stash of things somewhere. He didn’t say.” Derek frowned. “He has the box with the nogitsune and my mom’s claws.”

Stiles shuddered. “He won’t give you the claws back?”

“No. I’m afraid that he’s trying to find a ritual that will give him alpha powers again.” He set the book back in the box and stood up, helping Stiles up. “He didn’t seem happy that I came back. I told him he didn’t have to come back too.”

“Why did you come back?” Stiles asked. “Not that I’m not glad you did,” he hurried to add.

Derek shrugged. “Honestly, I came back because I realized Scott had abandoned the land. My family was its protector for centuries. It needs a guardian. Even if that guardian is an omega.”

“Hey, now, you’re not an omega,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s arm. “You’ll always be a part of my pack. Me and my dad.”

Derek smiled. “Thanks. That actually means a lot to me.”

He pulled the door shut, locking it, and picked up the bin. “Can we go back to your house now? I left my phone there and I need to call Jerri.”

“Sure.” Stiles grabbed the cooler, pouring some water on his hands to clean them before digging out a stack of plastic cups he kept in his car for emergencies. He’d never had to use them yet but he liked being prepared.

Derek set the bin in the trunk and sifted through it until he came up with the cup and string. He handed it to Stiles.

“What’s this for?”

“You can throw it away,” Derek said. “I’m ready to let it go.”

Stiles grinned. “Okay, big guy, if you’re sure. Let me just.” He pulled out a bag he kept in his car for trash and placed it inside, taking care not to crush it more than it already was, just in case Derek changed his mind again and wanted it back before it could be disposed of. “There.” He handed Derek a cup of water and drank one himself.

Then he drove them back to his house.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek rode with Stiles out to the house the next morning, and Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald pulled up behind them. Derek had called to invite her last night, and she hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing, saying that she would meet them there.

Stiles was excited to meet a therapist who knew about the supernatural, had worked with them, and knew how to help them, but most importantly, he was excited to meet someone Derek seemed to trust.

He knew it took a lot for Derek to be able to trust the people around him. One day, he hoped he could be counted among those people.

Derek grabbed his arm before he could get out to greet Dr. Fitzgerald. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I always have since you wouldn’t let me drown. Maybe even before then.”

Stiles stared at him in shock. Had he spoken out loud? Derek tapped his nose, and Stiles signed in relief. It was just the way he smelled to Derek. “Do you trust me enough to know that I won’t intentionally hurt you?” he asked.

Instead of answering him, Derek leaned in closer, fingers flexing where he still held Stiles’ arm. Stiles stared at his face as it got closer, his lips parting, tongue flicking out to wet them. Was Derek going to kiss him? Were they at the kissing stage in their relationship? Did they even have a relationship? They were a mere breadth apart when Derek whispered, “Yes.”

Dr. Fitzgerald knocked on the window, and Derek jumped back. He smiled at her, but Stiles could read the disappointment in his eyes.

Stiles frowned, mind still spinning from the almost-kiss. Derek opened his door, and moved to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Wait,” Stiles said. When Derek turned toward him, he grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss that was too hard, too much teeth, too much Derek’s nose in his eye, and not enough all at once.

As soon as they broke apart, Derek reached up to touch his lips. Stiles’ lips felt bruised but he kept his hand on Derek’s neck, fingers playing with the hair on his nape.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

Derek cupped his face, holding his head still as he leaned in and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. “More than,” he said, pulling back and out of Stiles’ reach. “I trust you,” he said, nodding sharply, like Stiles could hear the way his heartbeat stayed steady.

Stiles smiled. “Let’s go show your therapist your house,” he said, and clambered out of Roscoe.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. She smiled at them both. “It’s so nice to see that level of trust, Derek. You’ve done wonderful.”

“We’re working on my communication,” Derek said. “I seem to recall you complaining a time or two that I didn’t use my words enough.”

Stiles snorted. “No one in this damn town did. It was all secrets, secrets, lies, and more secrets.”

“But things have changed?” Dr. Fitzgerald looked from Derek to Stiles and back.

“I don’t know if the town has changed,” Derek said, “but we have.” He shot Stiles a grateful look. “I want to be who Stiles thinks I am.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” Stiles bit his lip, adding, hesitantly, “What if I want you to be my boyfriend?”

Derek let out a startled laugh. “Pretty sure that’s what we just did,” he pointed out.

“I don’t mean to be a literal bummer,” Dr. Fitzgerald broke in, “but can we go inside now? I’d like to know how best to help you, Derek, and I can’t do that just by looking at the outside.” She stuck her hand out to Stiles and he took it. “I’m Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Dr. Fitzgerald. I’m Stiles.”

“Please, call me Jerri.”

“Okay.”

Derek unlocked the door and pushed it open. If Jerri was surprised by the amount of stuff just packed in the foyer, she didn’t show it. Instead, she studied it thoughtfully. Her braids clinked together softly as she moved forward, the colorful beads woven throughout her hair jostled.

Derek followed more slowly, grabbing the trash bag that still hadn’t been filled as he worked his way deeper after her.

Stiles brought up the rear, trying to see the junk as Jerri would. He didn’t think he succeeded very well because he still thought it could all go, even the melted orange Derek had saved yesterday.

“Okay, so tell me,” Jerri said when they paused in the kitchen, “what do you see when you look at all these things?”

Derek shrugged. “I guess I see it as kindness.”

“Kindness?” Stiles asked. Jerri shot him a look that had him almost swallowing his tongue.

“Yes,” Derek said, tightly. “Kindness.” To Jerri, he added, “When I moved back to Beacon Hills, I had nothing. Just my sister’s car and the clothes I was wearing. I was able to buy this house but I didn’t have a way to bring anything into the house. I had nothing to bring anyway.”

“And how did people start bringing you things?”

“My neighbor, Ms. Bocelli, stopped by one day, saw the state of the house, and offered me some of her mother’s furniture. When I told her that I didn’t have a way to bring it here, she asked another neighbor, Mr. Johnson, to help, and he also brought over his mother’s things.”

Stiles opened his mouth and shut it again when Jerri looked at him. She turned back to Derek. “And that was kindness, wasn’t it? Them bringing you all those things.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “But it was a lot. Their mothers had a lot of stuff and they brought it all over the next few days. After that, it seemed like someone was stopping by every day and bringing me stuff from their relatives that had either passed away or didn’t want or need their things.”

“And you didn’t feel like you could say no?” Jerri asked, more gently than Stiles could have managed.

“No,” Derek said, quietly, an admission. “I didn’t think I had the right to say no.”

Jerri nodded, as if she hadn’t expected any other answer.

It made Stiles’ skin crawl to think of all the people that could have, did, hurt Derek because he thought his “no” meant nothing.

“I need some air,” he said, and hurried as quickly as he could back outside.

He leaned over, hands on his knees while he puffed breaths in and out through his mouth.

“Hey, Stiles,” he heard someone call, and he looked up to see Jordan Parrish, dressed down in a white t-shirt and khakis, approaching him.

“Heya.” Stiles waved back.

Jordan eyed the house. “Did you still want help clearing it out?”

“Yeah, but it’s not really my call,” Stiles said. “Derek’s in there right now with his therapist. She’s going to see if she can help him be able to let go of everything.”

Jordan hummed. “Okay, well, Sarah, the dispatcher, was able to call for a dumpster. We’re renting it, so Derek won’t have to worry about that. Just let us know when you want it, and we can have it delivered.”

“I think it’ll take more than one dumpster,” Stiles said, thinking of the rooms he had seen and knowing that there were more upstairs he hadn’t been in, all likely just as bad as downstairs.

“You realize that when the dumpster is full, we call them, they take it away, and then they bring it back, right? We’re renting it for at least a week, and if we can move fast enough, we ought to be able to get the whole house cleaned.”

“You say that now.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow before cupping his hands around his mouth and saying, loudly, “Hey, Derek. Can you come outside and talk with us?”

Derek appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, Jerri behind him.

Jordan grinned at Stiles. “Let’s go.”

Derek met them halfway. “Hi, Jordan,” he said, looking between them. “What brings you here?”

“Stiles’ dad asked if any of us deputies wanted to volunteer to help you clean your house,” Jordan replied. “We have a roster worked out. We also have a dumpster on standby whenever you’re ready for it.”

“A dumpster?” Derek shot a panicked glance at Jerri.

“A dumpster might be a good idea, Derek,” she said softly. “But first, let’s try to figure out what’s causing you to hold onto things and how to get you to let go.”

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said, “Derek, did you ever finish that list of people who gave you things?”

Derek pulled out a piece of paper folded into a tiny rectangle. He handed it to Stiles with the resignation of a man betraying his country. Stiles quickly unfolded it, finding nearly thirty names on the paper.

“Some people gave me family antiques to store because they couldn’t afford storage fees. I put a star by their names.”

“Okay.” Stiles refolded the paper, frowning when he couldn’t fold it as small as Derek had. “I’ll contact as many of them as I can and see if they want their things back.” He fixed Derek with a look. “Will you be able to return any items they want?”

“Yes. I don’t want their things if they can take them.”

Stiles shook his head. “You don’t want them even if they can’t take them.”

Jerri stepped in front of Derek. “Let’s get to that point,” she said, glaring at Stiles without too much heat. “For now, I’d like you to go through as many things as you can and pick out the things that are yours.”

Derek shook his head. “It’s all buried right now.”

Jerri pursed her lips, thinking, before turning to Jordan. “Dr. Fitzgerald,” she said, hand out for a quick shake. “Do you think you can coordinate the volunteers to sort things? Nothing is to be thrown away without Derek’s express consent. If he wants to touch things, hold them, keep them, let him. I will work with him to discover the cause of it, but until then, I don’t want you to do anything to make him worse.”

“I will certainly do my best, ma’am ,” Jordan promised. He looked at Derek. “Do you want to start sorting today?”

“I guess,” Derek said. “It’d be nice to actually be able to see the floor again.”

“It would,” Stiles agreed. “So, just so that we’re all on the same page, Derek isn’t throwing away anything today? We’re just pulling things out so they can be sorted?”

“If Derek finds he can throw away some items, he can do that, but only he can do that. If you find something you think is trash, you have to show it to Derek and get his approval before it can be disposed of.” She checked a watch hung around her neck on a lanyard. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment I need to get to.” She took Derek’s hand in hers and patted it gently. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to. I will clear my schedule as best I can for next week so that I can help you as much as I am able to.”

“Thank you, Jerri.” Derek smiled at her.

They watched her drive off before turning back to the house.

“Okay, so what do we start with?” Stiles asked.

“The foyer,” Derek answered and marched back to the house. Stiles and Jordan exchanged a quick glance and then followed.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Jordan worked quickly and efficiently. By the time a few more deputies showed up, the three of them already had a clear pattern of sorting going. Stiles, human and tired, took a break as Jordan got the newcomers caught up, and called a few names on Derek’s list.

Most of them agreed that Derek could dispose of the things they had given him, and one even offered to bring in a trailer to haul crap away. Stiles thanked him and filed that away in the back of his mind, then went to find Derek and make him drink some water. Stiles updated the list to reflect what people had answered while Derek told him a little bit about some of the things of his family that he had uncovered.

Stiles was thoroughly impressed with how the deputies worked. They didn’t even attempt to toss anything away and they carried all the items as carefully as they could. By the time they were ready to stop for the day, the whole front lawn was covered in distinct piles, all covered in tarps weighed down with rocks found in a box in the kitchen.

The foyer was mostly empty, and although it was the only room they had gotten to, it was also only the first room. They had made significant progress today.

Derek seemed happy, excited and talking more than usual as they drove back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

Dad met them at the door, and Derek immediately stopped talking. He blanched, hands fisted at his sides.

“The Cabellos just want to apologize,” Dad said. “They realize what they did wrong and wish to make amends as best they can.”

“They can stop poisoning people,” Stiles retorted. He had no interest in hearing the Cabellos’ piss-poor excuse of why they decided to almost kill a customer. He was also angry because he still couldn’t remember what had happened after they’d eaten.

Before Dad could tell him to stop being rude, the Cabellos, an older couple with graying hair and twin looks of fear and disappointment, stepped out onto the porch. Derek leaned against Stiles, his arm pressing against his side, and Stiles could feel the tremors racing up and down Derek’s arm.

“We did not realize that you were not human,” Mrs. Cabello said. “We had no idea that we would be putting your life in danger.”

“Are you in the habit of drugging your customers?” Stiles demanded.

Both of them looked stricken. “We are matchmakers,” Mr. Cabello said. “It is our job to encourage relationships.”

“And how many people consented to you mucking about in their business?” Stiles clenched his hands into fists. “One more stupid answer and I will call the cops on your asses for trespassing.”

“Stiles,” Dad said warningly.

“No. Dad, no.” Stiles turned to his dad. “They almost killed Derek and they’re excusing it because they make matches? No, they’re meddlers. That’s what they are.” He glared at the Cabellos. “I hope you fuck up again just so that Chris can kick your asses. Now, get off my dad’s porch and off our property.”

The Cabellos did just that, both of them touching Derek’s shoulder as they passed him, apologizing in an undertone that did nothing to disguise what Stiles felt was insincerity.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. He ran his hand down Derek’s shoulder and arm, doing his best to layer his scent over the Cabellos’ so that Derek could at least have a little comfort before he showered the smell away.

Derek grunted. “I’m okay,” he whispered, “but I think I need to take a shower now.”

“Okay, cool. You go do that. I’m going to get Dad all caught up on what we did at the house today.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly. “Are you going to tell him about us?” he asked, and then walked away while Dad frowned at them.

“What’s this about ‘us’?”

Stiles sighed. It wasn’t like Dad wouldn’t have figured it out soon anyway. “I think me and Derek are dating now,” he said. “But also, I stink. We’ve been moving things around, and I need to shower. Talk to you later.”

He jogged past his dad and into the house. Derek wasn’t the only one who could walk away from an uncomfortable conversation.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Because there were only so many places in the house that he and Derek could hide, Dad eventually cornered them in the kitchen while they tried sneaking something for supper.

“I’m not mad that you’re dating,” he said. “I’m not even mad about you yelling at the Cabellos.” He sighed. “I just want to talk to you. Tell me, how’s the house coming? Did the deputies come by to help? How clean is the house?”

“It’s coming along fine,” Stiles said, ticking his fingers. “The deputies did indeed come help us. The house is not clean at all. It’s still really cluttered, and until the clutter is organized, we can’t clean the house.”

“Okay. That’s good. Hey, I’ve got some time off tomorrow. I could come help for a bit too?”

“Sure,” Derek said. He set down the plate of leftover lasagna Dad had made for lunch today. “Are you really not mad that Stiles and I are… together?” he sounded a little strangled on the last word, but Stiles decided he wouldn’t hold it against him. Much. “Do you have any concerns about this?” Derek continued.

“Uh, well,” Dad scratched the back of his head, “I’d appreciate a heads up if you need some alone time, and well, there’s condoms in the bathroom, but if you need a different size—”

“Dad!” Stiles yelped.

“What?”

“Condoms?! Really?”

“What! I want you to practice safe sex. Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is when you just casually imply that we’re having sex!”

Dad frowned at him, confused. “You’re not?”

“No! We just decided to get together today. What, you think we did it already?”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Derek pleaded, voice choked. His whole face was red, and he refused to make eye contact with either Stilinski. “We’re not having sex.”

“Yet,” Dad added, and Derek made a strangled noise.

“Stop talking about sex,” Stiles said, pointing at his dad. “We’re not having sex, not now, not yet, not until we’re both ready. So, just drop it, okay?”

“Okay,” Dad said softly. “I’m sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just, well, you’re both adults. You both know what you like. It’s just a natural progression of your relationship.”

“Okay, we get it,” Stiles said. “You’re okay if we start having sex, but you want a heads up if you’re going to be walking into it. Well, guess what? When we get Derek’s house the way he wants it, that’s where we’ll be having sex.”

Derek slapped a hand over Stiles’ mouth. “Can. We. Please. Stop. Talking about this?” he begged between clenched teeth.

Stiles licked his palm, and Derek furrowed his brow in disgust, but he didn’t move his hand.

“Okay, I promise not to bring up the s-word anymore,” Dad promised. “Melissa has extended an invitation to all of us for supper tomorrow night. Do either of you want to go?”

“Will Scott be there?” Stiles asked. Dad gave him a flat look. “Then, no, I don’t want to go. Derek?”

“I think I won’t be in any shape to be good company,” Derek said. “Even though we’re just sorting things, it’s taking a lot out of me.”

“Understandable. So, I’ll help out tomorrow until I have work, and then tomorrow night, you’re on your own for supper.”

“Great. Thanks, Dad.” Stiles grabbed their plates and shoved them into the microwave, pressing in four minutes and staring at it while it heated.

“Okay. I’m going to check on my roses. I think I’ve got a shot at gardener of the year this year. What do you think, Derek? Think I’ve got a green thumb?”

“Well,” Derek said, hesitantly, “you’ve done really well with your wolfsbane collection.”

Stiles stifled a snort, stopped the microwave on one second, and carried the plates to the table. “Go on, Dad. Go do your gardening. We’ll catch up later.”

Dad looked rejected, but he picked up his dirt-stained gloves, kept on a shelf next to the back door, and a hand rake and stepped outside.

“Do you want to have sex?” Derek asked before Stiles could take a bite.

“Now?” Stiles looked at him.

Derek ducked his head. “No,” he said quietly, poking at his lasagna. “Not right now. Eventually, though, yeah. I like sex. I think sex with you would be good.”

“Oh, baby,” Stiles deadpanned, “I’ll knock your socks off.”

Then he tucked into his food, grimacing when he encountered the cold center. Derek laughed at the face he made and heated it up more for him.

Derek washed the dishes when they were done, and they settled on the couch to watch a movie with Dad when he came in from gardening.

As promised, Dad didn’t mention sex again. Didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t thinking about it.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Jordan and about six deputies all dressed in plain clothes were already at the house, taking the tarps off and folding them into a lidded bin so that they wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.

Stiles had grabbed the bin Derek had started of his keepsakes before he and Derek drove out there, so he grabbed it and set it down by the tarp bin.

“If Derek says save and it’s small enough, put it in here,” he told Jordan, trusting him to pass along the message. “Anything that’s too big to fit, put it with the other pile.”

Dad pulled up in his truck then. He’d brought a case of water that he set on the chair on the porch. Derek unlocked the door, and they began pulling put more things.

Sometime around when four of the deputies were maneuvering the non-working fridge out of the kitchen, the same code enforcement officer who had given them two weeks parked behind Dad’s truck.

“Tamara,” Dad greeted cheerfully, “what brings you out this way?”

“Just checking on the progress,” Tamara said. She frowned at the piles of things, watching as the fridge was walked to the curb next to John’s truck. “What’s going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dad waved at the deputies. “We’re helping Derek clean up his house.”

“Can I see inside the house?” She started for the door without waiting for an answer. Stiles hurried to intercept her. Derek was inside, supervising the clear out of the kitchen, but he must have heard Tamara, because he stepped out onto the porch just as she started up the steps.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “Would you like to see the progress being made?” He stepped aside and she walked into the foyer.

“Well, this certainly is an improvement.” She knelt down by a baseboard and tapped on it. “Hmm, still sound.”

“I should hope so,” Derek said, amusement making his eyes light up. “I had the house inspected before I bought it. It wasn’t this full of things until about six months ago.”

“Minimal damage.” Tamara made a mark on her clipboard. “Have you been able to clean any other rooms?”

Derek pointed toward the kitchen. “We’re working on the kitchen and living room today.”

Tamara clicked her pen and stuck it to her clipboard. “Show me.”

Five minutes later, she was outside. “This is good progress,” she told Derek. “Ideally, we’d like to see the whole house and both yards fully clean before the deadline, but with the amount of progress you’ve made, I’m sure we can extend the deadline by another two weeks. You now have thirty days to become compliant.” She marked an “x” on her clipboard and handed it to Derek to sign. Then she signed it and tore off the carbon copy underneath, giving it to Derek. “Good work, Mr. Hale. Keep it up.”

She walked back to her car and drove away.

As soon as she was gone, Derek visibly sagged, and Stiles pushed him until he was sitting on the steps. Jordan called a halt for a break and they all congregated by Dad’s truck with water bottles and a pizza someone had called in for delivery.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. “Do you need to talk to Jerri?”

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t realize how much it was. I’d forgotten it was there, I guess, when more stuff just got piled on it.” He looked back at the house and then nodded at the various piles stacked on the lawn. “I don’t know why I let it get so bad.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re working through it. Do you have any ideas on things that could go right now, or are you waiting to see if the people I called will actually show up for their things?”

“That one,” Derek said. He sighed. “I just don’t want to throw something away and have someone come looking for it.”

“I know. That’s your caring nature.”

“I’m not caring,” Derek said, giving Stiles a hefty side-eye.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles laughed. “You always have been as long as I’ve known you. I mean, you had a rough way of showing it, but as much as you threatened to kill us when we first knew you, you never had any intention of doing so.”

“I did,” Derek protested. Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Well, I meant to,” Derek mumbled. “Look, I knew you didn’t have all the information, and that would either get you killed or put you in danger, and I couldn’t let you die because of me.”

“And you didn’t,” Stiles said.

“If only everyone could have been as lucky.”

Stiles knew Derek was thinking of Boyd and Erica. He set his hand on Derek’s knee, surprised when Derek turned his hand over and slotted his hand on top, tangling their fingers together.

They sat for fifteen minutes while everyone else ate and joked, laughing and cheering when they managed to get the fridge up into Dad’s truck.

Dad walked over to Derek and Stiles, handing them each a water bottle. “I’m going to take the fridge to the appliance recycling center and then head home to get ready for work. You’ve done a lot these past few days. I’m proud of you both. Now, remember that I’m going to Melissa’s for supper tonight.” He paused before grinning. “The condoms are in the upstairs bathroom.” He jogged away before Stiles recovered enough to start yelling. Derek ducking his head to hide his smile gave him pause, and he turned to fully look at him.

“Do you seriously want to have sex while my dad is at Melissa’s?” he asked incredulously.

“No, not yet,” Derek said. “I just think he said that because he knew it would rile you.”

“That’s the problem with being his son,” Stiles complained. “He knows me so well.”

“He loves you,” Derek said. “That’s not a problem.”

“He likes you too.”

Derek grinned, tipping his head down so he could butt his head gently against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Get up, ya goof,” Stiles said, tugging lightly at Derek’s hair until he obediently raised his head. As soon as his mouth was level with Stiles’, he leaned in and started kissing him.

Derek kissed back.

This kiss was better than their first attempt, with no clicking of teeth, no poked eyes, and plenty of tongue.

Suddenly, Derek’s head shot up, breaking contact.

Derek’s head shot up. “Scott’s here,” he said.

“Scott?” Stiles looked to the street where there was now a bright blue Mazda parked where his dad had been.

Scott was already out of the vehicle, leaning against it, sunglasses obscuring his eyes as he faced them.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Derek asked as he stood up and pulled Stiles up with him.

“I should,” Stiles replied, but his feet didn’t move. He hadn’t seen Scott in years, since high school graduation. He hadn’t forgiven him for bringing Kate back into their lives. He hadn’t forgiven Scott for what Kate had done to Derek before they’d stopped her.

Anger welled in him and he balled his fists. Scott would probably stand still long enough for one hit, but he wouldn’t be able to surprise him. He didn’t get a chance to do anything, though. Derek grabbed his shoulder to keep him in place as Scott strolled up to them. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, even when they were less than five feet apart.

“Hey, Stiles, Derek,” Scott said. His voice was edged, careful.

Stiles shook his head. He couldn’t say anything because if he started talking, he’d start yelling too, and he didn’t want to waste any more time on Scott than he already had. He’d grieved the end of their friendship a long time ago.

“Hi, Scott,” Derek said, cordially. He offered his hand for a shake, and Scott stepped closer and took it gingerly. He held his hand out to Stiles for a few seconds. When Stiles did nothing more than stare at it icily, he stepped back.

The silence between them was awkward, weighed down by the past.

Jordan herded the gawking deputies around the side of the house to start clearing out the backyard, giving them some semblance of privacy.

“So, I need to talk to you about something,” Scott said.

“Okay,” Derek said. “Stiles or me?”

“You.” Scott finally removed his sunglasses, folding the bows together with a little click and gently sliding them into the front pocket of his jacket. He let his eyes glow red, head tipped down to keep any nosy neighbors from seeing them. “I think it’s time to give you this back.”

“What?” Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s arm in shock. “You want to give Derek your alpha powers?”

“They weren’t mine to begin with,” Scott said. He sighed. “Deaton told me it was possible that I became an alpha after Derek used his spark to heal Cora because it needed more power than he had left. The spark left because if it had stayed, it would have killed Derek.”

“And did Deaton tell you to give it back?” Stiles asked. Derek grabbed his hand, threading their fingers together. Stiles squeezed gratefully.

“No,” Scott said. He opened and closed his hands, staring at his fingertips like he expected his claws to pop out. Disappointingly, he remained fully human. “I found a new mentor. He used to be a werewolf, bitten, like me.” He shot a quick glance at Derek. Stiles followed it. Derek’s face was blank, but his hand, where he was still holding Stiles’ was trembling.

“Deaton didn’t like me talking to Micah, said he was only telling me what I wanted to hear.”

“That you could be human again?” Stiles guessed. Scott nodded. “So, what’s the catch?”

“I have to give the power back to the person I got it from.”

“And you think it’s Derek based on what Deaton told you?”

“Not just Deaton,” Scott said. “Peter, before he disappeared after the shit with Kate, said that my alpha powers were Hale in origin.” He shrugged. “Peter could probably tell that it was his family’s.”

“How do you know?” Stiles demanded.

“Micah didn’t know where he got his alpha powers from, so he asked a witch spark to help track down the same, like, frequency of the power.”

“Electro-signals,” Derek murmured. “Each alpha’s power carries a distinct energy signal.”

Stiles turned so that he was facing Derek. “Does that mean Scott’s power is yours?”

Derek nodded. “I didn’t want to be an alpha anymore. Everyone I loved was dying. Sometimes at my hands. I thought I didn’t deserve it, and Peter still had a lot of rage left after he came back. I didn’t trust him with it subconsciously. That must have been why it went to Scott.”

“And now I’m giving it back to you,” Scott said.

Derek shook his head. “I still don’t want it.”

“I don’t think we can trust Peter either,” Stiles said. “So, what do we do with it?”

“We could put it in the same container we used to store the nogitsune’s powers,” Derek said, slowly.

Stiles suppressed a full-body shiver. If Derek felt guilt for the deaths he thought he’d caused, Stiles drowned in it. So many people had died because of his body, and while he hadn’t been aware at the time of most of the deaths, he’d still felt their loss keenly.

“Wait,” Scott said, “wouldn’t opening the box let out the nogitsune again?” He shot a concerned look at Stiles.

Derek squeezed their hands together. “Chris didn’t trust Peter with the box if the nogitsune was in it, so he made a silver box and transferred the nogitsune into that and buried it somewhere only he knows.”

“So, Peter has the box now?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah. He wanted it back about a year ago, just before I moved back to Beacon Hills.”

“So, where is Peter now?”

Derek made a face. “Oregon. About two hours drive.”

“And he’ll let you take the box?” Scott asked, hopeful.

Stiles snorted. “It’s Peter,” he said. “Do you think he’s actually going to let us take anything?”

“We have to try,” Scott said. “Please?”

“Is being a werewolf really so horrible?” Stiles asked.

“You’re one to talk,” Scott said. “You’re still human.”

“But I wouldn’t have tried to resurrect a fucking hunter to learn how to be human again.”

“Oh my God, is that why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Scott shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry that I accidentally brought Kate back to life. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No?” Stiles could still remember the metallic taste of fear when he’d gone to Derek’s loft because they hadn’t heard from him for a few days and found the door open, blood smeared everywhere. It had taken three days to find Derek chained up in the tunnels under the preserve.

Scott had admitted what he’d done when Derek told them that it was Kate, and then Kate tried to blow them up and absconded with Derek again. She had him for a week that time, and when they finally tracked her down and made sure she was dead and buried in as many pieces as they could tear her into, Derek had walked away from Beacon Hills. He’d taken nothing with him. He hadn’t even washed the blood and dirt off before he disappeared.

Peter, the main orchestrator of Kate’s dismemberment, had left shortly after that.

And Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott since.

“No. I was trying to draw the alpha spark out of me, but I guess Deaton gave me the wrong ritual.”

“So, you’re saying we should blame Deaton now?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Stiles, it may have taken me slightly more time to realize it, but Deaton wanted me to be the alpha.” He shot an apologetic look at Derek. “I’m not sure why he had such a problem with Derek or Peter being the alpha, but I guess he was just trying to make sure I’d stay in charge.”

Stiles shook his head. “You were never in charge,” he said coldly. “Maybe you’re right: you don’t deserve to be a werewolf.” He turned to Derek. “Do you want to drive or should I?”

“You can,” Derek said.

“Are you going to get the box from Peter?” Scott asked.

Stiles didn’t bother to answer him. As far as he was concerned, Scott no longer existed. They would help him stop being an alpha and then Scott could fuck off again.

“Let’s go tell Jordan the new plan,” Stiles said. “Do you trust them enough to keep working while we’re gone?”

Derek tilted his head, thinking about it for a long moment before shaking his head. “The code officer said she’d extend our deadline, so it’s not like we’re going to lose too much progress.”

“True. I think I’m going to have Jordan call all the people who have stuff out on your front lawn and have them pick it up. We’re only going to be gone for as long as it takes to drive there and back and convince Peter to give us the box.”

“Should I come too?” Scott asked.

“No,” Stiles and Derek said at the same time. Stiles added, “Peter might not be willing to give us the box if he knows you’re involved.”

Stiles had been pissed at Scott. Peter had left town because, he explained in a text message he sent to Stiles about a week after he’d gone, he wanted to rip Scott limb from limb like he’d done to Kate, and if he gave in to his need for revenge, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop, and Derek wasn’t around to stop him.

Stiles hadn’t responded, not sure if there was anything he could say to that because he knew exactly how Peter felt.

And now, six years later, Stiles was beginning to feel that same rage again. Yeah, it was definitely not a good idea for Scott to come with them.

“Go see your mom,” he said. “Tell my dad hi when he has supper with her.”

“Okay,” Scott said easily. He put his sunglasses back on and walked back to his Mazda.

Stiles waited until he pulled away before he marched around the house and found Jordan directing the deputies to cover the piles of stuff they’d pulled from the sheds with tarps.

“We’ll get everything covered up and call it a day,” Jordan said. “We couldn’t exactly not hear what you were talking about since we’ve all got super hearing.” He held out his hand for the list. “I’ll get this taken care of while we finish up covering everything. Jenkins has a trailer we can borrow to help people haul their things away if they want them. Is it okay to make a possible dumpster pile if some people don’t want anything back?”

“As long as you don’t actually put it in a dumpster, that should be fine,” Derek said. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“Hey, no worries. Always glad to help out a friend.”

Derek looked startled at that, and Stiles nudged him. “Remember you told me about him being affronted about the shock wand?” Derek nodded. “Yeah, he’s been your friend since then, I think.”

“Yeah,” Jordan said. “For sure. Anytime you need something, just give me a call. I’ll be around. Now, I think you’d better hit the road if you want to have daylight for the trip home.”

Stiles high fived him and then all but pushed Derek toward Roscoe. “We’ll have to stop for gas a lot unless you want to switch to the Camaro?”

Derek shook his head. “Peter likes you more. If he hears your Jeep, he’ll be more amenable to helping us.”

“Your uncle is creepy.”

Derek laughed. “He’s always been like that.” He sobered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, lying. He didn’t have any fond memories of Peter, but he wasn’t going to hold that against Derek. Besides, if Peter did agree to give them the box because Stiles tagged along, well, all the better.

He flipped his blinker on and took the turn that led out of town, heading north toward Oregon and Peter Hale.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek drove for the second half of the trip up while Stiles dozed in the passenger seat. They stopped for gas too many times, so what should have been two hours was quickly turning into three.

Finally, around Ashland, Derek pulled off Interstate 5. “Peter built a cabin close to Ashland,” he explained. “He wanted to be close enough to civilization because despite his creepy tendencies, he’s very social, but he also likes his privacy. Coming back from the dead does that, or so he’s told me.”

“Peter wasn’t very private when you were growing up?”

Derek snorted. “If Peter could show off or brag about anything, he would.” Derek pulled off the paved road and onto an access road. Five miles by the odometer and he parked in front of a structure that couldn’t be considered a cabin in any sense of the word. He turned off the engine and handed the keys to Stiles.

“Peter built this himself?” Stiles asked, staring at the large, mansion-sized lodge.

“No.” Derek frowned at him. “Peter hired people to help him. If he’s started building things himself, then we’re all in trouble.”

“He’s not an architect?”

“Not at all.” Derek looked a little wistful. “I was actually studying to be one when Laura and I were in New York.”

“Do you have plans to finish your degree?”

Derek shrugged. “Let’s finish one project before we worry about another.”

He opened his door and braced. Peter knocked him down, and they rolled in the leaves by the side of the dirt road while Stiles climbed out and stretched out the kinks in his back.

“Derek, what brings you up my way?” Peter asked when he and Derek stopped moving.

“I need something from you,” Derek said. He let Peter tug him up to his feet and ambled toward Stiles. He slung an arm over Stiles’ shoulders and walked him to the porch. It was larger than Derek’s kitchen, and Stiles had the hysterical thought that they should just pack up all that junk and store it here. Certainly Peter didn’t need as much room as he had.

He stamped the thought down. He was trying to help Derek get rid of his hoard, not dump it on someone else. Besides, Peter wasn’t exactly the type to tolerate encroachment of his territory.

“Oh?” Peter smiled knowingly at them. “Does this have something to do with your little crush on Stiles?”

“Not a crush,” Derek said. “And no. This is actually about the box my mother’s claws were in.”

Peter drew back, studying Derek with an air of suspicion. “And why would you want that?” he asked. “You have your mother’s claws. I thought we agreed I could have the box since you wouldn’t let me have the claws.”

“You wanted to use them in a ritual to regain alpha powers,” Derek said. “You know every hunter will come after you if they realize you’re an alpha again, right? You’re too dangerous for them.”

“And what about you? When are you going to become an alpha again?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want power.”

Peter looked at Stiles, and it felt like he was being stripped of clothes and flesh. “No, you just want a little fuck-buddy.”

“Hey!” Stiles said. “I’m right here!”

“We’re not fuck-buddies,” Derek added. “We’re dating.”

“Hmm. I suppose I should invite you in.” Peter turned on his heel and walked into his house. He left the door open for them, so Stiles followed him in. Derek trailed after, closing the door behind him.

“Want anything? Juice, soda, wine?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Derek said. “We just need the box.”

“And then what do I get?” Peter asked. “Was she not my sister? Why should I have no mementos of her?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Peter, you emptied an entire vault full of memories. I have the claws and not much else. I am asking you, as my mother’s son, for her box.”

Peter turned to Stiles. “And you? Why are you here? Did Derek think that seeing you again would melt my heart? Well, it hasn’t. If anything, I am now more frozen than ever.”

Stiles reached out and stabbed his index finger into Peter’s chest. “Feels pretty warm to me,” he said.

Peter just stared at him. Derek growled under his breath and stalked away. He returned a few minutes later, the box in hand. “Goodbye, Peter.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and dragged him out of the house. Stiles barely had time to buckle into the passenger seat before Derek had Roscoe turned around and heading back to the paved road, edging up near top speed. He hadn’t even felt him take the keys.

“Easy,” Stiles said as Derek slowed marginally to turn onto the road. “I know Jeeps are good off-roaders, but Roscoe’s old. You’d better treat him better.”

“I thought you’d call your Jeep a she,” Derek muttered, but he did ease off the accelerator.

“Roscoe was my mom’s first. She named him.”

“Oh,” was all Derek said.

It wasn’t until they were back on Interstate 5, near the Oregon-California border that Derek said, “Laura named the Camaro ‘Maura.’”

“Do you still call it that?”

“Her,” Derek said softly. “Yeah. It’s a piece of Laura that I still have.” He patted the dash. “Good, Roscoe. Good job.”

Stiles smiled at him. “You think Peter’s going to try to get the box back?”

“Probably,” Derek said. “Is Chris still in town?”

“Dunno.”

“If he is, I’ll send him to say hello to Peter. I’m sure that’ll keep him away.”

“Not indefinitely,” Stiles pointed out. “Chris is going to leave again, and Peter will probably just come back then.”

“Yeah.” Derek sighed. “I’m just hoping I can decide what to do with the alpha spark if it comes to that.”

“If we can even get the spark out of Scott.”

Derek nodded. “Trade at the next station?”

“Sure,” Stiles said.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

They traded drivers again for the last forty-five minutes before they got to Beacon Hills. Dad texted Stiles just as they hit the city limits sign.

 Scott wants to meet at Derek’s house.

Stiles sent Okay back. “We’re going to your house. Apparently Scott’s already there.”

Derek turned onto his street and passed Scott’s Mazda as he pulled into his driveway.

Scott was sitting on the chair on the porch, his phone braced against his knee. He lifted a hand to wave at them.

Derek paused before shutting the door. “He’s not alone,” he said in a sotto voice as he and Stiles walked up to Scott.

Indeed, as they stepped onto the porch, a man came around the corner of the house. He was tall, taller than even Boyd had been, darker too.

“Micah,” Scott said, “this is Derek and Stiles. They’re going to be helping with the ritual.”

Micah studied Derek. “This is who your spark came from?”

“His family, yeah,” Scott said.

“Him,” Stiles said. “Derek had to give up the spark almost seven years ago.”

“And you are willing to take it back?”

Derek held up his mom’s box. “I think we can store it in here. It’s made from the wood of the nemeton.”

“So it has power,” Micah said.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It should be a fine container.” He motioned to Scott. “Shall we begin?”

“Wait,” Stiles said. “What exactly does this ritual entail? What do we have to do? Is there any bloodletting?”

Micah laughed just a touch too hard, Stiles thought. “No,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “It is rather simple. All that has to be done is for the parties to stand in the center of a mountain ash circle and renounce the spark.” He looked to Derek. “Normally, you would then accept the power, but since you wish to store it in the nemeton box, you will have to say that you accept it as it goes into the box instead of your body.”

“What are the exact words we need to say?” Derek asked. “I’d like to not accidentally become an alpha again.”

“Wait,” Stiles said again. “What if the spark doesn’t go into either the box or Derek?”

“That’s what the mountain ash circle is for,” Micah said. “It will stop the spark from finding another host.”

Derek stiffened suddenly. “We need to hurry,” he said. “Peter is coming.”

“I’ll call my dad and see if Chris is still here and if he can come over now.” Stiles stepped back, already dialing.

He watched Micah position Derek and Scott so that they were facing each other in arm’s length apart. He then picked up a pouch from the porch and began pouring mountain ash into a circle  around them. If Micah had truly been a werewolf, then he wasn’t one now. Scott was the only wolf Stiles had known to break through mountain ash, but as far as he knew, Scott hadn’t been able to do it again. A one-trick pony.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said when his dad picked up. “Is Chris Argent still in town?”

“I think so,” Dad said. “He was also invited to have dinner with Melissa sometime this week.”

“Can you ask him if he can come to Derek’s house? We need some hunter muscle.”

“Sure. You need a retired sheriff too?”

“Uh, maybe? Peter Hale is in town tonight.”

“Well, fuck,” Dad said. “Okay, we’ll be there. I’ll bring some wolfsbane bullets for Peter.”

“Hurry please.” Stiles hung up and walked closer to see the ritual. Scott was already halfway through his speech of giving up the alpha spark, thanking it for its power and asking that it serve the next host just as well. As he spoke, his body lifted, wind that Stiles couldn’t feel outside the circle ruffling his hair. Scott closed his eyes, leaning back, arms thrown wide.

Derek opened his mom’s box. “Alpha spark,” he said, “please accept this box as your new host and serve it well.” He said a few more things, but Stiles wasn’t paying attention anymore because behind him, he heard growling. When he turned, Peter stood there, close enough that Stiles could touch him if he wanted to. He didn’t.

Peter was half-shifted, eyes blazing icy blue, fur sprouting along his cheeks as his forehead became more prominent.

“You’d waste it like this?” he snarled at Derek.

Derek ignored him, closing the lid on the box as it jerked under his hands, like it suddenly weighed more than before.

Dad’s truck horn blared, and they all turned as Dad parked haphazardly, climbing out of the driver’s side with a raised gun while Chris calmly leveled a loaded crossbow at Peter.

“Hello, Peter,” Chris called. “Long time no see.”

“Yes, well, it is so hard to keep in touch these days,” Peter said, fully human again. “I suppose you’re here to warn me to stay away from my nephew?”

“You know me so well,” Chris returned. “You have five minutes to make yourself scarce before my finger slips.”

Peter glared. “This isn’t over,” he said to Derek. “I will have that power. It is mine by birthright.”

“If that were so,” Derek said quietly, “it would have gone to you and not Laura. You wouldn’t have had to kill her for it.”

Peter looked stricken. “Of course you would think that I did it on purpose. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were someone else. All I saw was an alpha. I didn’t even realize it was Laura until the police were looking for her body.”

“And that is why you shouldn’t have the spark,” Derek said. “I don’t want it, and you can’t have it. Now, please go. Your five minutes are almost up.”

Peter nodded sharply and turned around. “I would say it was nice to see you,” he called to Chris and Stiles’ dad, “but I don’t want to lie.”

He walked away.

“Huh, well that was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” Stiles said. He stepped up to the mountain ash circle and waved his hand over it to break it. Derek smiled at him before nodding toward Scott.

“It worked. He’s human now.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Scott said. He looked weak, tired. “I’m sorry for what I did before, for bringing Kate back. I should have realized that Deaton didn’t want me to give up the power.”

“I’ll work on forgiving you,” Stiles promised, one hand behind his back, fingers crossed.

Micah helped Scott to his Mazda and set him in the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling away.

Derek looked around the yard at the piles of things still cluttering the yard. He frowned, holding the box out to Stiles.

As soon as Stiles had a good grip on it, Derek walked over to the smallest pile of stuff and pulled the tarp off. He studied the pile before picking up as much of it as he could all at once and walking over to Stiles’ dad’s truck.

“Is this okay?” he asked. Dad nodded. Derek set the stuff in the bed of the truck and went back for another armful.

“Derek?” Stiles called. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just crap,” Derek said. “I don’t want it. Let’s get rid of it. All of it. Please?”

Stiles smiled so wide his mouth hurt and his eyes teared up. “Yes,” he said. “Always.”

And maybe there would be days where Derek would miss the things he threw away, but Stiles would be there to help him and remind him why he didn’t need it.

Stiles carried the box into the house and set it on a shelf above the fireplace in the living room, marveling at the way he could stretch and stretch and not even come close to reaching anything in his way.

Derek joined him, wrapping an arm around his waist as they both studied the room.

“There’s still a lot of work to do,” Stiles said, “but you’ve taken a lot of steps. And we’re all here for you.”

“I know,” Derek said. “But most importantly, you are here.” He moved to stand in front of Stiles, using a gentle finger to tip Stiles’ head up so he could slot his mouth over Stiles’.

“I am,” Stiles said as soon as the kiss ended. “Always.” He pulled Derek down for a dirtier, wetter kiss. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Derek said, and it sounded like a revelation.

Dad cleared his throat. “Not that I want to interrupt this grand display of affection, but I think it’ll be a lot easier to do what you’re about to do on a bed with clean clothes, uh, skin. Come on, let’s go home. You’ll be back here tomorrow anyway.”

“I thought you didn’t want to know when we were having sex,” Stiles said.

“Yes, well, you might not get an STD from Derek, but that floor is another matter.”

Stiles poked Derek’s cheek. “What do you say, should we go back to my place for a little horizontal dancing?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I think I’d prefer to fuck,” he said, and then bodily hauled Stiles up with him.

They made it home in record time. Barely. And took the shortest showers of their lives.

Dad graciously went back to Melissa’s house with Chris, leaving them a row of condoms on Stiles’ bed. They used every last one of them.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

                                                                                                         ~ Epilogue ~

                                                                                        ~ Three Weeks Later ~

Stiles surveyed his handiwork before dipping his roller back into the pan of paint and running it over the wall. He was almost done with the second coat for the living room. Derek was painting the kitchen right now. Everything was clean.

The only things that hadn’t initially belonged to Derek still in the house were a few pieces of furniture that Derek planned to reupholster.

In the end, they’d hauled over 50 tons of trash to the various recycling centers and the dump. The house had taken almost as long to clean since Derek and Stiles were doing it themselves. In fact, this was the last coat of paint that they needed.

With a final swipe of his roller, Stiles finished. He set it down, turning to look at the walls. He wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, mopping at the perspiration soaking his hair and running down his face.

They had the windows open, but it barely made a difference when there wasn’t a breeze to speak of.

Stiles picked up his supplies and carried them out to the shed where Derek had decided to keep his touch-up bits and bobs. By the outside spigot, he scraped as much paint as he could off the roller before sticking it in a bucket and opening the spigot to fill the bucket. He added a few drops of detergent and then used his hands to work the rest of the paint out of the roller, hanging it to dry on a hook Derek had installed for this purpose.

He finished by the time Derek was done with the kitchen.  Derek washed his roller too, hanging it next to Stiles’.

“So, that’s done,” Stiles said. He and Derek were both paint-splattered and sweat-soaked and in desperate need of a shower.

“Yeah,” Derek said. He smiled fondly at Stiles. The past three weeks had seen them consummate their relationship in truly earth shattering fashion. They’d had so much sex that neither of them could walk straight for about a week, and it had made cleaning the house that much more difficult. Neither of them was willing to stop long enough to fully heal though.

“Wanna join me?” Derek asked, cheekily, jerking his head back toward the house.

“For a shower?” Stiles clarified.

Derek hummed. “Among other things.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“I think your dad left us a house warming gift earlier. I put it upstairs. It was for the bedroom.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek before running up to the room they’d picked for the bedroom. Sitting on their bed was a red cellophane-wrapped basket. Stiles poked it, turning it around until he could see the contents clearly.

“Really, Dad?” He laughed. Condoms and lube. They were running low, so Stiles couldn’t even be mad at his dad for it. They would definitely get used. In fact… Stiles pulled on the ribbon and peeled off the cellophane. He picked out a box of flavored condoms and headed to the bathroom where Derek had already started the shower.

“Strawberry or cherry?” he asked, stripping quickly and joining Derek under the spray.

“Strawberry?”

“You or me?”

Derek’s gaze dropped to Stiles’ crotch. “You?” he tried.

Stiles grinned and rolled a strawberry flavored condom onto his dick. “Good choice,” he said, as if Derek could have made a bad choice here.

The smile he got in return was brilliant, and Derek gracefully dropped to his knees, leaning forward to envelope Stiles’ dick in the wet heat of his mouth.

It was good, great, perfect, and Stiles wouldn’t change a thing.

~ End ~

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter Ten

Title: Past, Present, Future

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @tragiclyhip​

It’s been a productive morning. Breakfast had turned into an enormous affair; seemingly endless supplies of pancakes, french toast and eggs and bacon being shared amongst the ten people gathered. Although much more reserved and quiet than Millie, Alannah had held her own in the midst of the chaos and chatter; the only child initially nervous and withdrawn but quickly and seemingly getting accustomed to the level of noise and activity that comes with so many children in one house. She’s a lovely little girl. Smart and witty; always offering to help out with food prep and dishes whenever she’s over for a meal, full of compliments in regards to food and decor and possessing remarkable manners and social graces for someone so close to their teenage years. In a way she reminds Esme of the younger version of herself; shunned by her own family and desperately searching for people that will both accept and love her. Perhaps that’s why she’d been so willing and eager to bring the eleven year old into the fold; remembering what it was like to be surrounded by family yet feel so alone at the same time. It’s a horrible feeling; knowing that you’re not what your mother -or both parents in Alannah’s case- wanted and never allowed to forget it. It’s isolating and soul destroying. Causing problems that deeply imbed themselves in your psyche; battling with the destruction and never still weeping and sore wounds that hang around even as a an adult. She hadn't been as fortunate as Alannah; no one else that had been willing to embrace her as ‘one of their own’ and give her what she had so desperately needed AND wanted. And there’d be no way she’d wanted another kid going through that same thing; feeling alienated and lost as a kid and then having your adult years just as messed up and troubled.

So many bad decisions could be directly blamed on the behaviour she had witnessed growing up. Able to make friends yet unable to form real bonds with them. Growing tired of romantic partners; annoyed by the sounds of their voices and agitated by the touch of their hands and winding up feeling physically ill at the thought of them even touching her in an intimate way. The idea of being that close to someone had always turned her off instead of the opposite; a handful of brief and non intimate relationships throughout her entire high school career before trying her hand at the ‘real deal’ in college. Even then it had been too much work; long battles with her own brain and her own hang ups before she would even let her first REAL boyfriend get anywhere past second base. And she’d gotten married solely because she’d been convinced that Mark could be the one to get her past her issues; she’d learn how to tolerate someone being around all the time and she’d learn how to be a normally functioning adult when it came to having a serious and long term relationship with someone. That had been a disaster; confusing being in love with exactly just settling for someone and convincing yourself that you couldn’t possibly do better, so why even try? And even though she hadn’t loved him, she’d still desperately held on even when he became abusive and turned her life into a living hell. Suddenly afraid to be alone and terrified that his words were true: no one else would ever want her. That she was damaged and crazy and no one in their right mind would ever put up with THAT. And he’d constantly remind her that she couldn’t do better. That she should count her lucky stars that he even stuck around in the first place. No other man would, after all.

“That’s how much I love you, Esme. I put up with you. No other guy would. But I do. Because I love you THAT much.”

It’s weird how things evolve. Or don’t, for that matter. How your past has such an impact on your future. Fifteen years after Mark and she still struggles; moments of extremely low self esteem, lingering mental health problems, an unhealthy and twisted relationship with her own family, a constant worry that -despite being relatively healthy and somehow surviving the most horrible and terrifying of moments- her marriage is only two seconds away from imploding. The latter is irrational and she knows that. Despite Mark’s words, she had managed to find someone that loves her -truly and wholly loves her- despite all of her issues. Who sees past her messiness and busts his ass to help her finally move on and heal from her past. Who looks at her like she’s the most amazing and beautiful woman in the world; who would remind her of that until his very last breath and who -regardless how much it DOES annoy him- always tries to reassure her that things are just fine. He doesn’t care about the other women that check him out or show him attention or even the balls to try and get close. Always finding ways to assure her that he only has eyes for her; a man of few words that never shies away from pledging his unwavering love and faithfulness. No matter how many times she needs to hear it.

Her mother. She’s the one to truly blame for how fucked up her brain is. That lack of maternal instincts and the pure hatred she’d often shown. She had never let Esme forget that she was a mistake; a ‘change of life’ baby that never should have happened in the first place. On the worst of days, she’d often say that she’d wished she’d never even had her. That she should have ignored Esme’s father’s begging and pleadings to keep the baby. They hadn’t needed another mouth to feed; five boys was more than enough and another kid only caused financial strain and emotional strife. Her mother had always refused to acknowledge her own issues that had caused so many problems; her constant cheating, her lack of maternal instincts, her own biases when it came to her children. Even decades later she refuses to accept any responsibility; laughing off any mention of parental neglect or favouritism and shunning any and all suggestion that she was -and still is- emotionally abusive and an expert at psychological warfare.

While there’s no proof that those exact same things exist in Alannah’s home, Esme does hang onto an old adage passed down by Doctor Klein: “if things are that bad out in the open, they’re even worse behind closed doors.” If Alannah’s parents are so ‘out there’ with their distaste for each other and with their roles as parents, things are probably much darker and direr at home. And if she can give the kid a glimpse of a somewhat normal family and the experience of having siblings and people around her that do value her and appreciate her and show her attention and affection, it’s the least she can do. It’s too late to mend her own issues and it’s not possible to go back and time to change things, but she CAN alter Alannah’s present AND future.

Desi arrived at ten. Quite the baker and chef himself, he had offered to help Tanner in his culinary pursuits; bringing over his most expensive pots, pans and baking sheets and a stash of both exotic and common ingredients for the ten year old to experiment with. And with Millie the only other child left in the house, it had given her the opportunity for a little ‘me time’; the rest of the kids having gone with their father to assist in his pursuit for last minute Christmas gifts and the items she’d jotted down a list prepared right before he stepped out the front door. Some time in the gym had done her a world of good. Forty five minutes on both the treadmill and the rowing machine, followed by some time with the weights and working up a sweat punching and kicking at the heavy bag; the latter successfully enabling her to shed the anger and bitterness towards Mark, her own mother, and Alannah’s parents.

While she isn’t quite nearly as devoted and motivated as her husband is -often working out twice a day, two to three hours at a time- when it comes to fitness, she find it DOES help; getting her heart rate up and her adrenaline flowing a rather successful combination when it comes to her battle with her mental health woes and her ongoing battle with her self esteem. The latter becoming worse with the arrival of the last set of twins and her inability to shed the remaining twenty pounds -out of forty five- that she’d gained while pregnant with them. She’s nowhere near who and what she’d been before she’d begun having children; missing how skinny yet fit she’d been and how every piece of clothing she’d owned or tried on had seemed to fit so perfectly.

Tyler always rolls his eyes when she brings it up.Quick to remind her that a lot has changed since they first met; he doesn’t expect her to be the same person, in the same way she doesn’t expect him to be either. And that’s a good thing, he’d point out, and then thoroughly list all the ways they’ve both evolved for the better. He’d get that mischievous glitter to his eyes and he’d give that cheeky grin and he’d talk about how much he enjoys her body now; all that ‘extra cushioning’ in all the right places. And then he’d kiss her and embrace her as tight as her body would allow him to and everything would seem right and perfect in the world once again. Those big, strong arms never failing to make her feel safe and protected. In a way no one else has ever been able to.

******

After a long bubble bath- complete with scented candles and a glass of wine- she finally heads downstairs; braiding her still damp hair and securing it with an elastic and letting it dangle over the front of her shoulder. Desi is in the living room; surrounded by plastic tote boxes filled to the brim with various Christmas ornaments that he’s in the middle of organizing. The tree had arrived earlier and now sits in its stand in front of the living room window; seven feet tall and wide and full and filling the house with the fresh and unmistakable scent of pine. The kids are already excited to decorate. Even the normally quick to bore Millie looking forward to what has turned into quite the year event; Chinese take out and hot chocolate stirred with candy canes and the fireplace on while Christmas carols play on the stereo. It’s just a little ‘something’; a simple and silly little tradition that they’d adopted when they’d first moved back to Australia and have been indulging in ever since. There’s been many more adopted; both trying to give their kids the experiences they never had growing up.

“Thought maybe you fell asleep,” Desi says in a way of greeting. “Not that I’d blame you. Isn’t often you get time away from all the kiddos.”

“As nice as a nap sounds, the bath hit the spot. I may or may not have refilled the tub with hot water three times. Just to drag it out a bit. You’ve been busy. You don’t have to organize and clean my house every time you come over. I’m more than happy just to spend time with YOU.”

“A little help here and there is a good thing. Little T was helping me go through things and make them a little easier for you to find. We’ve got shortbread and sugar cookies in one oven, brownies and squares in the other. He’s in his glory that kid. Quite the little baker, ain’t he? He’s got skills. A mighty keen palate.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me at all if he becomes rich and famous for his cooking and baking one day. He’s a talent. In many ways.”

“He’s a good kid. A damn good kid. Reminds me of you in a lot of ways. Got quite a bit of momma in him. And he sure thinks the world of her, too.”

“He’s always been close to me. Since we lived in Colorado. He became quite the momma’s boy when things…” her voice trails off and she reaches into one of the boxes and pulls out a strand of rose gold garland. “...when things weren’t so good between Tyler and I.”

“That bad?”

“Bad enough. We split up. For six months.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. He went through some things. That were totally out of his control. And he made some decisions that weren’t the best. I had to kick him out.”

“You kicked him out? You? As madly and crazily in love as you are?”

“I did. He got back into the booze and the pain meds and he became a totally different person and I didn’t want that around the kids. So I told him to go. That once he got his shit together and could put us before his issues and his job, he could come back. Took him half a year, but…” she shrugs and tosses the garland onto the couch. “...it all worked out in the end. We got back together and we fought like hell to make things work. And here we are. Twelve years into things. And a hell of a lot better and stronger than we’ve ever been. He’s changed. We both have. We’ve come a long way.”

“And Little T?”

“He picked sides. He was three years old. Just a baby still. But he’d seen and heard enough and it affected him way more than it did TJ and Millie. He was scared of his dad. For a long time. Not that Tyler ever did anything to scare him; he never yelled at the kids or hit them or did anything to frighten them. We fought. A lot. And those fights got pretty bad. A lot of yelling and a lot of really horrible things said to each other. Things we can’t take back, unfortunately.”

“But you got past all that. Obviously.”

“We did. I mean, we didn’t MEAN the things we said. They were said out of anger and hurt; none of it was ever intentional. But that sticks with you, you know? You didn’t mean what you said and you hate yourself for saying any of it, but you still did it. And you can’t go back and erase it. Those words existed. Sadly.”

“You can’t dwell on it, Big E. You just can’t. Y’all got past it, am I right? You got back together, you said yourself you’re better and stronger than ever. And I highly doubt he holds all that against you; shit that happened years ago.”

“I know he doesn’t. But I also know he holds it against himself.”

“Well, that’s the bipolar part of things. Keeps the bad shit in his head and reminds him of it during the down moments. He’s doing okay with that? All that shit in his head?”

“He is. He’s been remarkably...well..for someone with the diagnosis he has. I’m proud of him. For handling things like he has. He just copes with it all. Way better than I thought he would. It’s been five years and there’s been no real issues. He takes his meds and he goes to therapy and he manages it all well. I’m proud of him. So proud. He’s done really well. He’s a tough shit, that’s for sure. Probably the toughest person I’ve ever known.”

“You mean when you’re NOT looking in the mirror?”

Esme laughs. “I am not THAT tough. I put on a good front.”

“You’re a tough cookie for a tiny little thing. All the things you’ve told me? That you’ve been through over the past twelve and a bit years? You shouldn’t underestimate yourself like you do.”

“It’s been...interesting...to say the least.”

It isn’t something she speaks so openly and honestly about; how she and Tyler met and everything that had happened in Dhaka and the decisions she’d made on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It isn’t exactly a topic you’re comfortable discussing with just anyone; your husband being a mercenary and a former alcoholic and painkiller addict with mental health issues. But Desi is trustworthy; kind and compassionate with a heart even bigger than his already enormous body. And it helps to have a confidant; someone to spill even your deepest and darkest secrets to without the worry of being judged.

“I found these,” Desi snags a shoebox off the coffee table and opens the lid as he presents it to her. “Look homemade.”

She peels back the layer of tissue paper and smiles at the contents revealed. “Salt dough ornaments. I remember making them with Millie. We were still in Telluride. Our third Christmas there. I hadn’t even gotten pregnant with Declan yet. God, that seems like a long time ago.”

“There’s four there, though. If you hadn’t had Declan yet, there’d only be three, would there not?”

“That’s not Declan’s.” She carefully plucks out the fourth ornament in question; gingerly turning it over in her palm as she inspects it. The same size and shape as the others, but with the added ‘extra’ of a halo that a then three year old Millie had decorated with gold glitter. It had been her idea; an ornament for the brother that she’d never get to meet but insisted was still very much part of their family. “That’s Austin’s.”

“Austin? Who is Austin? You have another kid I don’t know about? A baby you lost or…”

“Austin wasn’t mine. He was Tyler’s son. From his first marriage.”

“Excuse me….what?”

“He was married. Before me. In the same way I was married before him.”

“You never told me about that. You being the second Missus Rake.”

“There was never really a reason to talk about it. She was his high school sweetheart. They got married pretty much right after graduation. Then he joined the military. Austin arrived a little while later. When he was twenty five.”

“What happened between them? Things went bad or…?”

“It wasn’t the healthiest of marriages. They were young. Probably rushed into things. He was gone a lot and she wasn’t happy being an army wife.”

“And the kid? Does he see him? Do they live in Australia too or…?”

“Austin died.” She finds herself both fighting back a flood of threatening tears and speaking around a lump of emotion sitting square in her throat. “When he was six. Long before I ever knew Tyler.”

“I’m sorry,” Desi lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if…”

“It’s okay. It’s good to talk about it. About HIM. We’ve never hidden it from the kids. We’ve always been open and honest about things. Our past lives, the fact we were both married before, how they’d have another sibling if things had gone differently. There’s never been a reason NOT to tell about those things. It’s all part of who we are. All plays a role in how we got to where we are now. In one way or another.”

“Was he sick? Was there an accident or….?”

“He had lymphoma. It was very aggressive and pretty far along when the doctors finally caught it. The kid didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t last long. Even with chemo and radiation. It was bad. Very, very bad. Just a horrible thing for a kid to go through.”

“And for his folks to see.”

“It was a really bad time. For them. As a family. And Tyler…” she swipes at the tears that manage to escape. “...he was never the same after that. It really did a number on him. I know he seems all big and bad and fearless and intimidating but he’s got such a huge heart. He loves big and he loves deep. You see how he is; with the kids.”

“Definitely loves being a daddy. And they definitely love him.”

“He’s an amazing dad. I couldn’t have asked or wished for a better father for my children. And in a way, losing Austin made him the dad that he is. It was rough. On him. It still is.”

“It’s a hell of a thing. Losing a kid. Can’t imagine what it’s like seeing your own flesh and blood suffer like that. It was bad enough for me; seeing my husband go through what he did. I can’t imagine watching a kid go through that.”

“I often wonder what would happen if one of the kids got sick. If he could even handle it. I mean, once is enough. Imagine having to deal with that AGAIN? And I hate that my brain even goes there. That I immediately think of something like that. He’s tough and he’s strong and he’s resilient. But I don’t think he could handle that. If anything happened to one of the kids or me…”

“He’d deal with it. It’s what we do. When we love someone. But you need to get out of your head, Big E. I mean, it’s beautiful nine times out of ten. But that last remaining bit…”

“It’s a mess. I’m the first to admit that. I can’t believe I’m this emotional over this. It’s a Christmas ornament, for crying out loud.”

“It’s what it represents. It’s your husband’s pain. So it’s your pain too.”

“For years we never even put the ornament on the tree. Tyler couldn’t handle seeing it. So I just put it away. Until he was ready for it to be out. And then one year, he did it himself; got it out of the box and hung it on the tree and that was that. We’ve been putting it up since.”

“Is that why their marriage broke up? The kid getting sick?”

“There were other problems. It wasn’t a good marriage. For many reasons.” She lays the ornament back in the box and carefully covers it with the layer of tissue paper. “But I guess in the end, it worked out okay. For me anyway. We wouldn’t have met. Had things NOT fallen apart. I can’t say I wish I could go back and change things. Because if I could do it…”

“Change one thing, change everything. The butterfly effect.”

“Whatever you do, do not bring that up to Tyler. Not the butterfly effect itself. The movie. Don’t talk about Ashton Kutcher to him. He’s got this deep rooted and unexplainable hate for him.”

“I feel the same way about Justin Timberlake. You know what I call him? Just to be an asshole? Justin Tenderbottom.”

Esme laughs at that, then sets the shoebox down on the cluttered coffee table and allows herself to be pulled into a tight hug; one of Desi’s enormous hands on the back of her head and his arm curled around her waist. She rests her forehead against his chest; the tears coming easily and effortlessly now. It’s a hurt she’s never been quite able to explain; a painful and long lasting mourning for a child that she never knew.

“You’re a good little wife, Big E. I know for a fact that he thinks the sun rises and sets on you. That you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“He said that?” Esme sniffles noisily and looks up at her friend. “He admitted that to you?”

“He did. And he’s said a lot about you. All good things, too. You are definitely the center of his entire universe. And you know what? It’s a horrible thing that happened. To his son. To him. But if it hadn’t? Well you wouldn’t have what you have now. Those seven kids you got? None of them would exist. And if you ask me? This world is a better place because they do.”

“Mum!” Tanner calls, as he slowly makes his way from the kitchen; oven mitts on his hands as he carefully carries a mug of tea. “I made you a drink! I knew you’d want one. You always have tea right after a bath.”

Smiling, she pulls away from Desi and uses the bottom of her t-shirt to wipe away the tears that stain her cheeks. “You know me very well, sweet boy. You didn’t use the stove though, did you? To boil the water? You know you’re not supposed to do that if there isn’t an adult with you.”

“I used the coffee maker. Daddy showed me how. I know what I’m doing. And it’s safe. I can’t hurt myself. Three milk and no sugar,” he presents her with the mug, a proud smile plastered from ear to ear. “Just like you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” she says, and takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “And so are you. The most perfect and precious Nugget EVER.”

****

Two hours later she finds herself lounging in the sunroom; legs stretched out and socked feet against the window, laptop opened and resting on her thighs. It’s a double helping of work; two businesses to keep running smoothly even when thousands of miles away. Scheduling and payroll and Christmas bonuses to take care of for the bookshop employees, emails from potential clients needing fast and efficient ‘solutions’ to serious problems in areas all over the world. Word travels in the mercenary life; a rather tight knit yet extremely competitive circle that moves fast. People with money want the best; someone that chooses a life of relative secrecy yet possesses an astounding and well respected reputation. The list of ‘regulars’ is long and plentiful, and each brings more people into the game; word of mouth making or breaking a company such as theirs. There’s never a lack of work; over forty guys -some with years of experience that had bailed from competitors- employed and constantly climbing. But Christmas is the one holiday where they DO take a break; referring anyone that needs a job done to Anil. He doesn’t take his role of a husband and a father as seriously; dedicated to his work and refusing to let anyone -even his own wife and children- get in the way.. He’s a good man and treats Nik and the girls well; providing for them and protecting them and making sure they never go without. But his loyalties remain with his business, and he is never shy when it comes to admitting or defending it.

She forwards him the emails and then focuses her attention on the bookstore; balancing the books and checking the profits and sending out payroll and bonuses. It’s been a quiet end to the morning; Milie and Alannah upstairs in her bedroom playing on the computer and watching movies, Tanner and Desi finishing their first round of baking and using their break to head outside to play in the snow. She watches them now; Desi’s big body lumbering around the yard as he chases Tanner, who occasionally allows himself to be scooped up and tossed into the nearest snow pile. That high pitched and giggle makes her smile; picturing Tanner’s enormous smile that crinkles the bridge of his nose and the corners of those brilliant blue eyes. He doesn’t form bonds easily; leery of new people and finding it difficult to make friends. But he’d taken easily to Desi. Once saying that it was the man’s deep yet soothing voice that won him over. Along with a gentle smile and warm brown eyes that let Tanner know that their neighbour was a good person with a good heart.

The doorbell sounds just as she finishes and sends off the store’s schedule for January. The melodic chime setting off a flurry of activity and noises; both dogs -stirred for their naps in front of the front room fireplace- now barking in unison, paws sliding across hardwood flooring as they scramble for the door. It’s soon followed by Millie’s footsteps; seeming unusually thunderous and heavy as they rush down the stairs. Accompanied by that thick Aussie accent she’s adopted within the last five years; yelling at Saju and Mac to lie down and shut up and behave or she’ll throw them out in the snow. It’s hardly a threat; both preferring the sun and the sand and their romps in the ocean, but quite accustomed to the cold weather and snow beneath their feet.

“Mum!” Millie bellows in an effort to be heard over the continued barking. “Some lady’s at the door! She wants to see dad!”

“He’s not home!”

“I know that! But she wants to talk to someone! And I don’t want it to be me!”

Smirking, she snaps the lid closed on the laptop and sets it on the coffee table; grimacing at the tightness in her lower back as she gets to her feet. The pain and discomfort is new over the course of the last five years; a small mistake made during the epidural while in labour with the twins resulting in long term damage. It sucks; your body betraying you when you’ve been so selfless and willing to keep other human beings alive inside of you. Pulling the sides of her cardigan sweater tighter around her body, she crosses her arms over her chest as she heads for the front of the house; soles of her UGG slippers lightly squeaking against the wood flooring. They’d been yet another one of her husband’s surprise gifts; a neatly wrapped package accompanied by a bouquet of Australian wildflowers that had shown up a day after he’d left for Cambodia. He’s become a master at it; showering both her and the kids with both simple and elaborate gifts. Claiming that it makes him happy to do it; spending his own childhood going without while his father used their money for booze. And it’s a way of making up for all his past mistakes as well; doing whatever he can to be a good husband and father and erase the mistakes of the past that continue to haunt him.

The woman at the door is tall and blond; clad in a disgustingly expensive leather coat with fur trim, the ends of her wavy platinum hair tumbling out from under the edge of a burgundy wool beret that perfectly matches her heavily painted lips. The smile she gives is phony; the look of dismay and disgust readily apparent as her eyes take in Esme’s more casual and relaxed look. It isn’t the first time she’s seen a look like THAT; the housewives on the school yard and at the soccer park have long perfected it, along with their snide comments about how ‘boring and plain Jane’ she is and how they can’t fathom how someone like Tyler could stand being with someone like her.

“She’s here to see dad,” Millie says. “I said he wasn’t home, but…”

“It’s okay,” Esme assures her, then nods down at the curious and rambunctious dogs now gathered at her feet. “Can you put these guys outside? Before they give me a migraine?”

Nodding, Millie slaps her hand against her thigh; a well used sign that dogs have learned means they should follow her. And they happily cooperate; their tails wagging energetically and their bodies pressed against the eleven year old’s legs as she leads the way through the house.

“She’s very…charming.”

Esme glances up at the woman standing in front of her, and manages a polite yet terse smile of her own. “Well, what can I say? She’s her father’s daughter. Can I help you?”

“You must be Emily.”

“Esme. My name is Esme. Not Emily.”

“That’s a very unusual name. A little...odd...in this day and age.”

“It’s actually quite common. Very old and classic. I was named after my great, great grandmother. And she was born in the eighteen hundreds, so…”

“I’m Natalie.” She doesn’t bother to offer a hand, electing instead to keep a firm hold on the plastic container she tightly clutches.

“That’s very plain. Natalie. Kind of boring. Guess you didn’t have any unusual and odd relatives to be named after.”

The corners of the woman’s turn up in a slight smirk.

“Can I help you? Is there a reason you’re here? Asking for my husband?”

“I’m here to see Tyler.”

“And our daughter told you he isn’t home. Which wasn’t an invite to stick around. I’m sure whatever you want to talk to him about, can wait until he IS here. Or, I could just give him a message and then he can decide whether he wants to talk to you or not. I wouldn’t hold your breath; he isn’t the chattiest person on the block. Why ARE you here? Is there something I can help you with or…?”

“I was hoping to speak to him.”

“And for the third time, you’re being told he’s not home. So sorry, Tyler can’t come out to play right now. And unless there’s something you want to say to me….”

“We met yesterday. He was at the park. With your son. The handicapped one.”

Once more crossing her arms over her chest, she cocks her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Your son. With the problems. Travis, Thomas….”

“His name is Tanner. And he doesn’t have ‘problems’. He has Autism. Don’t talk about my son like that. You can come here calling on my husband all you want, but when you bring my kid into this…”

“We had a nice little chat. At the park. We just moved here. My daughter and I. It’s been hard meeting people.”

Esme smirks. “I can’t possibly imagine why.”

“He was very friendly. Welcoming. Tyler. Not Tanner. Just to be clear.”

“And…”

“And I just wanted to thank him for that. For being so nice. For making us feel like part of the neighbourhood.”

“Well I’ll be sure to tell him that. I’m sure he’ll appreciate hearing it. Is that everything or….?”

“These are for him.” Natalie offers the plastic container. “I made them myself. They’re award winning. Used to get lots of compliments on those.”

“Oh how nice. You’re offering him your cookie. I mean, cookies. That’s very sweet. I will let him know that you stopped by with your generous offer. But just so you know, he doesn’t accept...goodies...from other women. So if you’re thinking about offering him any in the future, you might want to stop while you’re ahead. I’m sure there’s other married men out there who would gladly accept. But my husband? You’re pissing in the wrong front yard.”

Natalie’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just making it clear that he doesn’t accept goodies from other women. Ever. And he never will. So if you’ve got something brewing up in that head of yours, you might want to put an end to it now. He’s not interested. And believe me, I think you’d rather hear that from me. He won’t let you down as politely and easily.”

“I don’t know what you think I’m up to, but…”

“This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve come across plenty of women like you. And I’m just cutting to the chase. He’s not interested. Find someone else. Go after someone else’s husband. Stay away from mine.”

“I’m not after your husband. I’m just here doing something neighbourly and…”

“If it WAS something neighbourly, you would have come here to introduce yourself to ALL of us. Not just ask for him. I have to admit though, that’s pretty ballsy; showing up like this and having the nerve to talk to the wife. Most would have just left once they found out the husband wasn’t home. I’ll hand it to you; you’ve got some nerve.”

“I’m just here to be friendly. That’s it. No ulterior motive. You know, I was surprised to hear you have SEVEN kids. When I saw you the other day out in the snow with them, I thought there was no way they could all be yours. You just seemed so fresh faced and young. No way did you look like someone with THAT many children. But now up close? Well, let’s just say I’d look tired and downtrodden too if I got pregnant that many times.”

“My husband prefers the fresh faced and natural look. You know, as opposed to looking like Sephora threw up on your face. He also prefers brunettes. So that’s two strikes against you. Is there anything else? Other than your cookie. Sorry,” Esme laughs. “I did it again. I meant ‘cookies’. Is there more or…?”

“No. I think we’re done here.”

“You know what? I think we are too. And as lovely and sweet as you are, I hope this is the first and last little visit. I hope you fully understood what I told you. About keeping your goodies out of my yard. I think I made it pretty clear.”

“You did. As a matter of fact, you…”

“Have a good day,” Esme manages a smile, then shuts the door in the woman’s face, giving a small jump when she discovers her daughter sitting in the middle of the stairs; her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face.

“What a bitch,” Millie grumbles.

“Normally I’d give you hell for the language, but right? She was, wasn’t she?”

“Huge. A huge bitch. You should have throat punched her, mum. She deserved it.”

“You can’t just go around throat punching everyone that pisses you off. If you could, I’d be exhausted. Or in jail.”

“I can’t believe she’d come here asking for dad,” Millie says, as she stands and takes the stairs two at a time, following her mother towards the back of the house. “How rude is that? Asking for another woman’s husband? That’s some goddamn nerve.”

“She’s probably used to getting what she wants. And WHO she wants.”

“Well she can’t have dad. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want anyone. Just you. Think she got the point? That she better not try and mess with him? I think you went way too easy on her. I think you should have thrown down. You could have taken her. For sure.”

“Some women don’t care, Millie. They’ll continue to mess around with married guys no matter how times they’ve been warned to back off. Maybe she’s one of them. Maybe this isn’t the last we’ve seen of her. Who knows.”

“If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay away. You were tame. Dad won’t be. He won’t be nice.”

“Maybe that’s what she needs. She needs a man to tell her where to go and how to get there. If there’s one thing your dad is a professional at, it’s telling people off. Don’t worry about her ; she’s harmless. Your dad wouldn’t touch her anyway. He’s not the type. To do things like that.”

“I think it would be hilarious to see him tell her off and really embarrass her. And what are those supposed to be?” Millie nods at the container Esme drops on the island.

“Cookies. She made them for him. Isn’t that so sweet?”

The eleven year old makes a dramatic gagging noise. “She probably poisoned them. In hopes you’d eat them. Probably wants to kill you off and become our step mother. They look like shit anyway. Throw them out. I would.”

“I’ll let your dad decide what he wants to do with them. And her. The ball is in his court now. He can decide what to do from here.”

“I hope he tells her to piss off. That’s just plain weird; coming over to some married guy's house and asking for him. On what planet is that okay to do?”

“None. It’s very unusual. To say the least. But like I said, don’t worry about her. Your dad wouldn’t do something like that. He’s a lot of things, but a cheater isn’t one of them. That is the last thing I’m worried about.”

“Good. Because she has nothing on you. She’s all phoney looking. But that fur wasn’t. On her coat. I bet she’s obnoxious enough to wear real fur. What a cow. She should have been throat punched for that alone. Don’t worry, mum. You’re way better than she is. You’re real and you’re cute and tiny. And dad loves you. ONLY you.”

“Your dad is the last person I worry about. Other women? I definitely worry about them. Your dad? Never. I trust him. A hundred percent. And speaking of your father, I hope Alannah likes Mexican. Dad’s bringing some home for lunch.”

“She loves it. She loves all the same things I do.” Picking the container of cookies up off the counter, she peels back one of the corners and sniffs at the contents; frowning and making a gagging noise before setting them back down. “They’re not even good cookies. Oatmeal raisin! The abomination of cookies! Dad HATES oatmeal raisin. He says there’s nothing worse than biting into one and expecting it to be chocolate chip, only to discover it’s oatmeal raisin.”

“Your dad loves Vegemite. So excuse me if I don’t take his taste in food seriously.”

“Vegemite is awesome, mom. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yes. I do. Which is why I don’t eat it. If I wanted to eat shit, I would. Everything okay? You and Alannah getting along alright?”

“She’s my best friend. In the whole world. I love her. And we always have an awesome time and we never get tired of each other. But there’s something I need to ask you. About her.”

“Okay…” Esme slides onto one of the bar stools at the island. “...what’s up?”

“I’m worried about her. The way things are at home. Her parents are horrible. They don’t even want her around. And when she is around them, they just ignore her. They don’t even talk to her. They don’t ask about her day at school or about her friends or anything like that. They don’t even know what her favourite movie or tv show is or what celebrity she has her crush on. What parent doesn’t know that stuff? You and dad know that stuff about us.”

“Dad and I care. We like knowing about you guys. You’re our kids. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well Alannah’s their kid and they don’t give a crap about her. I mean, they’re leaving her at Christmas! How horrible is that? Who just dumps their kid off on someone at Christmas?”

“Millie, not everyone has the life you do. Not everyone has parents that love them. Not everyone has a mom and dad that wants to be involved in their lives. I didn’t have it. Your dad didn’t have it. And unfortunately, Laney doesn’t have it. It sucks. Believe me, I know.”

“But what if we could give her a family? A real family? Like you and dad did with Ovi.”

“I’m not sure if I like where this is heading…”

“She loves being here. Spending time with all of us. I mean, she was scared of dad at first. Because of how big he is and all his tattoos and scars and stuff. But she got to know him and now she loves him. And she really loves you. She always goes on and on about you. About how cool and fun you are. And tiny. Like her.”

“We love having her here. She’s a great kid. I hope she realizes she’s welcome here. Anytime.”

“She does. Which is why I want to ask you what I’m about to ask you.”

“Okay. Something tells me this is serious. What’s going on?”

"I want her to come back with us. When we go home."

“Millie, we can’t just…”

“She’s part of the family already. You and dad love her like she’s one of us. And you guys treat her great. She’d fit right in. And she’d love it there. She’d love being so close to the beach and the ocean. I know she would. And she’s not a bad kid. She’s a really good kid. You said it yourself; how great she is.”

“She IS great. She’s an awesome kid. But we can’t just take her with us.”

“Why not? Don’t you want her there?”

“Of course I want her there. But she has a mom and dad. Not very good ones, but she still has them. We can’t just take her with us. There’s this little thing called kidnapping. We can’t just take someone else’s child.”

“You took Ovi. When I was a baby.”

“We didn’t just TAKE him. We had to jump through a lot of hoops. Legally. Your dad had to go and talk to Ovi’s father and try and convince him to let us have him. It wasn’t just as simple as bringing Ovi along.”

“Dad could talk to Alannah’s parents. Talk them into letting her come with us. They’d let her. They don’t care about her anyway. We’d be taking her off their hands. They’d probably be happy about it.”

“Amelia, it just isn’t that simple. There’s a lot of red tape and legal stuff. I wish it was easier, but it’s not.”

“But would you consider it? IF her parents said okay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I suppose? I’d need time to think about it. I already have seven kids. Taking on an eighth?”

“It’s not like she’s a baby. All the hard work has already been done. Please, mum? Would you at least think about it?”

“If it was just as simple as talking to her parents and taking her with us, I’d say yes. In a heartbeat. But it’s NOT that easy.”

“I just want you to think about it. We’d be giving her a good life. Like you and dad gave Ovi. Will you at least think about it?”

“It’s not a decision I can make on my own, sweet pea. I’m not in this alone. I’d have to talk to your dad. I can’t just tell him we’re taking on another kid. It doesn’t work that way. He has to be on board with it.”

“Will you talk to him at least? Bring it up? Just see what he says?”

Esme nods. “I will talk to your dad. But I’m not promising anything, Millie. We have a crazy life. Your dad has his business and I have the bookstore. And there’s seven of you. Taking Alannah? That’s a big deal. That’s serious. And it’s something your dad and I would really, really have to talk about it. That’s all I can promise you. That I’ll talk to him. That’s the best I can do.” She reaches out and tucks some of the wayward strands of blond hair behind Millie’s ears. “Okay?”

“Okay, mum. And I’m sorry. For how I’ve been acting. I’m kinda bitchy lately.”

“Kinda?” Esme grins. “Just kinda?”

.“Okay, maybe A LOT. But I do love you. And I AM sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. I was your age once. I know what it was like. And it was brutal. VERY brutal. You know what that means? The mood swings, the attitude, the skin issues?”

“Aunt Flow is going to be paying a visit soon.”

Esme laughs.”Yeah, unfortunately. The joys of being a girl. You'll be alright, though. It’s a change. You’re growing up. Even I’m having a hard time with it. I still remember finding out about you. And telling your dad we were having you. Seems like forever ago now. We were so happy.”

“Dad was a little spooked. At first.”

“He was. And for good reason. He’d lost Austin and he didn't think he’d ever get to be a dad again. And then I told him about you and we hadn’t known each other that long and it was kinda scary. For both of us. But once we saw you? On that first ultrasound? And we got to hear your heartbeat? We loved you right away.”

“Dad’s miracle baby.”

“He will never, EVER, stop calling you that. He loves you so much, Millie. More than you could ever comprehend. And he’s pretty good, huh? At the whole daddy thing?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t trade him for another dad, that’s for sure. And I wouldn’t trade you either, mum. Just so you know. I know sometimes we don’t get along well. We don’t always see eye to eye on stuff.”

“Well, you are your father’s daughter. Through and through. And your dad and I disagree a lot too. But I love you. Beyond all comprehension You’re my first. My baby girl. How could I not?”

Smiling, Millie stands behind the stool Esme’s perched on and wraps her arms around her mother’s neck. “I love you, mummy. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

“I love you too, Amelia.” She pushes her fingers through her daughter’s, then presses a kiss to one of the forearms resting across her collarbone. “And I always will.”

[adhdebilitating]

☆ i N t R o ☆

Hi! The name's Rip! I'm a 30 y/o nonbinary individual who's spent a life time suffering with ADHD. Now, at age thirty, with the help of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, I finally feel like I am on the road to properly managing it so that it doesn't continue to fuck up my life. My ADHD manifests typically in a detrimental lack of executive function, leaving me hard-pressed to do much besides be on my phone. Which I use to sometimes make posts on here! ;)

About this blog. . .

This blog contains memes about ADHD, information, tips and tricks I have found useful, DBT(Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) skills and information about my therapy journey, self anecdotes, venting, etc. It will have cussing and descriptions of living my life as a 30 y/o adult with ADHD. As such, some adult themes may be included from time to time, but never graphic or pornographic.

This blog welcomes all types of folks with ADHD(and those who wish to learn,) however, I will not tolerate bigotry of any kind. I believe ACAB, I believe Black Lives Matter, I believe LGBTQIA folks are entitled to any and all rights, I believe obviously in breaking down stigmas about mental health and neurodivergence. I am also a fierce supporter of disabled folks. I believe in real equality. If these views don't vibe with you, you're probably better off finding another blog.

A Bit About Rip. . .

I am a queer enbie living with my two wonderful partners(I'm the Capybara in the drawing, one of my partners is the bat, the other one is the bunny) in Seattle with our dog Riley and our cat Lars(currently a kitten.) I am climbing slowly out of a funk I have been in since 2015. I have the great privilege of not needing to worry about working at the moment and instead am able to dedicate all my time to DBT therapy and practicing and learning skills. I have anxiety, depression, PTSD from an abusive childhood, ADHD, and am probably somewhere on the spectrum(to be confirmed.) I also have social anxiety that is severe enough that I don't regularly get out of my house(nevermind that there's a pandemic.)

♡♡♡

Steven Universe, LGBTQIA+, gender fuckery, psychology, DBT therapy, animated shows, vibing with an individual and really connecting, all kinds of music, some vidya games, and more

♡♡♡

Math, bigotry and discrimination, cops, stigma, transphobes, racists, homophobes, classists, all that shitty shit

A Bite of History. . .

I was diagnosed at 5 and went to various neurology centers for treatment and study, but I basically forgot anything and everything I learned there(if it was even anything.) I had been medicated most of my life up until around year 21-22 when I made the decision with my own autonomy to stop taking it.

TBC...

[gayregis]

I've listened to the part where Geralt talks with a very ill Cahir about Ciri and vengeance... it was one of the most emotional parts of the book by itself but also thanks to your take about the lost innocence of Ciri ! I felt it thrice hard in the feelings! Also, do you have thoughts on the declared love of Cahir for Ciri? Personally I see it as disturbingly romantic, let's say. Thank you for your commitment to the books and sorry to bother you

omg thank you for the ask. first of all i have to say you’re not bothering me!! tbh i have been loving getting asks because it gives me an opportunity to like bring more discussion to the witcher community... 

i feel like although reblogging pretty gifs of characters/landscapes from tw3 and any good fanart i can find is nice, my FAVORITE thing to do is write or read a really long textpost about the witcher books, i really like the discussion aspect of fandoms where people post their reactions and opinions to the content they like, because you get a bunch of shared reactions and differing opinions.

so no this is NOT a bother at all, and its nice especially to get asks about topics that i have strong feelings about but have not made posts about yet, like this one

ok, as for the actual topic: i hate forced heterosexuality, so you KNOW i hate that canon cahiri! it was out of line from sapkowski and imo, it came out of absolutely nowhere in tower of the swallow, it wasn’t something built up to or foreshadowed at all, so it felt not only weird in context but weird for sapkowski as an author.

my main problem with canon cahiri: i think it’s super creepy!

first of all, let’s discuss the age difference. cahir in baptism of fire is estimated to be “not over 25,” which i see as putting him around 20 to 25 years old, and i usually take the median of this which is around 23. while this “not over 25″ comment is said in the context of the hansa to remark upon how young cahir is (i believe it’s thought of by either geralt or dandelion, and geralt is around 60 years old and as a witcher he looks 45, and dandelion is 38 in tower of the swallow), and how cahir is described as a young man in time of contempt to illustrate that he has a sense of innocence to him as ciri cuts him down, his age gap with ciri is super innappropriate for anything to occur between them, since she is 10 or 11 during the massacre of cintra (as stated by geralt in something more), so she would be around 14 at thanedd, and 15-16 during baptism of fire to lady of the lake. so sapkowski deemed it fit to pair a 23 year old man with a 16 year old girl. this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this, what with essi being “not over 18″ and shani also bein around 18 / college age, and yennefer canonically looking around 20. listen, the man has some messed up values when it comes to women’s ages. we have to take it upon ourselves as people who like the not-weird parts of canon to understand how worldviews and personal biases affect one’s writing, and change it for ourselves to make it right so we can continue interacting with it, if we so choose (tldr: retcon some shit when it’s fucked up in canon).

now, before someone argues that “it’s fantasy medieval world, medieval relationships between men and women were just like that,” believe me, i am aware. i study ancient greece/rome and men who were in their 30s were most often paired with women in their teens as part of their arranged marriages. that is how their ancient societies functioned more than 2000 years ago. the issue is that this is a fantasy world, in which societal norms and laws do not have to conform to real-life earth history, and this is the work of a modern writer writing in the 1990s. it’s not “just how the times were,” it’s deliberately choosing to include an age gap like that to be something canonically acceptable by their society/ies.

also, one could argue that the age gap would be fine once they are older, like, when ciri becomes an adult she is already medievally-style betrothed to cahir so they start dating when she’s like 20 and he’s like 27. eh... that’s still an uncomfortable age gap, at least for when they’re in their 20s. people in their older 20s have more life experience than people in their younger 20s. but at least it wouldn’t land cahir in modern-day jail.

it’s still just an uncomfortably large age gap, and if you think about it, it’s even creepier considering that cahir met ciri when she was a helpless child around 10 - 11 and it just makes the bathing scene excruciatingly creepy too if you put it in the context that he eventually would fall in love with her. it even begins to not be about strictly age, but about life experience, development, and power imbalance within the relationship. i mean, he did literally kidnap her.

cahir in tos calls ciri a “woman” when she is like, 15 or 16 (with the rose tattoo) (to anyone reading, please don’t come at me with that “the age of consent is 15 in poland, just because it’s 18 in the US doesn’t mean your laws and culture apply to everyone” ... please do not try and justify this with laws, legality is not morality. only saying this because i’ve seen it in other posts). like.... hm! don’t like that! she is a teenager... he is in his 20s... this should not be occuring.

sorry for the loooong explanation, but every time someone brings up the subject of age gaps on tumblr it turns into crazy discourse with everyone trying to justify it.

but yeah, CANONICALLY cahir would have been 16-21 (median 18) when he met ciri at 10-11, and 20-25 (median 23) when he declares his love for her at 15-16. that’s ... not good ... to put it more into perspective, these are their ages on a traditional school system path: a 18 year old is a high school senior, an 11 year old is a 6th grader. a 23 year old has been out of college for 2 years, a 16 year old is a high school sophomore. ITS NOT GOOD

my other problem with canon cahiri: it’s boring and contradicts sapkowski at his own game.

all of the witcher is about taking fantasy tropes and inverting them, like you can’t have some random peasant kill a dragon, you’d need a professional, and also guess what, the dragon isn’t evil but a dad trying to protect his wife and child.

all of the characters in the hansa (as well as the four main characters of geralt, yennefer, ciri, and dandelion) are inversions of the tropes they represent. for some examples, milva’s trope is something like the hot action girl who only exists to be the only girl in the company and to be sexy eye candy. instead of falling into this, she is actually an action girl, not bothering with sexiness and appeal to the gaze of a male audience but a “get shit done” type, who also dresses and acts “like a man.” regis’ trope is all vampire tropes ever. he/vampires in the witcher doesn’t/don’t fall into any of the traditional european vampire myths like burning in sunlight, needing to drink blood to stay alive, being disdainful of humanity, having aversions to garlic, belonging to a super-secret orderful society that lurks in the shadows and controls everything like puppetmasters, etc... instead, he is the epitome of redemption arcs and overall “goody-goodiness,” understands humanity perfectly and does things out of his good nature. i already talk about regis too much, so i’ll quit it. 

cahir is an inversion of every knight trope ever, particularly the evil knight. he scars ciri’s memory as a night terror, but actually is not ... a bad person. he’s just some guy, pressured by his family and his society to do what he saw as an assignment like a college kid might see their final essay assignment posted on canvas. except you know. the final exam was to kidnap a girl. and he got an F on that and failed the course (ie got thrown in prison). ANYWAYS, cahir is meant to be this inversion of the knight tropes, so WHY, WHY, WHY make him become the knight trope of being the one to romance and to save a hapless princess? if we’ve learned anything about ciri, it’s that she’s the inversion of the princess trope! she KILLS PEOPLE. she ALMOST KILLED CAHIR. she can defend herself and kill for herself, she doesn’t need the knight trope going to protect her! 

heterosexual romance as the Big Reason and Motivation behind all of a character’s actions is tiring, annoying, boring, and not well-thought out. it’s so base and not unique, it doesn’t fit in with everything else about the witcher.

how i would fix it: not make them fall in love.

cahir already HAS a motivation to find ciri and to help her. he needs to APOLOGIZE. he needs to say, hey, i’m sorry i kidnapped you and ruined your life, i made peace with your dad, he doesn’t wanna kill me anymore, i can only hope that you can forgive me too after i SET THINGS RIGHT. 

as opposed to regis’s arc (i swear i am not playing favorites with regis, i just tend to compare and contrast regis and cahir’s redemptions because they are quite different yet they join the hansa side by side so they’re bound to be compared), cahir actually can find the one (not many) people he wronged, and set things right on his own accord, not go forth with a larger mission to assist all humanity, or whatever.

i think cahir also had this WONDERFULLY UNDERUTILIZED anti-imperialist message as part of his character that pains me to see being swept under the rug for some cheap lame romance story. sapkowski already created some anti-war sentiments with the battle of the bridge in baptism of fire, and he tried to create anti-racism sentiments throughout the book/at the end of lady of the lake. anti-imperialism fits with the rest of the saga as a message.

the fact that cahir was instructed by his family to hate the northern kingdoms, despite the fact that they were related to northerners, is really profound as something to happen to a character, and holds a lot of meaning in today’s society. the fact that he broke, finally, after he lost ciri, just completely lost his mind and had to be restrained because he was wailing so hard, because of the pressure that this society put him under to succeed and achieve pride for his family, is such a great example of the tragedies of society. then he speaks out against his leader and is jailed... and yet, after this, he gets to learn from his mistakes and redeem himself as a good person, and his character has developed SO much. he is not doing what his country wants him to do, he is not doing what his family wants him to do. he is doing what he wants to do because it is the RIGHT thing to do. that already is such a powerful message, he doesn’t need anymore character motivation!

so yep that’s my thoughts on why cahir is a good character asides from all that forced romance biz

[mootmuse]

Hope no one on my dash is using tumblr mobile right now. Read mores don’t work on there, right? Hopefully it’s not too hard to scroll past.

Anyway.

Being an adult who’s never moved out of my mom’s house is weird.

I turn 32 in about a month. I’m only just starting to figure out how fucked up the way I communicate with my mom is, how little she understands (or wants to understand) anyone who thinks differently, how to deal with that when she wants so badly to BE someone who is openminded and kind but, in her actions, values personal comfort over anything else.

It’s weird, being a thirty year old adult who is just working out how messed up his relationship with his mom is, while still having to navigate that dynamic 24/7. There’s this urge to explain things to her, to show her how to communicate properly - an urge I was stupid enough to, once again, give into today, and now I feel all I’ve done is damage my standing with the person who I depend on for pretty much everything.

It’s weird being a transman who’s already struggling to figure out what that means in absence of being able to go out and be in social spaces, who wouldn’t be able to do that even if the whole pandemic thing wasn’t happening. Because like - I don’t even feel secure in being a man yet, have no capacity to do the things which might make me feel more secure about it, and now the shame of having always lived with my mother is compounded by being a man who’s always lived with his mother. If I’m a man, then I’m even more the stereotype, right? The useless guy who mooches off his mother.

I have savings from when I had a job. I pay for my own groceries, and when mom remembers to ask for rent I write her a check. But the stereotype is what it is, and I fit it.

It’s weird being an adult, starting (rather late, as I do in all personal discovery related things) to uncover all the different little ways I’m fucked up and still having to do those fucked up things - still having to not communicate my needs, still having to repress to deal with those needs not being met, while realizing that’s going on and having this urge to solve it, to grow out of it, while that behavior is still something I need to manage living with someone who I should be adult enough - man enough - human enough to have at least made an effort at not living with by now.

There’s this place that’s supposed to help people with disabilities learn how to get jobs. I qualify, apparently. They didn’t tell me what condition I apparently have, even though I have my suspicions. I feel weird about asking. I don’t know if I’m officially diagnosed with something now or not. I recently rescheduled some class I have to take with them because it’s super short notice and they didn’t tell me a single thing about what it was and i have to be there in person and it’s all too stressful to do with just a couple days notice. Even if I somehow am able to be functional enough that they can help me learn to be functional, I have zero confidence that I am qualified for any job that won’t make me feel like shit. So I don’t, in my heart, believe they can do a single thing to help me do anything but have an income again. Which would be a step up, I guess. A step into the same place I was in during that near-decade working for walmart, where I hated myself the whole time for being there, for not being able to figure out how to do anything else. So not forward, really. At least I won’t be at walmart, I guess. Hopefully.

I kind of dream about being in a situation where I have a social life, where I maybe have roomates who actually listen when i tell them something they do every day messes with my noise issues, who at least is willing to be like ‘what can we do so we both get what we need’ instead of shitting on me for daring to make them feel bad about something they totally had a right to do.

I don’t know. Living with someone who fosters an environment where I could finally start trying to learn about healthy communication and healthy ways to deal with emotion just seems nice. Not everyone gets to have that, though. It’s weird to continue to want that while trying to come to terms with the fact that, with the situation and abilities I have, chances are it’s never going to happen.