Chapter Text
"Hey, hey," Stiles Stilinski said just before he poked his tiny finger to the right of Derek's closed eye. Derek winced and batted Stiles' hand away.
"Laura," Derek said, inflecting his voice just enough to get his sister's attention wherever she was in the house. "Your pest is bugging me." Derek was sprawled on the sofa, exhausted in the way that post-basketball practice and running all the way home left him.
"Pest!" Stiles said, indignant. Derek cracked open an eyelid and stared at him sidelong. Stiles was seven years old to Derek's fourteen, and the kind of manic energetic that only the combination of healthy child + ADHD + ability to zero in on a source of sugar at any time and any place could achieve. In other words, he was the kid whose last five babysitters had run screaming from him until Laura had begun advertising herself as a local baby werewolf sitter. Stiles was human, but his parents were fevered-eyed as they insisted that no, really, they'd sign the waivers, they totally trusted Laura with their child and in fact probably only a werewolf could keep up with him. "Laura had to go into town to get Cora," Stiles said. "She said I'm your problem now. I'm hungry."
Derek stared at him blankly, and Stiles blinked his huge gold eyes in what a fool would mistake as an innocent gesture. Stiles was hellspawn (no insult to his mother intended, though Claudia Stilinski was widely regarded to be herself no angel), frequently the ringleader to whatever disaster befell the household, trailed after by the three actual werewolf kids Laura also babysat on the regular. Isaac Lahey and Vernon Boyd weren't in as frequent need of babysitting as Stiles, though, given they each had older siblings or retired grandparents to step in. Stiles had two working parents and no extended family to pick up the slack. Cora was the other baby werewolf, but she was enrolled in roughly a dozen after school programs and weekend classes, and even though they were family and lived in the same house, Derek hardly ever saw his little sister.
He did see a lot of Stiles, enough to know that Stiles wouldn't stop once started, and so it was with a heaving sigh he sat up and got off the couch, wincing at the feel of mending muscles in his legs. Werewolf healing factor was awesome, but sometimes he pushed too hard for it to keep up. Stiles let out a brief cheer and bounced at Derek's side as they headed into the kitchen.
"Curly fries!" Stiles chanted. "Derek, curly fries. Curly fries! Cuuuuurly. Fries!"
Derek shook his head. "No way, Short Stack." There was a brick of cheddar in the fridge, some apples, and home-baked bread from yesterday. Derek hesitated once he had his ingredients assembled. Snack platter or grilled cheese?
He glanced down at Stiles, who was nearly dancing on socked feet. He was the kind of kid who got excited over food, eyes shining and delighted. He wasn't really picky, and it wasn't like grilled cheese was a heck of a lot healthier than curly fries – or healthier at all, in fact – but what the hell.
When not stepping in to cover Laura's babysitter responsibilities, Derek could commonly be expected to be in the vicinity of one Paige Katsaros. Usually this meant her, studiously working through lunch hour at a picnic table to get ahead on one class or another, and him, creeper-ly staring from afar.
"Pathetic," Peter tsked.
Derek tore his gaze away from Paige long enough to glare. "We've had this talk," he said, frankly.
"The talk about how you're pathetic?"
"The talk about how creepy it is that you routinely sneak into the high school, Uncle Peter."
Peter smirked and stole the apple out of Derek's lunch bag. Derek's mom had packed him that apple. Derek's glare intensified, and Peter's smirk matched it. "I don't see anyone kicking me off campus."
"They would be if they knew you were a twenty-nine year old drama major dropout."
"And yet, I don't look a day over seventeen."
Derek rolled his eyes. Werewolves aged slowly. With conscious effort, they could age very slowly. Keeping himself looking young was about the most work Uncle Peter ever put into anything.
Peter nodded in Paige's direction and, adopting an actual serious tone, said, "You know she knows you watch her, correct?"
"Yes," Derek said through gritted teeth. It was hard to hide things from supernaturals – the ones that paid attention to all their senses, anyway. Paige held herself differently when she knew she was being watched than when she thought she was alone. And yes, Derek realized it was creepy that he knew that.
"And she doesn't seem too opposed to you watching her."
Derek narrowed his eyes and waited for his uncle to get to the point.
"So why don't you grow a backbone and actually ask her out? All signs point to her saying yes."
Across the courtyard, Paige was frowning intently at her open book, writing without looking into her open notebook as her other hand twirled a long curl around three fingers. Derek's heart gave a traitorous stutter.
"I don't want to distract her," Derek admitted. "I heard her talking about all the work she has to put in to qualify for this scholarship she wants. She has a really good chance of getting it."
"Derek." Peter's voice, uncharacteristically serious, drew Derek's attention. Peter stared at him with patient intent. "She'll say yes."
Derek scowled. "I just said –"
"If you ask her out," Peter enunciated slowly, "Say, for next Tuesday after school, she'll say yes."
"I know she'll –"
"She will," Peter said again.
His assuredness punctured Derek, who felt his face crumple. "But what if she doesn't?"
"She will." Peter stood and patted Derek's shoulder. "If you get over there and ask her right now, she definitely will."
And she did, though she seemed a little nonplused and surprised at going out on a Tuesday. But she probably had to do all sorts of extracurricular things over the weekend and Derek didn't want to get in the way of her schedule, and besides, no one ever did anything on Tuesdays. Tuesdays were boring days. Right? Next Tuesday, which was the fourteenth, of February, which made it -
Derek was halfway home when he realized he'd asked his crush out to go on a first date on Valentine's Day.
Fucking Peter.
It was a disaster.
They were on either side of a diner booth, fidgeting and staring at each other, because of course all the actual restaurants in town were booked up, given it was Valentine's Day. Derek kept clearing his throat with absolutely nothing to say, feeling like an overdressed tool in his dark blue button-up. Paige, in jeans and a purple long-sleeve shirt, was alternately pursing her lips and looking over Derek's shoulder, like there was something more interesting standing behind him. Or like he was maybe just that boring.
"Uh," he said, and drew her bright dark eyes to him expectantly. Derek felt sweat gather in his pits. His shirt collar was abruptly too tight. He was depressingly certain he was about to say something inane about the weather, when he was rescued by an excitedly shouted, "Derek!"
It was Stiles, wearing a red hooded t-shirt and blue jeans, tugging at his mom's hand as he dragged her forward through the diner. It looked like he'd just visited the barber given his newly buzzed hair. Claudia behind him was amused in a geometric print sundress, auburn hair in a pixie cut. She had a configuration of beauty marks on her face which was probably where Stiles inherited his own constellations, and she was faintly smiling. "Didn't mean to interrupt you guys," she said, swinging Stiles' hand gently. "The kiddo's been looking for you all day, and I couldn't stop him from running over." There was a smirk hiding in her smile and a wicked light shining in her eyes, and for all that her words were phrased as an apology, they weren't actually all that great at their job. Stiles made a lot of sense as like, a person, if you knew his mom. Still, it was a lifeline, and Derek grabbed onto it much like any drowning man would.
"Uh hey," he nodded. "Mrs. Stilinski, Stiles." He glanced across the table at Paige, who was smiling in polite interest. "This is my – um, this is Paige."
"It's nice to meet you," Paige said.
Claudia smiled and seemed about to say something when Stiles jolted forward. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a card and slapped it onto the table.
It was red, glittery, and shaped like a heart.
"I made it!" Stiles said proudly. Then he stared expectantly at Derek and added, pointedly, "For you."
Glittery was actually the wrong word. The card was glitter. Red heart-shaped glitter.
"Right," Derek said, blankly, face burning. "Thanks, buddy."
That was apparently the correct answer, because Stiles beamed. "See, look, I used all the glitter, and I practiced my words so I could get the writing right."
The writing was: Be mine! And then smaller, beneath: Please. And even smaller, lopsided at the bottom: From Stiles.
"It sure is full of glitter," Derek agreed, trying not to let on how fiercely embarrassed he was at this current moment in time because he wasn't a huge jackass and didn't want to hurt the little kid's tiny heart. But wow this was, uh, not exactly living up to his cool jock reputation here. "And good job on the spelling." The spelling was perfect, though the writing was obviously from the hand of a child, shaky and weirdly formed.
"Thank you," Stiles said, and nodded, and looked at Derek expectantly. Derek looked back, bewilderedly. There was a long and awkward pause before Stiles began to frown, genuinely upset, which was when Paige interrupted.
"It's so nice of you to make Derek such a great card," she said, smiling at Stiles while simultaneously widening her eyes meaningfully at Derek, as if trying to impart a secret message. "It's really great to get gifts on Valentine's Day from people who care about you. Isn't it, Derek?" And she kicked his ankle sharply. It hurt, and he was a werewolf, which she knew, so she'd probably put a lot of force behind it. He stared at her cluelessly, and he swore he saw her quickly roll her eyes, before saying, "And I'm sure Derek has something for you, too. Don't you, Derek?"
It was obvious when Paige spelled it out, but the only thing Derek had was a jewelry gift box in his pocket with a silver charm bracelet. Well, and a Reese's cup, individually wrapped. Which – could work.
"Yeah, yes, of course." Derek pulled the chocolate out and put it on the table and pushed it toward Stiles. "There you go. Happy Valentine's Day, Stiles."
"My favourite!" The beam was back on Stiles' face and he was indiscriminate in directing it to the whole diner, clasping the chocolate package with his grubby hand.
Claudia reached forward and put her hands on Stiles' shoulders and drew him back. "Okay, bucko, we gave Derek his card and he gave you your chocolate, and your Dad is waiting at home with pizza, so we should let these guys get back to their – " she hesitated, smirked, "friendly dinner. Say bye!"
Stiles pouted, but the promise of pizza and the crinkle of the chocolate wrapper in his hand seemed to convince him, because he was back to sunshine and smiles, saying, "Bye! Bye, happy Valentine's Day, bye!" He waved a tiny fist in the air, enthusiastic, and Derek smiled and waved back. Yeah, Stiles was a cute kid.
Paige's smile was back, the one that was more hinted at than present, quirking up and then pressed back down, though living in her dancing dark eyes. "Everywhere you go," she said, shaking her head.
"What?"
"Always surrounded by admirers," Paige said. She propped her chin on the heel of her hand. Her dark curls tumbled forward. Derek could see her pulse beneath the skin of her wrist, fluttering slightly too-fast, similar to his own.
"The only person I'm looking at is you," he said.
Paige's heartbeat tripped. There, her smile again, rising up, bitten down.
Giddiness welled and pooled in Derek's stomach. Yeah, he was smooth.
"I'm kind of jealous, though," Paige said, and tapped her other hand on the card still on the table, reflecting light. "This is a pretty sweet Valentine's card. Stiles must really like you."
Derek rolled his eyes and sighed. "He's just got a crush, it's kid stuff."
Paige laughed, but clearly disbelieved him. It was hard to reconcile the sweet kid who'd just handed Derek a painstakingly crafted card with the demonic hell monster that was Derek's weekend existence, though, so Derek could hardly blame her.
Their food came soon after that, and then there was the opportunity to present the Valentine's gift, and Paige's genuine delight led to her spontaneously clasping his hand across the table surface, and it was a really truly good night.
It was with an absent mind that Derek stuffed Stiles' card in his pocket before escorting Paige to his dad's Camaro to drive her home, though not without parking for a half hour first. The next day he'd wake up and realize the glitter on the card had gotten onto all his clothes and everywhere, and who knew how many cycles in the wash it would take to get them all out; just when he thought he'd gotten the last of it, new traces popped right back up, gleaming in the corners of his eyes.
Stiles spent a lot of weekend time at the Hale house because both his parents worked odd shifts as deputy and park ranger respectively, and Derek had come to expect Stiles' tumultuous addition to the household on a regular basis. But the weekend after Valentine's Day Stiles was subdued. He didn't even fight back when Cora stole his cookies and beat him to the backyard swing set and then refused to share the other swing, stretching her entire body across both seats and shrieking for someone to push her. Stiles just flopped onto the grass lawn by Derek who was stretched out with his English Lit.
"Um," Stiles said, tugging ineffectually at the grass.
"Yeah?" Derek said, not looking up from Lord of the Flies.
"That girl, the one you were with before, is she, um, your girlfriend?"
Derek did look up at that. Stiles was miserable. His face was all twisted up and his shoulders were hunched. He was curled in on himself, folded down and compressed. Derek felt a quick jerk of panic twist in his chest. Crap. He knew how much it sucked when someone didn't take your feelings seriously and he didn't want to do that to Stiles, but he didn't really have any other options than to say, "Yeah. She is, kind of. We're getting there."
"Oh," Stiles sniffled. Actual tears were coming out of his actual eyes. "But I made you a card."
"And it's a really great card," Derek said. He inched closer, sitting up, and put his hand on Stiles' little back. The thin bones shifted as Stiles drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to cry. "It's in my room and I swear I'll keep it forever. But just because you make someone something and you like them a lot, that doesn't mean –" How to explain this to a seven year old? "That doesn't mean that they owe it to you to like them back in the exact same way."
Stiles made a tiny hurt noise. Derek felt like the monster those anti-werewolf activists were always calling him and his family.
"I do like you, Stiles, of course I do. You're great. I like you a lot, I promise. Just not that way."
Stiles looked up at him. His eyes were a bleary gold. "But you, you have to," he said. "You're my – there's red thread, tying us together."
Ugh. The red thread myth that people always seemed to get stuck on. Well, some people anyway. Not all people, thank god; not Paige. Derek had heard her quiet scoff at classmates' sighing wistfully over soulmates and fate. But Stiles was just a kid, and it wasn't like he knew better, so Derek just kept rubbing his back and said, "Maybe there is, but that still doesn't mean I can like you the way you like me." And Stiles shook, and cried, but eventually accepted, and the world didn't end.
When he was sixteen, Derek -
Everyone was an idiot at sixteen, but -
And the thing was, a kid in love is one thing, but a werewolf kid in love -
He...
fixated.
The world narrowed down to a single word, and that word was Paige. She was so much more than he ever thought. When they were together, the way he felt, it was – when he was touching her, how she smelled, the curve of her ear and the curve of her smile, the curve of her cheekbone and the edge of her eye, he -
wanted
to be with her. Forever.
And he thought no one, no one ever had, ever could have, felt this way. This vast, overwhelming and terrifying love. Like he was desperate for her and – couldn't let her go. Unless she wanted to go. But she clasped onto him with just as much strength, and, and Derek -
made a very bad mistake.
She didn't die.