Work Text:
AGES 4 & 6
Derek met a Spark on his sixth birthday. The new sheriff’s deputy and his wife brought their four-year-old son over at the invitation of his mom. It was like someone let loose a tiny tornado in his party. Derek saw a red hoodie zipping among the legs of the other children and heard a lot of laughing, but he didn’t really pay attention. He was six, after all and four was still a baby.
Just before cake and presents, his uncle Peter accidentally (so he said) tripped and fell into the food table. Peter was only a few years older than Derek (so weird) but he was sneaky. When he hit the table, the cake, cookies and every single cupcake went flying. Then the table landed on what was left.
Derek stood in shock, the corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried very hard not to cry. He had lots of presents and all his friends were there and his mom had gone to a lot of trouble to decorate and he was six and big boys didn’t cry … a small red blur ran up to him just when he thought he was going to lose his fight with the tears. Derek looked down when a pudgy hand tugged on his wrist. A small, round face framed by the red hood, looked back at him with wide amber eyes. The deputy ran up, thinking his son was about to make matters worse. Instead, the little boy held up his other hand, which cupped something ... a cupcake. A single perfect cupcake with white icing and sprinkles – Derek’s favorite.
“You can have mine,” the high-pitched voice said.
Derek chewed on his lower lip and then took the proffered sweet. “Um … thanks.”
“Welcome,” the little boy replied with a wide smile.
Derek looked up at the boy’s father, who was smiling fondly down at his son. The party was slowly coming back to some sort of order and no one was looking over at Derek anymore. He wiped quickly at his eyes before anyone noticed.
“Nice job, Stiles,” the deputy said to his son.
“He's a woof, daddy,” Stiles said, pointing at Derek. He looked around the party. “Dere’s lotsa woofs here.”
Derek blinked in surprise and looked around to see his mother walking over. Talia Hale smiled kindly as she crouched in front of Stiles.
“He is a wolf, little one ... and how do you know that?”
The deputy stiffened and he stepped a little closer to his son. Stiles leaned against his father’s leg, suddenly unsure. He looked up at his dad and got a slight nod. Stiles looked at Derek with a shy smile.
“I see his ears and his tail,” Stiles said, a light blush spreading over his cheeks.
Derek’s hands flew to his head and he looked behind him. “But how --?”
Talia chuckled, placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder to still him. She looked at the deputy. “Well, Deputy Stilinski … it appears you are a better fit for our town than anyone guessed. Your son is a Spark, isn’t he?”
Deputy Stilinski nodded. His wife Claudia moved to stand beside her husband and he put his arm around her. Stiles raised his arms and the deputy hefted him up. Stiles hid his face against his father’s neck. “He can see your spirit energy ... any supernatural being’s energy actually.”
“We thought … we hoped …” Claudia began. “That Beacon Hills would be a good place for him to grow up. It was getting too hard for us to hide his ability in the city.”
Talia nodded. “I know … he’ll still have to learn to hide as we all do but I think here he will find more friends who are special, like he is.”
Derek watched Stiles peek from under his hood. He smiled and was warmed to his toes when Stiles smiled back.
AGES 8 & 10
“Stiles!” Derek shouted.
He inhaled deeply. His friend was nearby … very close, if he scented right.
“Stiles come on! I gotta bring you home!”
“I don't wanna go home,” Stiles' voice came from above Derek.
The young Were sighed. “Sparky, you gotta go home.”
“Why? Why can't I just stay here?” Stiles asked unhappily.
Derek flexed his legs and leapt up to catch the branch Stiles sat on. He swung over and sat across from Stiles. His wolf sat just beside Derek and the branch, looking unhappy as it plopped down on its belly and put a large muzzle between equally large paws. The energy lines that formed its shape were deep green braided with gold. Stiles knew more gold would appear as Derek got older, an indicator of his friend’s strong spirit. The wolf’s ears were pressed flat against its skull.
“You sad, Wolfy?” Stiles asked softly.
Derek rolled his eyes. Over the past four years of their friendship he’d grown accustomed to Stiles’ gaze darting everywhere as he read a person’s energy. It made people think he had a low attention span, but Stiles saw the world completely different from everyone else. Derek thought that was awesome but Stiles often reminded him it was difficult too. Now was one of those times.
“Of course, goofball. Your mom is sick ... I know you're scared. I can smell it.”
Derek had memorized Stiles’ scent the day they met. He couldn’t explain it then and he couldn’t explain it now, but Stiles’ scent calmed him. It made him feel like there was always hope on the other side of whatever bothered him. It was a sweet and reminded him of bubblegum.
Right now, the smell was dull and thin, which bothered Derek a lot. Stiles only smelled like that when he was frightened or unhappy. The first time his scent had changed was the day he fell out of the big tree in the Hale backyard, breaking his arm. Pain and fear had thinned out the rich sweetness until Derek could barely tell it was Stiles. He’d spent every waking minute he was with Stiles since then trying to make sure that smell never came back. But he couldn’t do anything about this – and that made his wolf miserable.
“They don't know why she sees things, Wolfy. I – her lines are all messed up. They used to float around her like little pink waves and now ... now they … they look almost purple and they’re all twisted and broken,” Stiles sniffled and tears rolled down his face. “I don’t know what to do!”
Derek whined softly in the back of his throat, unable to keep his wolf from surfacing. He moved over to his friend and put an arm around Stiles' shoulders. “I don’t know what to do either, Sparky. The doctors are doing all they know how … mom said we just have to be brave and trust that they’ll figure it out.”
It was a lame comfort but it was all Derek could offer. “You know I’m here for you, right? I’ll always be here for you, Stiles. But … you need to go home, Sparky. Your dad’s going nuts.”
Stiles hunched in on himself. “He yells at me, Wolfy.” Stiles wiped his eyes again. “I try to be quiet but … it’s hard.”
Derek nodded knowingly, pulling Stiles even closer to him. Stiles was rarely quiet and never still. Derek loved the frenetic energy his friend gave off … it made his wolf happy for some reason. But it annoyed the hell out of adults sometimes and even other kids gave Stiles a hard time. He’d been labeled ADHD and given meds but those screwed up his ability and made the situation even worse because he couldn’t understand what he was seeing at all. So they’d taken him off the prescription and let things happen naturally.
Unfortunately, with his wife so sick, Deputy Stilinski wanted his home quiet and as peaceful as it could be – two things Stiles could rarely manage. He took the yelling as best he could but in the end he was only eight and he could only control his natural tendencies so far. The last bout of screaming had prompted this runaway episode. Stiles’ dad felt bad but he was no better at dealing with what he felt than his son.
“We'll figure it out, Sparky,” Derek said softly, pressing a kiss into the tousled mop of hair. “I promise.”
AGES 10 & 12
Derek watched Stiles standing alone beside the grave where his mother's casket lay. Scott McCall, a young Were whose mother had joined the Hale pack only months ago, walked up to Stiles and pressed his nose just behind Stiles' ear, nuzzling gently. It was nothing out of the ordinary between Werewolves, but humans weren’t generally so tactile. The problem was that it made Derek’s wolf snap and growl which left him feeling irritable. He was the only one that Stiles ever did ‘Werewolf stuff” with … why was Scott McCall suddenly privileged?
“Thanks, Scotty,” Stiles said softly. “I appreciate it.”
Derek ground his teeth together. Stiles had christened him ‘Wolfy’ when he was six. He’d returned the favor by calling Stiles ‘Sparky’ because of his ability. To hear Stiles being so chummy with Scott made his insides twist. He stalked over, trying to get his wolf to calm down. He wasn’t successful.
Scott noticed him coming and took off quickly which pleased Derek’s wolf but when Stiles’ eyes landed on Derek, his wolf whined. Stiles was only ten but he’d aged a lot in the last two years. He went through the motions of living, hyperactive nature and all, but the grief that radiated off the younger boy made Derek want to hug him and never let go. That confused him but at the same time, it felt right somehow.
“Hi,” Derek said softly.
“Hey,” Stiles replied.
“I – how are you doing?” Derek asked, looking at his feet.
“Why’d you run Scotty off, Derek?” Stiles countered.
Derek looked up, startled. His wolf. Stiles had seen the way his wolf was acting possessive and angry that Scott was touching Stiles. Derek had mistaken the flat expression for grief.
“Sorry,” Derek apologized. “I just – he’s – you guys hang out all the time now. We haven’t hung out in a week.”
Even as the words left his mouth, Derek’s brain connected a few dots he probably should have realized earlier. Scott’s mom was a nurse at the hospital. Scott was the same age as Stiles and was at the hospital a lot more than Derek.
“He kept me company while I watched my mom die, Derek! Sorry I couldn’t play video games with you all the time … I wanted to be with my mom! And where were you? Your mom said you could come to the hospital any time you wanted … but whenever you did you just dragged me off to the courtyard to play games on your fucking iPad!” Stiles grief spilled out of him, erasing whatever rational control he had and replacing it with all the bottled up fear he’d kept from Derek.
“I didn’t … I thought you didn’t want to be cooped up in that room –“
Stiles surged into Derek’s space. “Cooped up?!? She was my mom, Derek!! I want my mom back! I wish it was me that died ‘cuz I don’t to want – I don’t –“
Stiles pushed away and stood by the grave, his hands clenched into fists and sobs wracking his slender frame.
“Stiles I’m sorry!” Derek pleaded. “Sparky, I didn’t mean –“
Stiles rounded on Derek, his eyes glowing amber like Derek had never seen before. Derek’s wolf cowered, helplessly showing throat in an effort to stave off the rage being displayed. The air fairly crackled with energy. Derek stumbled back a few steps and fell on his backside, staring at his friend in shock.
“Don’t call me ‘Sparky’ ever again, Derek … I don’t want you here. I don’t ever want to see you again. Not ever.”
The voice coming out of Stiles was deeper and full of a power that frightened Derek. He shifted into his beta form involuntarily before scrambling up and running away. When he finally stopped running, he collapsed to his knees and tore at the ground with his claws. His distressed howls filled the Preserve.
A building storm finally broke over Beacon Hills and flooded it to epic proportions. In the middle of it, two boys were desperately sought by their families. Derek was cornered and brought to bay by his mother and uncle in the Preserve. It would be days before he spoke again.
Stiles’ father found him sitting on the ground by his mother’s grave soaked to the skin and mute. He would spend the next month getting over pneumonia. John Stilinski’s heart broke every time he looked at his boy, pale and silent in the hospital bed. It didn’t repair their past completely, but it did bandage it a little.
It would be ten years before Derek and Stiles spoke again.
AGES 20 & 22
Stiles Stilinski whooped over the phone. He could almost see Scott wincing.
“Ow? What’s up? Is something – oh fuck! Did you – did they --?”
“Great use of your language skills there, Scotty,” Stiles said with a laugh. “And yes … yes they did! Mad Wolfgoes into production next month!”
Mad Wolf was the culmination of a long-held dream for Stiles. He’d gotten into software design when he hit his teens and things had blossomed from there. He’d published a few first-person shooter games which had funded his dream of writing an epic open world game. Mad Wolf was that game. The most eagerly anticipated feature was the ‘lupine gaze’ which mimicked his own ability to see spiritual energy. With it, the player would be able to more easily discern friend and foe as well as find hidden objects that couldn’t be seen with normal human vision. The levels were many and very complex as the player navigated The Woods, a fictional setting based on the Preserve back home in Beacon Hills.
All in all, Stiles stood to be a very rich man in a few months. Well … richer. Stiles was currently talking to Scott on his wireless headset while lounging back in his L.A. loft. In a garage below him, he had four classic muscle cars all in perfect restored condition. And one battered blue Jeep that he refused to get rid of no matter how much his girlfriend Malia protested. Malia being his very hot actress girlfriend. Everything in the loft screamed wealth and style.
After hanging up with Scott, Stiles checked his email and found a note from his dad giving him the date of his upcoming nuptials to who other than Scott’s mom, Melissa. One of the few survivors of the Hale pack fire, Melissa had gotten close to Stiles’ dad in the months following the tragedy. The memory of that brought back other, very much unwanted memories, so Stiles tried to focus on something else quickly. He didn’t want to think about those days just now at his happiest moment. After everything, he didn’t want to think about – and, fuck, if they didn’t come slamming into his brain all unbidden.
Stiles could still see Derek at 16, looking so lost and alone Stiles wanted to punch something. He’d tried to make his feet walk over to his once best friend but they wouldn’t move. He could see the wolf, once so lively and proud, lying prone and listless. Gone was the deep green and gold of younger, more innocent days. Instead, Derek’s energy was deep indigo, almost black. There was no movement beyond the little it took for the young man to walk from grave to grave, paying his respects to his lost family. Stiles had wept that night for their lost friendship and for something else he couldn’t name. He wondered sometimes, when he was low, if Derek would have let him in if he’d gone to the new apartment where he lived with his uncle Peter and little sister Cora. He wondered if things could have gone back to what they once were now that Derek understood Stiles bone-deep grief over his mom so many years past. But then he hadn’t gone and days turned into months and then years and now it was ten years past their original split. Looking out the window at the sunny California day, he wondered what his Wolfy was doing at that very moment.
A sharp knock on his loft door broke Stiles out of his reverie and he sauntered over to slide the door back with a grin.
“You forget your keys again, babe --?”
Stiles’ spit dried up in his mouth. Derek Hale stood in his doorway, a barely perceptible twitch in the corner of his mouth indicating his amusement at Stiles’ assumption. It was gone in a blink and Derek just stood, black leather jacket over black pants and a black t-shirt. He regarded Stiles’ flustered look with a blank expression. Stiles finally managed to talk again.
“What the fuck, Derek? What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles blurted.
“Hello to you too, Stiles. I’m here on behalf of your dad … he wants you at the wedding,” Derek said, explaining his unannounced visit with an almost mechanical recitation.
Stiles gaped, and then snapped. “You came nearly 400 miles to tell me my dad wants me to be at his wedding?”
Derek nodded. “He asked and since Melissa is part of my pack, I accepted. He thinks you won’t come because of the game release.”
Stiles startled. “How the hell did you know about that? I just told Scott.”
Stiles watched Derek’s wolf. Still indigo blue, the wolf did not react to Scott’s name or even to Stiles himself. The young software designer found himself feeling uncharacteristically sad about that.
Derek shrugged. “I kept tabs on you when you left because your dad asked.”
“Wait … wait, wait, wait. We haven’t talked in a fucking decade but you and my dad are apparently bosom buddies?” Stiles said, anger beginning to build.
Derek shrugged again, driving Stiles’ fury even higher. “He’s been around in one way or another since the fire … we’re friends. Look, are you going to come or not? I know the release is important but so is –“
Derek’s head snapped sideways with the force of Stiles’ punch. It hurt but only briefly. What he heard next woke up his wolf and made it growl. Stiles cried out in pain as his knuckles gave under the hit. Derek groaned and stepped into the loft as Stiles danced around, cradling his hand next to him.
“What the fuck was that for, Stiles? You never could throw a punch without hurting yourself –“
Derek growled as Stiles landed another hit with his other hand, this time managing to break Derek’s nose as well as a finger or two. Stiles yelped in pain but Derek had his arms pinned to his side. Spark or not, Stiles couldn’t break free from the Werewolf’s stronger arms. Derek used his ability to draw out pain to ease Stiles’ agony. His wolf paced angry circles around the tableau but it was in control of its rage.
Derek took one of Stiles hands, ignoring the hiss and cursing and pushed the bones back into place. Stiles fought him but Derek continued to manipulate every bone on the single hand until Stiles suddenly flared with anger. His eyes burned amber and the energy in him pulsed through his body and into his injured hand. The bones knit, the pain faded and Derek went flying across the room. Stiles’ neighbors might have noticed a flicker in their power as well but that was nothing new in L.A.
Stiles stared at his healed hand like he’d never seen it before. He looked over at Derek who was picking himself slowly up and shaking his head dazedly.
“Oh fuck … Derek! Wolfy, are you alright?” Stiles shouted, running over to try and one-handedly pull the Werewolf upright.
Derek chuckled darkly. “I’m fine, Sparky.”
Stiles froze and released Derek’s hand so quickly the other man nearly fell again.
“Ha. Fucking. Ha.” Stiles snapped. “Having fun? Want to see if I can throw you through the wall next time?”
Derek looked hurt for a brief moment and Stiles saw something shimmer in the fathomless blue of his energy. It flickered and went out as Derek’s mask slipped back into place. Stiles felt like he’d seen a glimpse of something precious only to lose it.
“Derek, I’m –“
“No worries, I’m fine,” Derek said.
Reaching up, he broke his own nose again to set it correctly for healing. Stiles winced at the blood that poured down Derek’s face. The Werewolf looked at Stiles with the expressionless eyes again and Stiles wanted to scream.
“Anyway … your dad wants you at the wedding. Let him know yes or no in the next day or two, would you?” Derek said. He walked out of the loft without a backward glance.
Malia asked Stiles what the hell he’d been doing when she came home to find him taping his fingers sitting in a pile wood that used to be a bookshelf. Stiles only said he’d met up with an old friend. Malia didn’t ask and Stiles didn’t offer.
Stiles didn’t go to the wedding but he did give his dad an awesome honeymoon in Europe following the blockbuster release of Mad Wolf. In his more depressed moments, Stiles thought about the way Derek’s wolf had looked back when the other man left. Almost as if begging him to follow.
AGES 24 & 26
Stiles stared at the paperwork in front of him. Three years, seven months, sixteen days, two sequel game releases, a miscarriage and one accusation of spousal abuse – the sum total of Stiles’ marriage to Malia. She walked away with a good chunk of his possessions but his most awesome friend and lawyer, Lydia Martin, kept her from doing any real damage. His company, Sparks. Ltd. was protected and the abuse charges were proven false and malicious. Her various affairs gave him leverage to demand a settlement in lieu of paying her alimony for the rest of his days.
So he sat in a hotel room alone with a much smaller bank account but free -- free from all the pain and anguish he’d suffered especially through the last year. Stiles was no martyr … he’d done plenty to contribute to the end of the marriage but at least they were done hurting one another now. It was over.
Scott was flying to L.A. to drive him home to Beacon Hills. Stiles was done with the big city. He wanted to see his dad and wanted to be with friends. He wanted to hole up in a small house and write code for his next game. He wanted to just be Stiles again. He wouldn’t let himself think of what else he wanted. He just dreamed about a dark blue wolf with glowing silver eyes.
Stiles cried when his dad wrapped strong but older arms around his son. The lights in the town flickered briefly as Stiles’ ability surged and then quieted. Stiles took comfort in the happy swirls of orange that surrounded his dad. They matched Melissa’s burnt umber wolf. He was silently grateful that she’d found and loved his father.
Exhausted, Stiles let Scott drive him to the little house he’d purchased with the help of Lydia. It was nice, sort of secluded on the edge of the Preserve and in immaculate condition. Just the place to create his newest game. Scott’s wife, Kira – seriously, a kitsune? – had decorated it with Scott’s help so it reflected a more laid-back personality but had elements of the imagination and creativity that flowed in its occupant. It sat ready and waiting for him as Scott walked him to the door and unlocked it before handing over the key.
“Bed’s all made with new sheets, bro,” Scott said, smiling gently. “There’s eggs, milk and bread in the fridge and the number to an awesome pizza delivery place near here. Oh and beer. I didn’t forget the beer.”
Stiles hugged Scott. “You are a good man, Scott McCall,” Stiles said cheesily.
The brothers in all but blood laughed and Scott left with a promise to drop by the next day and help Stiles really settle in … or at least play a few rounds on his prototype game. Stiles kicked off his shoes and fell like a tree toppled in the woods onto his bed. He slept without dreams for once but he could have sworn he saw a dark blue wolf out of the corner of his eye when he got up the next day. He’d had no contact with Derek since the day in L.A. and he intended to keep things that way as long as he could.
Derek crouched just outside Stiles’ bedroom window and listened to the familiar heartbeat. The sweet bubblegum scent was faint but still there. He was gone before his wolf could reveal him. He didn’t go back.
AGES 25 & 27
Stiles stared down at the silent form of his father lying in the hospital bed. Over the past year, their relationship had mended itself. John Stilinski became the father he’d always wanted to be and Stiles found himself re-learning what it meant to be a beloved child of a slightly overprotective parent with a tendency to eat less healthy than he should. It was nearly said parent’s undoing.
In the blink of an eye, a badly timed craving for pork rinds and a soda had put John in the line of fire of a spooked man holding up the convenience store. The shot missed his heart by inches but of course it tore a path of destruction through his chest.
Stiles tried hard not to see the orange swirls faded to flickers of color. He couldn’t close his eyes enough to stop all the lines of sick energy he saw. Hospitals were the worst … colors deadened by injury and disease fluttering weakly trying to regain their former strength. Some succeeded but some flickered and disappeared like so much smoke. Stiles couldn’t bear to think that his dad would be one of those.
Lost in thought, eyes closed, Stiles didn’t hear the door open. He didn’t register that another person was in the room until he heard his dad inhale sharply. Stiles’ eyes flew open to see Derek with his hands on John Stilinski’s chest, dark lines going up his arms. Irrational anger filled Stiles and he was out of his seat in a second. Derek didn’t react other than to brace himself. In the end, he still went flying across the room, but even as he lost consciousness, Derek didn’t regret his actions for a second. He didn’t see John Stilinski sit up and ask just what the fuck everyone thought they were doing.
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
Derek groaned and his eyes fluttered open. The lights in the room were dim but he could still make out the face hovering over him. Amber eyes wavered behind large tears that spilled over and splashed onto his face. Before Derek could register more than that, soft lips he’d dreamed of kissing more than he’d ever let anyone know pressed against his own dry and chapped ones. They kissed his lips, his nose, his cheek and his forehead before brushing over his ear and whispering.
“Wolfy, if you ever do something that fucking stupid again I really will toss you through the wall,” Stiles said brokenly.
Derek closed his eyes and his wolf settled as well. He inhaled the scent of sweet bubblegum and knew that when he woke up, the smell would still be there along with the young man who’d once given him a perfect cupcake to stop the pain. If he was the sort to try sappy romantic gestures, Derek thought maybe he’d give Stiles a cupcake with white icing and sprinkles … and two rings tucked into the sweetness.
ONE MONTH AFTER THAT
Two of the main power stations in Beacon Hills overloaded and plunged the town into darkness one night after Derek Hale was released from the hospital. Utility engineers were puzzled but traced the surge to a small house on the edge of the Preserve. The owner/occupant – a prominent video game designer - just looked confused holding hands with his fiancée, the aforementioned Derek Hale. The engineers congratulated the pair who’d apparently only gotten engaged the night before.
ANOTHER MONTH AFTER THAT
A good portion of the West Coast went mysteriously dark the day Stiles Stilinski married Derek Hale. Sightings of the aurora borealis were reported in the sky over Beacon Hills, a nearly unheard of phenomenon. Those who understood such things for the signs they were saw the Wolf chasing the Spark across the sky and knew it to be good omen.