past.

"Laura quit moving," Derek hisses, jutting his elbow into Laura's side.

There's a beat of silence, the sound of rustling leaves, and then, "I'll stop moving," Laura whisper-growls, "when you shut up."

"Well, I wouldn't be talking," Derek snaps, "if you would stay still!"

"Derek," Laura seethes, gold eyes flashing. She falters, however, head tilting. Her mouth stretches into a wide, mischievous grin as she shares a conspiratorial look with Derek. A silent understanding passes between them — someone's coming up the path now, footsteps light. It's a kid, no doubt, braving the infamous Hale Manor on All Hallow's Eve, jack-o'-lantern bucket clutched tightly in their grubby little hands.

Derek grins at Laura as the footsteps grow nearer; louder.

"One," Laura mouths, "Two…"

Three, Derek thinks, springing out from the bushes lining his family's massive house. He lets out a loud, earth shaking roar as he wolfs out, face shifting in a burst of hair and fangs. Laura's right beside him, her own – louder, damn it – roar ripping from her throat like a proper howl. Derek's the one holding the bowl of candy, so he stops first, burning golden eyes meeting wide, stunned brown eyes. The kid's cute, Derek thinks, with his extremely pale skin dotted in moles and horrendously ugly Batman costume.

Bat kid stands there for a moment, mouth agape as he stares, bucket clutched tightly in his tiny hands, heart jacket rabbiting beneath his ribcage.

Laura sighs out, "I think we broke an eight-year-old," before she punches Derek hard in the shoulder, making him lurch forward with a stumble. "Hurry up and give him the candy before he starts crying"—he can almost hear the exasperation in her voice—"or something."

In retrospect, Derek wished the little brat really would have just cried. Instead he drops his candy bucket, rushes forward – black cape billowing in the wind behind him – and kicks Derek right in the shin. He glares up at Derek with what can only be described as righteous fury before he turns and darts off.

It takes Laura all of two seconds before she's howling with laughter, doubled over. "You just got bested by an eight-year-old," she says between gasps, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. "Dressed as Batman!"

Derek glowers as Laura leans on him, still laughing as if this has made her whole night – it probably has – and he really, really regrets letting Laura talk him into doing this. He pushes her off. "Shut up, Laura," he snaps at her, shoving the bowl of candy into her arms. He picks the discarded bucket of candy up off the ground with a huff and stalks away to find the stupid kid. He can still hear his heartbeat, quick and a touch too fast, as he starts towards the main road.

He hears them before he sees them.

"And," Bat Kid sniffles, "a werewolf stole my candy, mommy – a werewolf!"

There's a soft, amused, "Werewolf, huh?"

"Yes," a hiccup, "but, don't worry mommy, I defeated him. 'Cause I'm batman tonight and he always… he always beats the bad guys!" Another hiccupped sob. "And I promised daddy, I promised him I'd protect mommy and that I wouldn't let us get lost cause, cause…"

There's a laugh, the sound fond, gentle, and warm all at once.

Derek frowns the moment they come into view. There's Bat Kid, clutching at the hem of what can only be his mother's shirt, cheeks wet with tears and, damn, he feels guilty. Something uncomfortable swims in his chest as he bows his head in shame and takes a tentative step forward, the kid's bucket still clasped loosely in his hand.

The woman is tall, willowy in appearance, and she smells wrong, like medicine and decay. Still, she has a kind, bemused sort of smile on her lips as she takes in Derek. "Ah," she says, "You must be the terrible, thieving werewolf."

Bat Kid glares at Derek, hiccupping in a ridiculously endearing way. Derek sighs. "Sorry," he says awkwardly, shuffling forward to hold the bucket out towards the kid.

Bat Kid eyes him suspiciously. "You're scary," he tells him petulantly.

Derek frowns around his fangs. "Yeah," he agrees, not knowing what else to say.

Hesitantly, suspicion still in his eyes, Bat Kid pulls away from his mom to snatch his bucket out of Derek's hand. He peers into it, eyes flickering back up to Derek with disappointment. "No candy?" he asks sadly, shoulders slumping.

As if on cue, Laura saunters up, her feet crunching noisily against the leaves as she says, "And what kind of villains do you think we are?" She reaches into the candy bowl, grabs a hand full of mini snickers, and deposits them into Bat kid bucket with a wink. "Not the kind to deprive Gotham's favorite vigilante of candy, surely."

Bat kid brightens immediately, taking to Laura like a moth to a flame. He smiles at her toothily, stepping further away from his mother.

The kid's mother smiles at them both as she ruffles Bat kid's hair affectionately. "Happy Halloween," she says softly, hand sliding to Bat Kid's shoulder, urging him to the side.

"Happy Halloween," Derek and Laura return in unison.

"Come on, Batman. It's getting late," she murmurs as she intertwines her hand with her son's. She gives them one last wave before heading further down the street.

Laura snorts. "Cute kid," she says. "Wanna do it again?"

Derek groans.

present.

Derek doesn't mean for it to become a thing.

He just – he just misses Laura. He misses the way she'd taunt him one moment and then boss him around the next – not unkindly, but with authority. He misses her smile and her presence – but mostly, he misses her laughter. Laura had a beautiful laugh; loud and musical. She knew how to light up a room and, after the fire… after everything, she was his rock.

So maybe, two years after her death – after Erica, after Boyd – he shrugs on his leather jacket and heads down to the local grocer. It's All Hallow's Eve so the candy isle is bursting with choices. Derek frowns, brows furrowed as his eyes rake over the selection.

"I'd go with the mini-musketeers, myself," a voice says from his right. Derek tilts his head and takes in the woman standing to his right. She's beautiful, dressed in a horribly slutty cat woman outfit that reminds Derek of Erica with a painful ache. She's brunette and her lips are painted a blaring red. And, by the way her heart is beating too-quick and she smells faintly of arousal, she's obviously eying him up.

Derek lets out a small huff of air and flashes the woman his sharpest smile. "Always been more of a snickers guy," he says lowly, snatching a bag of fun sized snickers with too much force. He pivots on his heel and stalks off before the woman can chat him up.

The ride back to his loft is swift one and, hell – do kids even trick or treat in this shady area? The answer presents itself in the form of three kids dressed in silly Halloween costumes the moment Derek slides out of his Toyota. He stares at them, face carefully blank as he reaches slowly to pull the bag of snickers out of his vehicle's window. The kids look eager as he drops three pieces each into their waiting buckets.

Laura's voice laughs from the corner of his mind, "Well, what are you waiting for, you dork?"

He doesn't even think about it – doesn't think about the consequences – he just wolfs out, roaring just loud enough to scare the pants off of the kids. They gape at him, faces startled, before they're booking it in the opposite direction, squealing in fright or delight, he's not quite sure.

Derek smirks, smug as he turns back towards his car, candy clutched tightly in his hand.

"Oh my God," someone breathes from behind him. "Oh my God."

Derek scowls because he knows that voice all too well. He turns around lazily and yeah, just as he suspected, there Stiles stands, brown eyes wide, disbelief etched into every curve of his face. He too-big, bow shaped mouth is hanging open and he looks like he just had some earth shattering epiphany.

"I can't believe – it was you, holy God, it was you," he manages to get out, gesturing wildly at Derek, whole body moving with the frantic motion of his hands.

Derek raises a single brow, and says nothing.

But Stiles is just grinning like a crazy person, looking far too delighted for Derek's comfort. He eyes Derek up slyly, knowing curve to his lips as he walks over, extra bounce in his step. "Who knew Derek Hale had a fun side… scaring kids on Halloween. Man, I almost can't believe it, it's too bizarre."

Derek bares his teeth with a smile. "You don't know a thing about me."

Stiles laughs, "Says you." He grins, the gesture obnoxious. Then again, almost everything the infuriating seventeen-year-old does can be labeled as obnoxious. "I know you used to scare poor, defenseless eight-years-olds," he continues, but the way he says isn't mocking; it's almost wistful. Stiles shifts his eyes, honey brown meeting swirling blue and green. The look is meaningful, an unspoken reminder of – oh.

Oh.

Derek has a flash clarity, of a cheap batman costume, pale skin dotted in moles, and brown eyes wide with righteous fury. He levels Stiles with a gaze, eyebrows pinched as he debates whether or not he should acknowledge that he remembers. "What's it to you?" he asks sharply, crossing his arms and doing his best to glare Stiles into submission.

Stiles' grin widens. "Nice deflection," he taunts easily, "Classic Derek Hale."

Derek scowls at that. "What do you want, Stiles?" he asks a bit aggressively, shoulders tense. He feels like Stiles has infringed on something scared which – "Stop being an over sensitive baby," Laura coos from the back of his mind, riding on the ghost of a memory – is ridiculous. It's not even a thing. Not really; not yet. And maybe, maybe he wants to keep one thing for himself; one memory that won't be ruined by someone else.

"Nothing," Stiles says easily and Derek pinches his lips. It's never nothing with Stiles.

Said teenager sighs, rubs the back of his head and smiles; the smile is small, far off. "Just – it's nice. That you, uh, do this." He squints his eyes and licks his lips, tilting his head almost nervously. Stiles stills for a moment, almost as if he's not quite sure he wants to say what he's going to say next. "It was the best Halloween I had," he says, voice the softest Derek's ever heard, "and the last one I had with my mom. She – you and, well, you made it memorable for," he swallows, "for her, and for me." Stiles sighs, giving a small, embarrassed noise. "So – yeah."

Stiles looks so earnest and, Derek can't tell you, even to this day, what he was thinking or why he offered but, before he could stop himself, the words just fall out of his mouth. "You can stick around," he says without inflection, fighting back the familiar feeling of – something; something important. "Or not. I don't care."

Stiles smiles impishly. "Okay," he says. "Cool."

future.

"This is ridiculous," Derek tells him flatly.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're ridiculous," he tells him. "Now shut up and do what I say."

Derek glowers. "I think I preferred when you were afraid of me," he grumbles to himself as he watches Stiles hastily throw on his truly awful Jason costume, completely with the overdone hockey mask.

Stiles grins at him as he slaps him on the back. "I heard that," he says cheerfully as he swings open the front door to his father's house – the Sheriff's working late; something about Mischief Night, Derek doesn't know, he tuned Stiles out halfway through his explanation – and scuttles into the bushes. "Shut the door," Stiles hisses at him, urging him to do so by making truly obnoxious gestures.

Derek sighs, annoyed and exasperated as he shuts the door with more force than necessary. For all his protesting, he really doesn't mind. ("You just can't admit when you're having fun," Stiles had said once, snorting as he poked Derek in the shoulder, smiling like he found Derek's less favorable personality traits endearing.) It's their thing, after all. Scaring small children like a pair of unrepentant assholes – Stiles words, not his.

The first rap of knuckles against the front door comes not five minutes after Stiles jumped into the bushes like a mad man. Derek opens the door slowly, Murder Eyes ("Dude, yeah, pinch your eyebrows like – no, no, like that. Yeah, awesome. See? I knew your Murder Eyes would be good for something, Derek. Other than, y'know, making me want to wet my pants. Or, jump you. What? Your face does very complicated things to my—") in place. There's four kids smiling up at him, buckets raises as they chime, "Trick or treat!"

Derek pauses, makes them sweat an,d then slowly, creepily, reaches into the candy bucket and deposits two candies each to the four smiling faces – two ghosts, a cat girl, and Captain America. He pauses, eyes sliding to where he knows Stiles is hiding before he lurches forward, eyes burning flame blue as his teeth sharpen to fangs and his face contorts.

The kids scream right away – Captain America cries – and cat girl stands there, frozen, before one of the ghosts grabs her by the hand and literally drags her down the sidewalk. That's when Stiles leaps out of the bushes, brandishing his hockey stick and laughing manically. The kids scream for a second time and flee the yard while crying.

Stiles throws his head back and laughs – a full belly laugh that achingly reminds Derek of Laura. He walks towards Derek, still chortling loudly. "Did you – did you," he tries between gasps of air. "Did you see their faces? Man, this'll never get old."

Derek finds, suddenly, that he's annoyed that he can't see Stiles' face behind the hockey mask; can't see the way his eyes shine with mirth, or his lips stretches into a wide, beautiful smile. Without really thinking about it, he reaches forward and pulls Stiles mask off. Stiles stares at him with a surprised, bemused expression. "What?"

I just wanted to see you. "Nothing," he says instead.

By the way Stiles leers at him, he doesn't buy it. "Yeah, yeah. Sure," he says, pulling the hockey mask back down over his face before easing behind the bushes.

They spend the next two hours scaring unsuspecting children and, by the end of it, Stiles pulls his mask off and stomps into the house, sweaty and gross. "Damn, I'm thirsty," he exhales, hurriedly making himself a glass of water before leaning up against the kitchen counter.

Derek watches him with an unreadable expression.

Stiles side eyes him. "Got something to say, big guy?"

"No," Derek says, caging Stiles up against the counter, eyes dark. "I don't."

Stiles smirks. "Nah, it wouldn't be in your character to admit watching me scare the pants off small children turns you on. Me, however….," he trails off, tilting his head back to stare Derek right in the eye. "I'm pretty much always turned on—"

Derek leans forward and covers Stiles' mouth with his, kissing him gently. Stiles makes a soft, needy noise into Derek's mouth as his hand curls around the curve of Derek's neck. They kiss like that for a moment longer, familiar and comfortable. Derek pulls back, enthralled by the faint blush staining Stiles' cheeks.

Stiles snorts, softly embarrassed as he pushes Derek away from him with one hand. "My dad will be back soon," he chides, though a small, devious smile does pull on his lips as he levels a meaningful leer in Derek's direction.

"I know," says Derek patiently. "But he won't be at my loft."

"No," Stiles agrees, "he won't."

Laura laughs from the far reaches of his mind, less painful this time. "God, you're such a romantic sap," she accuses. "It's disgusting."

Derek merely shakes his head, and pulls Stiles in for a second kiss.