Author: Sparkle Itamashii

Title: When the Night is Over

When the Night is Over

Consciousness was a slow thing for Stiles, a sensation that crept over him in the best of ways, caressing across his dreams, cajoling him into opening his eyes. The dawn light was soft from the west side of the house, enough that it had not managed to melt the thin layer of January frost crystals webbing across the window. He turned his head, warm brown eyes tracing over the patterns; it was rare to see frost where he lived. Considering how pretty it was, he allowed himself a moment's wish that he could see it more often.

Then he realized his nose was cold, and that the window was cracked open the barest amount, and he shook his head.

The sound of clanking dishes caught his attention a moment later, and he closed his eyes to listen. The table was being set for a large group of people, the group that would be arriving soon to celebrate his 20th birthday as well as the advent of the new year. There would be steak and eggs and bacon, biscuits and fresh syrup, and his father would make waffles for everyone. He could hear the faint click of the stove being lit, the clank of pans being arranged, the sizzle of bacon as it hit a frying pan.

"Mmm," he groaned, stretching out luxuriously.

He tried not to think of the people that would soon be arriving. Scott and his mother, Allison and her father. Lydia would come, but she would come to see Jackson. She always came to see Jackson, who would be lounging on a couch in the family room, in control of the large TV. Even Dr. Deaton would show, with Peter in tow, and it would be awkward and amusing at the same time.

A small smile crept over his lips at the thought of Peter giving the look to the veterinarian. Over three years ago, when the business with the kanima had been sorted, and Gerard lay in the ground, Allison had shaken off the drugs her grandfather had been slipping her. Detox was an awful month of screaming, of fighting, of crying and accusations. Scott had held her when she was done, stroked her hair and told her everything would be ok.

It wasn't "ok" but it was getting better. She had been angry, hurt, betrayed. Her father had asked for Scott's help, having no one left to turn to, and the two of them had brought Allison around. Scott and Chris had formed... not a friendship, but perhaps an alliance. They agreed upon the need to protect Allison, at whatever the cost, until she could again protect herself.

When she had finally come back down, she was still angry, but she was who she had been, the girl they remembered before Gerard. Sane, but furious at Derek for not controlling himself. Furious with her mother for taking the easy way out. Furious at her grandfather for drugging her to control her. Furious with Peter for killing Kate and bringing her grandfather down upon them all.

Fortunately, it was Peter that had gotten the short end of that stick. Allison had set out for revenge upon him, a revenge which ended not in his death, but in his binding. She had found a way to bind him to a master, as the kanima had been bound, and chose the only person she knew who might be able to treat his crazy- Dr. Deaton. Now Peter assisted at the vet office as Scott had done, and actually, Stiles reckoned it was doing him some good.

Still, the elder werewolf had his moments and Stiles was sure there would be a few today when he arrived. Moments where he would get that look in his eyes, and they could practically see the bloodlust or the confusion about his decision to sit here peacefully rather than fight. It was those moments when Dr. Deaton would nudge him, or softly call his name, and smile encouragingly. And Peter would take the look into consideration, give Dr. Deaton that look in return, the one that said he knew he was tottering on the edge of crazy but he wasn't sure exactly why. Then it would vanish, and he would smile and come back to them.

Stiles was happy to be able to say those moments were getting fewer and farther between. They were regrettably more frequent when all of them got together, though. Like today.

Boyd's deep voice drew his attention back to the moment, and he listened to the sound of Erica's voice in response. He couldn't hear what either of them were saying, but he knew the tone; they were bickering again. In a good way, the sort of way that said they cared, but the other was still wrong. Stiles enjoyed their arguments. It meant they were not picking on him for still being human after over four years around them.

The front door cracked open with a wet peeling noise, and the sound of Scott's voice filtered past Boyd's, joined by Isaac's soft greeting. Erica made delighted noises and Stiles assumed she was attaching herself to Scott as always. She seemed to take it the hardest, that Scott didn't want to live at the manor with them. Choosing to live with Allison after high school had set him apart from the others, but they tried not to let it show that it bothered them. Their acceptance of Scott's distance was not extended to Jackson, whom they still bullied into sleeping over more often than not- a fact Stiles didn't entirely appreciate even if he understood it.

A part of him knew that Jackson was ok now. That the kanima was in his past, that he had worked through his issues with his parents. Coping had left him able to shift into a werewolf like the others, but he was never quite... trustworthy, in Stiles' opinion. He was the outlier, the one that Stiles knew would leave eventually, maybe to start his own pack, maybe just to be alone. Either way, whatever he chose to do, he would eventually hurt the pack, and Stiles didn't want to have to put up with that.

He did, however, and he would, because the others wanted him. They had all fought for Jackson. Had thrown themselves forward at saving him rather than killing him when he had not been himself. They had worked for that member of their pack, and if they wanted to keep him, Stiles would not stand in their way. He had resigned himself to being there for them when Jackson left.

The doorbell rang, and Stiles found himself regretting the most recent addition. It was loud and kind of obnoxious, and it wasn't like the wolves couldn't hear someone knocking on the door even if they were in the very depths of the catacomb-esque basement. Not that he wasn't glad for the rest of the Hale house renovations, he just didn't think the doorbell was necessary.

Ah, the renovation, he thought as he snuggled back down into the soft blankets piled up around him. Two years ago he had convinced Derek that the pack didn't have to hide in abandoned train stations or warehouses or take cover in the dank catacombs of the Hale house. Derek did have money, more than enough to fix up the house until it was liveable. Derek had been reluctant (an understatement, Stiles thought- he had dug both heels in and gone into it kicking and howling) at first, but once the idea of having a real home had latched on, it burrowed in deep. Now the 11 original bedrooms had been finished, both front rooms, the kitchen, all four bathrooms, and parts of the catacombs had been transformed into a pantry and wine cellar.

He tried not to think of what the locked room he was not allowed to enter contained.

The sound of general commotion increased from the downstairs and the smell of bacon wafted under the bedroom door. He smiled, recognizing Dr. Deaton's voice. That meant that Allison would be here shortly, and then his own father would arrive, and they would be required to show their faces and participate. Heaving a sigh, Stiles rolled over onto his side, splayed a hand onto the bare back of the figure sprawled out beside him.

"Der~ek..." he sing-songed softly, breath warm against the alpha's ear. "Wake up, puppy."

Derek growled, but it was more long-suffering than mean. "I'm not a puppy," he grumbled into the pillow, mushing his face in a little deeper to avoid the tendrils of dawn sneaking in through the fading frost on the window.

"Hey, come on," Stiles said, encouraging him with the flat of his palm smoothed down the wolf's bare back. "It's time to get up."

"Oh, I'm up," Derek mumbled, turning his head just enough to peek at Stiles from the corner of his eye.

Stiles laughed, a sound which smothered Derek with the desire to smile in return.

"Not today," Stiles admonished. Derek made a small, needy noise at the back of his throat that very nearly dissolved Stiles' resolve. "Not fair," he whispered, then louder- "Your pack is downstairs waiting."

"My pack can wait a few more minutes," Derek growled.

"No we can't!" chimed Erica's voice from downstairs, loud enough for Stiles' benefit as well.

Stiles blushed, but raised both eyebrows as his point was made. "See?" He stroked one hand over Derek's sleep-mussed hair. "Come on. My dad will be here soon and he'll come get us if we aren't down there."

Derek groaned, but he rolled onto his side as if to get out of bed. Almost as an afterthought, the motion turned into a full body grab, and he pulled Stiles to him, the boy's back to his chest, and buried his nose in the crook of Stiles' neck.

"We could have had a private party," he murmured into Stiles' skin.

Stiles ran his fingers down Derek's forearm, smiled. "We will. But for now, we have guests, and we'd better get down there to entertain them before they start breaking things." His stare became unfixed in front of him as he imagined all the people who would soon be attempting to cohabitate his dining room. "All the things."

One eyebrow rose, and then Derek grazed his teeth softly across the skin of Stiles' shoulder. Stiles shivered, and Derek released him, rolled out of bed behind him. Smiling at a chance to relish in the sight of Derek undressed, unguarded, Stiles flopped over and raked his gaze over the other boy.

"See something you like, Stilinski?" Derek asked, giving his hips a little shake.

It was Stiles' turn to raise an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. "My birthday present for later," he said innocently. Derek just laughed, a sound Stiles still found completely intoxicating; exceptionally the times he was the cause of it.

There was a knock at the door, and Derek finished pulling on jeans before he opened it to a gently smiling Isaac. "Breakfast is nearly ready and your dad just got here," he said, leaning so that he could address Stiles. "Erica and Boyd intercepted him. Erica says you're welcome."

"Of course she does," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "Thank you, Isaac."

Isaac nodded, gave his scowling alpha a quick once over and a raised eyebrow, and then disappeared without another word. Stiles threw a pillow at Derek's butt, and then shimmied out of bed before Derek could return fire. The pillow hit the bed beside his thigh as he pulled on his own jeans. A moment later Derek was before him, had him by the hips, by the jaw, by the lips as he kissed him for attention. Stiles smiled.

"It's going to be a good birthday, ok?" Derek assured him, forehead resting gently against his. "We're past all the bad stuff."

"I know," Stiles said, but he didn't really know. He still needed to be reminded that he wasn't drowning anymore, that their entire group had managed to get its head above water, to float, to swim. They were ok now, all of them, but Stiles could still see the water, still experienced moments of doubt. The entire group only gathered for his and Scott's birthdays, and it was always tense, always a stark reminder of the blood and fear and pain that lay in their past.

But every year the past grew more distant. Every birthday the smiles were less hesitant. The laughs more genuine. Every year they found new reasons to let go, to move on, to find happiness despite everything that had happened to them.

Derek read all of it in his eyes, kissed him once more quickly and threaded his fingers into Stiles'. "Come on," he said gently. "I just heard the Argents' car. That'll be everyone."

Stiles squeezed Derek's hand, and then let go. "Go stall them for a minute, I'll be down in a sec." Derek hesitated, searched his face, listened to his heartbeat for any sign of lying and finding none. He disappeared, snagging a shirt on the way out the door. Stiles pulled on his own shirt and gave a final glance about the room, his haven. His den.

It's ok, he reminded himself silently. We made it. We're safe.

Taking a deep breath, he skirted the edge of the bed, opened the door, and disappeared downstairs to celebrate.

Thanks for reading! I just was too worried/afraid for all of them after the last ep (2/11) that I had to put some fluff out to make myself feel better. TELL ME IT WILL BE OK *sobs*