Derek Hales is a thing of beauty.

Grace exudes from every pore lining his skin as he twirls and slices, bronze swords an extension of his muscular arms. Veins stood out along with black hair on contrastingly pale skin as sweat dribbled down in rivulets.

Stiles was enraptured.

That straw dummy never stood a chance.

His friend Allison elbowed him, a playful smile on her face, "So..."

Stiles flushed and threw a dagger into his target, it didn't hit center and Stiles bit down a frustrated curse as he heard someone snicker.

"So?" He snapped at her as he marched over to get the knife.

Allison rolled her eyes, "Derek."

"Derek what?" Stiles grit out.

"You like him." She drawls out, notching her bow and hitting the target perfectly.

Apollo better be fucking proud.

"Ya? And he's the prized son of Ares and I'm the clumsy unclaimed son of some minor diety."

Allison rolled her eyes, "Ya right. You guided me and Scott and a banshee here. I totally bet on Hermes."

Stiles rolls his eyes, waves of irritation rolling off of him, "So I can just stay in the same cabin?"

"We'll you already know everybody there -"

"Uh-uh, sometimes I swear Hermes had more kids than Aphrodite."

"Athena?"

Stiles snorts, "Lydia would disagree."

"Lydia puts Athena's kids to shame on a daily bases."

Stiles smiles at that, "True."

His eyes can't help but linger back to where Derek and Scott are now setting up to fight with wooden swords.

Derek's grin is feral and excited, the kind wolves get right before they rip out someone's throat. Scott looked like he was bracing himself.

Scott was a good fighter because unlike the other Ares kids, he focused on strengths other than strength. Like his speed and agility.

Derek's eyes seemed to look over at him and Allison but he probably just got sweat in his eyes or was looking at the gaggle of Aphrodite kids that watched him when they weren't practicing themselves.

His grin got just a little toothier and a little bit more blood thirsty.

Then he went in for the (hypothetical) kill.

Scott never stood a chance.

"I think Derek's trying to kill me." Scott said as they walked out of the training arena.

Stiles shrugged, "He kinda always has a serial killer look on his face."

Scott nodded absently and smiled as Allison came over, her hair falling out of her braid and her face red and sweaty.

It's unfair how fabulous she can look without having to try.

Scott's dazed happy face is testimony to that.

"Derek Hale? The man Stiles is in love with?" She coos quietly.

That fabulous bitch.

Stiles squawks unattractively and Scott has this gobsmacked look on his face as his attention snaps back to him.

"Wait! What?! Bu -"

Stiles practically tackles his face with his hand (i.e. slaps him really hard and satisfyingly), "Sh! Your not allowed to shout it!" He hisses.

Scott's eyes got wider but Stiles could feel the smile under his hand and the look of it was worse when he pulled it away.

Traitors. All of them.

He glanced over at Derek, lounging with a towel around his neck and a water bottle in his hand.

He was sweaty and looked like a good reason for any woman to have an affair. Stiles completely understood Aphrodite's cheating if Ares had looked like that.

What Stiles missed was the lingering eyes on him. The ones that followed him and the way he picked after Scott as he forgot everything in wake of Allison's backside.

A wake Stiles was left drifting on while Scott left him behind to follow the boat like a professional water skier.

Derek felt like growling. It wasn't often you found someone you could trust so much to be defenseless around and be loyal to you unconditionally. It was rare and Scott was just throwing it away.

Derek narrowed his eyes.

He just wanted someone to be like that for him. He wouldn't waste it.

Ever.

On his little bunk, that he secured after three years in the Hermes cabin as unclaimed, Stiles looked through the photo album of his mom.

It was almost his birthday and he's hoping, praying like always that he'll be claimed.

And at the same time secretly wishing he won't be.

He traces his mom's face, her hair a beautiful ginger and her eyes a bright brilliant green. She's holding onto him, him with his brown hair and brown eyes, arms wrapped around him like he'll float away into the distance. His father stares at them like they're the most precious things he's ever seen and like he'sscared they'll unravel like old sweaters and leave him with nothing left but the string to pick up.

He notes absently his father's blue eyes and sun weathered blond hair and he wonder how he never noticed sooner that it was genetically impossible for him to be the biological son of both of them.

He wonders why he had to wait for the monsters to find out.