Derek looked up from the book in his hands when his phone chimed in his pocket. The librarian shelving books near him shot him a disapproving look. He dipped his head in silent apology and pulled the offending electronic out. He had one contact in his phone—Laura—so no one ever called him. He left the sound on for his alarm in the morning and never bothered to turn it off. Now, with Laura gone, there was no one to call him. He stared at the California number for a moment before opening the text.

do werewolves howl the moon?

The man's brows furrowed. As he tried to decide if it was a joke or not, his phone chimed in a second message. The same librarian—wrinkles, glasses, clip-on earrings and everything—forcefully put her finger to her lips. Derek quickly turned his phone on vibrate which actually took him a minute to find the setting. He went in to his messages and saw that the second message had come from the same number as the first.

can u take pictures? dont ur eyes reflect from the flash? what do u do about selfie sunday?

Derek tapped the screen to reply.

Who is this?

The phone buzzed instantly, as if the person had been looking at their phone as they awaited the reply.

stiles!

Derek could only blink at the message. He had given his number to the teenager, but he hadn't expected him to actually use it. Shaking his head, he slid his phone back in to the pockets of his jeans. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket to get his library card. The librarian that had been shelving books was now behind the desk. She gave him the stinkiest eye in his life as he checked out the book he had found.

New reading material in hand, Derek exited the library. He unlocked his Camaro and slid in to the driver seat. He put the book in the passenger seat and pulled his phone out of his pocket. The messages were still on his screen. It was a few moments that he stared at them before locking his phone and tossing it next to the book. His engine purred when he turned the ignition and he put it in gear.

Sweat dripped on the dusty floor of the train station as Derek did his usual routine. He was finishing up with one-handed push-ups when his phone vibrated on the table next to him. Derek frowned and rose from his position on the floor. He wiped the dirt from his palms on the light grey athletic pants he was wearing. A bead of sweat trailed down his forehead in to his eye. While rubbing at the area, he grabbed a towel to wipe the other sweat from his skin. He would shower later at the Boys & Girls Club or the truck station down the road.

The number on the screen showed he had a new message from Stiles. Stiles hadn't texted Derek since last week when he was in the library. Derek had since read the book from that time and gotten a new one. Had Stiles actually wanted answers to those questions? Or was he just being an annoying teenager with nothing better to do? Was Derek supposed to text back? He shook his head and opened the message.

do u use silverware? like knives and stuff? or r u more a pick apart w/ur hands kind of guy?

The phone buzzed again.

would u just have an allergic reaction to forks? I dont think its real silver but what if u went to a friends house and they pulled out the good china? that could b really bad. funny, but bad.

Derek couldn't help but to snort in amusement. He shook his head and put his phone back down on the table. It was funny because once the very thing had happened to his cousin. He'd gone over to his girlfriend's house to meet her parents and it was a big deal. So they brought out the fancy china and the good silverware. His hands had a rash for a week and hives covered his forearms for days. It was still comical to think about now. Derek's cousin hadn't thought it was funny and his girlfriend had been mortified when she'd been told about their bloodline.

He grabbed a duffle bag of the things he would need to shower. Picking up his keys, he also picked up his phone. The message stared back at him and his thumb hovered over the reply button. Nevertheless, he closed the message and locked his phone. It slid silently in to his pocket.

It was cold outside. As Derek ran through the forest, his breath was coming out in visible clouds. The sky was clear and the star twinkled from the inky darkness. He slowed to a walk before stopping completely. There were no unfamiliar scents in the air. Even the smell from Stiles' fight with the omega had long since been swept up by the wind. He had at least found half of Laura's body and given it a proper burial. But really, he didn't want to relive the burial of his last family member. A shiver passed over him. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

its pretty cold 2nite. is it true that werewolves are warmer than humans?

Derek pressed the reply button and thought for a moment.

Werewolves generally have higher body temperatures because of the faster metabolisms.

His thumb paused over the send button only for a moment before lightly tapping the screen. A few seconds later a confirmation that the message had been sent appeared. Derek blinked at his phone for a moment. Had he really just done that? Was he actually texting someone that wasn't related to him? He was still having trouble with the idea that someone was texting him at all. It wasn't too long before his phone buzzed with a reply.

sooo...do u eat a lot then?

Derek went over his usual meals in his head before responding.

I eat three meals a day with a snack in the afternoon, just like everyone else.

really? what do u eat? rabbit? squirrel? small children?

I prefer Italian actually.

never would have guessed that.

what abt bacon?

do u have an undeniable hunger for bacon?

Derek chuckled to himself.

If someone didn't have an undeniable hunger for bacon, I would have to say they're an alien.

for real tho! bacon is god's gift to us

wait. do aliens exist?!

The man shook his head and exited the forest. He would resume looking for the omega tomorrow night. He obviously wasn't getting anywhere. He would need more leads or some evidence to give him some direction. Until then, his phone was buzzing with increasingly worried texts about the existence of extraterrestrials. Plus one account that might have been a dream, but Stiles swore that it actually happened and there was proof because honestly where would that scar have come from?

can werewolves be born?

Derek rolled over and grabbed his phone off the table. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and winced slightly from the backlight of his phone. The number flashed at him saying he had a new text message. He opened it without a thought. After reading it he replied.

Yes.

does it happen a lot?

Older bloodlines that exist today are primarily born werewolves.

then are u...?

I am a born wolf. The Hale bloodline is one of the oldest and most well-known.

Derek chose to ignore the twinge he felt in his gut when he read the "is" in his message. He was the last of his bloodline. He was the last Hale. He groaned and pushed his face in to his pillow. These were not the thoughts he had wanted to fall asleep to. It was a surprise to him when his phone started to vibrate like crazy. A frown drew his mouth down as he looked at his phone. An incoming call? It was nearly one in the morning. Nevertheless, he swept his thumb across the screen to answer the phone.

"Hello?" He grumbled in to the receiver.

"Are you okay?" Came the response. Stiles' voice was tiny through the speakers in Derek's phone.

"It's one in the morning. Don't you have school in a few hours?"

"..."

"Stiles?"

"I thought you might be crying," Stiles said after a moment.

Derek rolled his eyes, "Why would I be crying?"

"Well, I mean, aren't you lonely?"

"No," Derek lied right away. It was a knee-jerk reaction.

There was a tense silence between them and Derek actually checked to see if the line had dropped.

"When my mom died," Stiles began slowly, "I was really lonely. My dad tried to take care of me, but he was suffering just as much as I was—probably more now that I think about it," he mumbled.

"Honestly a lot of that time I don't remember. I've probably blocked it from my memory or something. But it was a really dark time in my life and I acted out and I was a really terrible child."

The teen sighed and took a moment before he spoke again, "I guess what I'm saying is that I know it can be hard to lose a family member. Although I probably sound like an arrogant child talking to you about familial death. Which, I mean, you know. I'm just saying that I'm here if you need someone to talk to."

Derek was quiet for a moment but then he nodded, "Thanks Stiles," he said gently.

"You know, your voice sounds really different on the phone. For a second there I thought you said thanks."

"Don't push it," Derek growled but there was no bite to his words. He would never admit to it, but there might have been a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay well," Stiles paused awkwardly, "I guess that's all I wanted to say. Um, so, I'll talk to you later?"

"Goodnight Stiles."

"Goodnight Derek," Stiles mumbled back, barely speaking in to the phone.

Derek pulled his phone away from his head and looked down at the screen. The numbers on the call time were still increasing as the seconds passed. His eyebrows furrowed. Did Stiles not hang up? Derek's thumb hesitated as it was perched over the red end call button. The last time he had hung up on someone, they had died soon after. It wasn't that it was a trauma, but Derek wouldn't deny the tightening of anxiety in his chest.

When there was a small sound from his phone, Derek put the phone right back to his ear.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?" Derek asked. Was he breathless? No—not him.

Stiles laughed softly, "You didn't hang up."

"Neither did you," Derek replied.

"Ah," Stiles laughed again, "That's true. Are you sleepy?"

"Not anymore," Derek rolled on to his back and rested his hand on his pillow. His phone pressed gently against the side of his face.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Not really."

"Not really?" Stiles repeated, "How can you not really wake someone up?"

"I wasn't asleep yet."

"Yeah, me either."

"Obviously since you texted me."

"Are born wolves different from turned wolves?"

Derek adjusted his position again. This time he turned on his side and let his phone lay on the side of his face.

"Different how?"

"Let's see," Stiles thought for a moment, "Are born werewolves stronger than turned ones?"

"Sometimes. Generally born wolves are only stronger than turned wolves because we can control the shift and our abilities more precisely than turned werewolves."

"What's that like? The shift, I mean," Stiles' voice broke for a moment with a yawn.

"It's different. When I was a kid it was weird—like I was putting on a costume. For a while it was cool because I could be this badass wolf man. I was convinced that I was a superhero and I would use my wolf fangs for the betterment of mankind."

"What happened?"

Derek shrugged, feeling a little silly since Stiles couldn't see the action, "I grew up and mankind labelled me as a monster."

"Oh," Stiles breathed, "Hey Derek?"

"What?"

Stiles paused, "I've seen a lot of things in my life. What I mean is—I don't think you're a monster."

What was Derek supposed to say to that? There was darkness in Stiles' voice. What kinds of things had this young mage seen? What horrors could he have overcome that Derek wasn't a monster in his world?

Derek shook his head and cleared the thought from his head. He quickly commandeered the conversation and changed the topic.

"Tell me about your tattoos. My uncle had told me about the practices of mages to strengthen and hone their skills, but I thought it had just been things he made up to scare me as a kid."

"He was right to try and scare you," Stiles muttered.

"What?" Derek frowned in the empty room.

"Nothing," Stiles inhaled and then launched in to his explanation of his tattoos.

That was how Derek fell asleep that night, listening to the calming drone of a voice on a phone talking about different inks, herbs, runes, incantations, and pictures.

"How can you even eat that stuff?" Derek said, scrunching his nose with mild disgust.

Stiles looked up at the man with a mouthful of curly fries. He chewed and swallowed in a quick fashion which nearly made Derek's stomach churn.

"Because it's delicious, duh?" The teen's lips wrapped around the straw of his drink. He drank quickly, the sound of liquid moving quickly entertaining Derek's ears.

Derek shook his head and sipped slowly from his water.

"So," Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek, "Are you like a health freak? 1,500 calories a day kind of thing?"

"Not in the least," Derek sat back, the old polyester of the booth squeaking beneath him, "But that is about as far from a potato that a person could get."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Stiles batted his eyelashes in adoration at the red-orange fry in between his fingers, "You're so beautiful. How could anyone ever hate you?" Stiles flicked his gaze towards Derek. He brought the fry closer to his face, stroking it gently with his other hand.

"Don't listen to him—that one doesn't understand how amazing you are."

"People are staring," Derek smirked, amusement apparent in his eyes.

Stiles shrugged and popped the fried treat in to his mouth. He wiped the few crumbs from the corners of his lips.

"Trust me bud," Stiles waggled an accusatory finger at him, "They certainly aren't looking at me."

Derek frowned, his eyebrows coming together, "What do you mean?"

Stiles gave him an incredulous glare, "Really? Do you not know that you're six feet of muscled goodness?" He gestured towards his chin, "You've got the whole rugged, lumberjack gone motorcycle gang member thing going."

Derek's face didn't change. He still wore an expression of confusion.

"Dude," Stiles sighed, "You're hot, okay? And that's in a completely no homo way. Even though frankly I hate that phrase because there is nothing wrong with any homo because homo is completely okay if you're a homo. That word's even pretty terrible. Like, couldn't there be a better term? Is a homo just a member of the gay community? Are they a queer? I mean, I know that the community is taking the term back and trying to change the views towards LGBTQ people. Rambling, sorry."

Stiles shut himself up by shoving some now cold curly fries in to his mouth. Derek blinked, more than likely having just been assaulted by some major word vomit. But the man didn't comment on that. He looked down and rubbed at his stubble distractedly.

"I'm hot?" He mumbled.

Stiles groaned, "Please do not make me go through this right now. I don't think I can handle an oblivious werewolf," Stiles looked up and was surprised to see a bit of a flush on Derek's cheeks.

"Are you blushing?" Stiles asked in a whisper.

Derek looked quickly to Stiles, "No. What? Of course not? Will you please just finish your curly fries so we can go?"

"Okay okay fine," Stiles picked at the fries on his tray, "Such a sourwolf."

Derek watched Stiles for a moment before turning to look out the window of the restaurant. He put his chin in his hands. His fingers hid his smug grin.

"Hey dad?" Stiles called, poking his head out from the kitchen.

"What is it?" John answered, putting his gun back together for the night's shift.

"Can I invite a friend over?"

John paused for a moment and looked up at Stiles, "Not Scott?"

"Not Scott," Stiles said with a shake of his head.

"Do I know this friend?"

"Uh, more or less?"

John gave his son a suspicious look. But he shrugged his jacket on and slid his pistol in to its holster. Stiles was practically an adult in the legal system's eyes, he could be trusted with a friend over.

"Invite them over for dinner sometime so I can meet them, all right?"

"Sure! Have fun at work! But don't even think about ordering take-out—I've got eyes everywhere, dad."

The man groaned in faked sorrow before leaving the home. Stiles listened as the police cruiser in the driveway roared to life and eventually pulled away from the house. He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot a quick text off to Derek.

want to come over for a movie? ive got unsalted popcorn

The response came fairly quickly.

What time?

Stiles smiled slightly and replied with the time and movie choices.

Derek arrived right on time. He rang the doorbell and the sound actually startled Stiles. The only people who came to their house were the McCalls and they didn't use the doorbell. They knocked once and then came right in. Stiles wondered briefly if maybe someday Derek wouldn't need to use the doorbell either.
Stiles moved to the door and opened it. Derek stood there, one hand awkwardly in his jacket pocket. The other had a plastic sack from the grocers in its grasp. When Stiles looked quizzically at it, Derek shrugged.

"I brought drinks," he explained simply.

Stiles scoffed and raised his hand to his mouth in mock surprise, "Mr. Hale," he said with a terrible Southern accent, "Surely you aren't proposing we take place in the consumption of alcoholic beverages?"

"You're underage," Derek retorted. He shook the bag, "It's water and orange soda."

"What a wonderful guest," Stiles moved aside and allowed Derek to enter.

For a moment, the man hesitated. Then he inhaled and took the first step over the threshold. He paused in the foyer and glanced around. Stiles thought that he was probably taking notice of all the possible escape routes and any place that could hold dangers.

"Here, I'll take those in to the fridge," Stiles offered, holding his hand out for the bag. Derek nodded and handed the bag off. He continued to look around, his hazel-green eyes moving slowly over everything in the unfamiliar home. Stiles frowned slightly but moved in to the kitchen to deposit the drinks. When he returned, Derek was standing in front of the table underneath the coat hooks. He had something in his hands.

"Is this your mother?" Derek asked, turning his eyes up when Stiles entered. Stiles walked over and looked at the picture.

He smiled softly, "Yeah. My dad paid to have professional pictures done on her 25th birthday."

"She's beautiful," Derek ran his finger along the edge of the frame, "You look a lot like her."

"Thank you. But my mom was pure and beautiful all over. I can't even get anywhere near her level," He mumbled. He played with the cuff of his jacket sleeve. It hid his tattoos. Even though they couldn't be seen to people outside of the paranormal, he still kept them covered. He was tainted and the tattoos were a physical manifestation of his own darkness.

"What about you? Do you have any pictures of your mom?" Stiles asked, quickly changing the subject. Derek didn't let this go unnoticed. He didn't press it though. Putting the picture down gently, he shook his head.

"The fire destroyed everything. We had one wallet sized photo of her—Laura carried it around in her wallet. But Laura had been shifted when she was killed and I can't find her clothes. So I don't know where she left her wallet."

"I'm so sorry," Stiles whispered and he meant it. If it hadn't been for the pictures of his mother that were scattered about the house, he probably would have forgotten what she looked like. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as the thought passed through his head.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

Derek pointed towards the kitchen, "The popcorn's burning."

It was a second later before the scent of burnt popcorn hit Stiles' nose. He cursed out loud and rushed in to the kitchen. Derek smiled softly to himself. He looked once more at the picture of Claudia Stilinski. Then he turned and followed Stiles in to the kitchen, asking how one could possibly fail at such a simple task.

It took about 15 minutes for them to get the popcorn just right and the drinks over ice. Derek drank his water straight from the bottle. Stiles would have none of that. He knew where he glasses had been. He had no idea what kinds of things had touched the top of those cans. It was simply unsanitary. Derek had merely rolled his eyes in slight exasperation.

They had decided on The Avengers. It was a movie both of them had seen at least once. Derek didn't appreciate Stiles' other choices ofSorcerer's Apprentice with Nicolas Cage or the cult classic Teen Wolf with Michael J. Fox. Which, really, were Derek's loss. Stiles had fantastic taste in movies.

All through the movie, Stiles and Derek had a running commentary. Stiles talked about character inaccuracies, plot loopholes, continuity issues, and ranted about Robert Downy Jr. for most of the time. Derek put in his two cents on fight scenes and how bodies just didn't work like that. They discussed the physics of some of the stunts and just how sturdy Bruce would have had to be to survive a fall like that.

They were both sitting on the couch in front of the TV for optimal viewing. The bowl of popcorn sat between them on the middle cushion. Stiles drank his orange soda and replaced it on the coffee table next to the couch. Then he reached in to the bowl only to have his fingers brush against Derek's. Derek began to mumble an apology and pull away. But Stiles chased after his hand and grabbed it. The man inhaled sharply and he looked up from their hands to Stiles' face.

Stiles felt the flush to his cheeks. He swallowed hard, noticing how Derek's gaze flicked down to the movement. Stiles leaned forward. Was Derek drifting towards him as well? Or was he just making that up? But soon, they were mere inches apart. Derek's breath curled hot against Stiles' skin. Stiles steeled himself and closed his eyes. Then he covered the small bit of space still remaining between them and gently pressed his lips to Derek's.

Stiles' lips were tight and unsure. He must not kiss very often. But those were not the thoughts that were quickly racing through Derek's mind. His mind was filled with Stiles. He smelled Stiles' scent, tasted the lingering zing of orange on his lips, heart the rapid thrum of his heart, he felt the heat of his skin radiating against him. It was absolutely intoxicating and Derek had never wanted something more in his entire life.

All too quickly, Stiles was pulling away. Derek barely kept a displeased growl in his throat.

"Was that okay?" Stiles asked in a whisper, as if afraid speaking would break whatever bubble they were in.

Derek nodded, "Yeah."

"Can I," Stiles bit his lip slightly and Derek felt a tug in his gut. He wanted to bite that lip, hear Stiles keen with pleasure.

"Can I do it again?"

"Yes," Derek breathed, moving forward first to capture Stiles' lips with his.

They melted in to each other, each reveling in the taste of the other. Derek's lips were softer than Stiles had expected. He yielded to the more experienced touch of the man. Derek put his hand on Stiles' jaw and tilted his head ever so slightly. With expert movements, he probed at Stiles' lips with a flick of his tongue. Stiles obliged and soon Derek was cataloguing every crevice of Stiles' mouth. Stiles moaned breathlessly in to Derek's mouth and the man ate all the sounds up greedily.

More.

They wanted more of the other—needed it, craved it. Stiles soon gained more confidence in himself. He moved to straddle Derek's waist on the couch. The popcorn bowl thudded against the floor as it was knocked off the couch. The two ignored it completely. Stiles pushed his hands up in to Derek's hair, holding his face steady as he took his time now exploring Derek's mouth—committing the earthy taste of him to memory. Derek's fingers curled tightly around Stiles' hips and a low growl rumbled out from his chest. Stiles shivered at the sound of it and felt a thrill shoot through his body.

Derek's fingers were migrating under the hem of Stiles' shirt. The rough pads of skin were hot against Stiles' sides. Derek traced the scars of the tattoos on Stiles' body. Stiles had to break the kiss as he groaned at the sensation. Derek's large hands ghosted over Stiles' stomach and up to his chest, fingers dusting against the hollow of his collarbone.

The man leaned forward and nibbled at Stiles' jaw. He inhaled sharply at the feel of Derek's stubble against his skin. Derek continued to mouth along Stiles' skin and down his neck.

"Shit," Stiles hissed, "Don't stop. Never stop. Why didn't we do this sooner?"

"Stiles," Derek growled against his skin, "Stop talking."

"Make me," Stiles challenged. Derek looked up, his eyes flashing blue and a smirk pulling at his lips. He intended to do just that. Their breaths mingled and Stiles' lips tingled in anticipation.

Then Stiles' phone started to blare the song "Teenage Dirtbag."

Stiles groaned and let his forehead rest against Derek's. Derek's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Who's that? Your dad?"

"No," Stiles reluctantly moved from his perch on Derek's lap, "It's Scott."

Derek nodded even though he seemed mildly agitated. But so was Stiles. Wasn't there some universal bro telepathy that let Scott know Stiles was actually getting some? Stiles sighed and picked his phone up from the coffee table.

"Scott?" He answered.

"Stiles?" Scott sounded out of breath and terrified, "Thank god you picked up."

Stiles sobered up immediately, "Scott where are you? What's wrong?"

"I-I don't know. I'm in the Preserve. Mrs. Anderson said Fluffy hadn't come back in and I offered to go find him. Oh god Stiles it was huge,"

"Mrs. Anderson's Pomeranian?"

"No," Scott wheezed and coughed, "It came out of nowhere. I don't know—it was a wolf. Definitely a wolf. Can wolves even get that big? I didn't think California had wolves."

"Scott, I'm coming to find you," Stiles said in to the phone as he pulled his shoes on and grabbed the keys to his Jeep. Derek was right behind him and Stiles took some comfort in that.

"What if it comes back? I can't run anymore—it hurts."

"Are you having an asthma attack?"

"No—it—it bit me."

"Stay where you are, Scott!"

As Stiles and Derek left the house and closed the door behind him, there was a howl from the Preserve. It echoed at Stiles through the headset of his cell phone. Derek stiffened instantly. His eyes flared blue and a snarl twisted his features.

"It's the omega," he growled.

Stiles' eyes widened and he nearly dropped his phone. Scott was still talking on the other line in a panicked voice.

"Are you sure?" He asked Derek, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Derek returned his gaze steadily. He nodded solemnly.

"I think it bit Scott," Stiles said.