Fic: See Right Through You (Stiles/Derek)

[marguerite_26]

Title: See Right Through You --- [Also on AO3]
Author: marguerite_26
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Stiles/Derek
Word Count: 15k
Content Notes: post-S2, canon compliant, underage,
Summary: With the Alpha pack constantly circling, Derek enlists Scott’s help to ensure everyone is ready for the worst. Scott and Stiles have other plans, though, and Derek is not impressed when he finds out they are plotting behind his back.
Author's Notes: Written for alby_mangroves for tw_fallharvest. It was a such a pleasure to write this for you. I hope this meets a couple of your prompts at least. Thanks to my beta readers who never fail to impress me with their suggestions: faithwood, melusinahp and tourdefierce



The forest held a scent of anticipation. It was mid-July and rain hadn’t fallen in weeks. Derek crouched, grabbing a leaf from the powdery dirt at his feet. It crumbled between his fingers. He glared up at the cloudless sky, squinting at the merciless rays, and made a mental note to tell the pack to be on the lookout for forest fires.

He’d tell Scott first if Scott was where he was supposed to be. Derek inhaled, searching beyond the crisp threatening dryness for the familiar scent of his pack. He found it; it was faint, though, days old already. Derek gritted his teeth around the roar building in his chest.

He knew the pack’s complaints. The Hale property was massive; add to that the full reserve, and they had acres and acres of territory to cover each day, but Derek refused to back down on this point. With the Alpha pack circling Beacon Hills like vultures, their marks had to be fresh. He knew they had summer jobs and lives outside of the pack. But they wouldn’t have those if they were dead.

He could run the perimeter himself. Mark it off like he’d done so often this summer when Isaac and Scott had to work late, or do whatever it was teenagers did these days. Instead, he settled in against the base of a thick oak and waited, his mood darkening with each passing moment.

Scott was a wildcard. He’d been willing to band together with Derek’s pack once again when the Alpha pack had moved into an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, but Derek was careful not to trust him. Especially when Scott agreed to do the things Derek had suggested. Loud arguments he could fight against; silent nodding could mean Scott was already traveling down some other road. That much Derek had learned.

He’d nearly given the day up for lost (he’d run the perimeter himself -- and would make sure Scott heard about it) when the hairs on the back of his neck rose at the scent of another wolf approaching. Then two sets of footfalls carried through the woods. Derek’s nostrils flared at the distinctly human scent muddling Scott’s.

Stiles. What was Scott thinking?

They were still a mile off to the south, approaching not nearly as fast as they could be if Scott were alone. As he should have been.

Derek could hear Stiles struggling for each breath, panting as Scott burst forward. “I’m going to have a heart attack,” Stiles shouted for all to hear, as though his frailty wasn’t already filling the air.

They were treating this as a game. The territory had to be marked with their scent, the scent of the pack, at all times. “That's how we'll show our strength,” Derek had told them.

He had lied. None of them were skillful enough to see it.

They weren't strong. The Alpha pack could crush a better and bigger pack without even trying. They didn't stand a chance. But maybe, just maybe, if the Alpha pack decided they needed to be taken down, the rich scents in the air would confuse them, distract them enough they wouldn't know which way to go, enough to give Derek's pack precious moments to escape, hidden as they would be with their own scents spreading in all directions.

Stiles' human scent was only muddling the air, ripping through the desperate layer of protection Derek was trying so hard to build.

“Dude.” Stiles gasped. “Wait up.” They were only half a mile off now, and a fair distance separated Stiles from Scott.

“I have to finish this round,” Scott called back.

A soft thud and a crinkle of leaves said Stiles had collapsed. “Why are you in such a hurry, anyway? It's not like you have a girlfriend to run off to.”

That stopped Scott. Derek could easily imagine him trying to glare Stiles into remorse, with all the fire of a battery-run puppy.

It must have worked because Stiles turned defensive. “Hey, try no girlfriend ever and no legs. Because that's how I feel right now.”

Scott sighed and walked back to Stiles. He flopped to the ground. “I have to pick up my mom from work.”

“I don't know why you even bother with the car when you can run so fast.”

“Too much running on all fours hurts my back.”

“Really? I was wondering about that.”

Scott snorted. “No.”

There was a pause. “I hate you.”

For long moments Derek could hear nothing but Stiles groaning as he massaged his limbs. Then Scott's heart rate picked up. “Are you sure we should go through with our plan? I think Derek’s expecting me to go behind his back. And it’s not the best plan.”

Derek froze, every muscle in his body tense like the second before a car crash where you can see it coming but can’t stop it. Bile rose bitter and all too familiar in his throat as he waited for more.

“It’s a good plan, buddy,” Stiles said. “We gotta do something. Derek’s shit at this.”

“If the plan fails, we’re dead. If it works... Derek’s still going to kill us. You know that, right?”

Derek’s fists clenched; he was hyperaware of the half mile between them, of how he’d love to close the distance and prove Scott right.

“No, no. He's gonna kill you. Because you'll serve as diversion like a good friend while I run off to get police custody.”

Scott must have glared again because Stiles’ tone was more serious when he spoke next. “It’s a good plan,” he said, grunting as he stood up. He jumped up and down as though testing his legs. “It’s the only way. You know Derek’s not making good decisions right now. He’s so hung up on defending his territory or whatever he’s not thinking big picture. We’ve tried talking with him--”

“And I tried to punch him.”

“Very true!” Stiles chuckled. “And very fun. Though, not for you, I guess.”

Derek wanted to punch them both right now. He wanted to rip their arms off.

Scott stood. “It's his own fault.” He was apparently warming up to the plan again. “And I can run really fast.”

“Exactly,” Stiles said, then quieted his voice as though just now remembering they were on Derek’s territory. “I’ll see what I can do tonight. And if it works, it’ll be all over and done with by the time Derek finds out.”

“It had better.” Scott was already starting back on his route. He turned to add, “Because I don't think police custody can save you.” His footfalls faded in the distance, and Stiles -- with a barely audible mumble of “No respect for the Beacon Hills Police Department, that one,” -- made his way in the other direction, probably back to his Jeep.

The forest was alive around Derek, too hot and dangerously close to lighting ablaze, but Derek shivered. The icy cold sting of betrayal slipped down his spine, familiar and inevitable.

It was a long time before he was able to move from that spot.

--

He needed to be alone with his thoughts. He still had time to get a step ahead now that he knew what was coming. Unfortunately, the house wasn’t empty.

Peter was typing away on his laptop in the kitchen, working on the only functioning outlet in the place. Derek would draw more attention to his mood if he hid upstairs. A quick drink of water and a nod would keep up appearances.

It took only one look for Derek to realize his mistake. Peter glanced up as Derek walked past and Derek knew instantly that Peter saw right through him. He grabbed a bottle of water and downed half of it. He had one foot back in the hallway when Peter finally spoke.

“Your little soldiers not obeying their General, Derek?”

Derek took another drink, keeping his expression calm and heart rate steady. He expected this much. “Scott brought Stiles along on his perimeter marking.” Which was true and also upsetting enough that Peter would hopefully buy it.

Peter hummed. “You made it sound like a game. And they treat it as such. I bet they sometimes piss on trees to 'mark the territory and show their strength.'“ He paused, eyes lighting with amusement. “Why not tell them the truth?”

Why not admit there was nothing he could do? That was what Peter was asking. But trying to save their lives wasn't nothing, so Derek had nothing to admit. He met Peter’s gaze head on. “I don't trust Scott. And I don't trust others not to trust Scott. If he realizes that we don't stand a chance, that I'm prepared to run, he'd have the pack running tonight. They'd be scattered and defenseless. Sitting ducks. We won't run unless we have to, and if we have to, we run together. As a pack.”

“He's not in your pack, remember?”

Derek kept his face blank and turned to leave, wishing Peter had stayed dead. Guilt choked him at the thought. For six years he’d have given anything to be able to have a conversation with Peter, for him and Laura to have roots beyond each other. He’d come back to Beacon Hills sometimes just to visit Peter. He’d spent countless hours sitting at Peter’s bedside, pouring his soul out to someone who couldn’t judge him, ignoring Peter’s blank expression and hoping he’d respond one day. Only now those confessions lay behind Peter’s knowing eyes. Every one of Derek’s fears, hopes, dreams and regrets waiting in reserve to be used against him.

Peter knew the power of that information and Derek should never underestimate how easily Peter could read him. Derek walked out, not exactly a tactical retreat, but Peter had the upper hand at the moment and Derek had other things to worry about.

“He could be, you know.” Peter spoke softly, but the words carried easily from the kitchen. Derek stopped. He didn’t turn back and Peter went on, “And I think you know exactly how to do it.”

The muscles in Derek’s shoulders tightened; he knew what was coming and waited for it.

Peter moved to stand before Derek in the hallway, not blocking his way, but making it harder not to meet his gaze. “You're an Alpha. You have the power to control the pack, to make them do whatever you wish.” His voice was lyrical. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That is the power of an Alpha. Those you have turned are yours to command.” Peter lifted his hand to show off his claws. “All they need is a little nudge.”

Derek struggled to stay still. They'd been through this before, and the discussion always ended with Derek's fist slamming into Peter's jaw. He was too tired for that tonight. He picked the easiest argument. “I didn't bite Scott.”

That didn’t sidetrack Peter. “You could bite Stiles.”

Derek almost laughed. “The Sheriff's son?”

“The way to Scott. The way to having control over every beta in this town.”

Derek’s temper flared. That was not how he wanted to run his pack. The Hale pack hadn’t worked like that. His father would have never bitten someone without consent, let alone try to control them in the way Peter was suggesting, in the way Peter had tried to control Scott and make him kill his friends.

Scott. Peter's mistake. A bite given to someone who didn't want it, by someone too unstable to properly establish a bond between Alpha and beta. Peter's mistake but now Derek's mess to clean up.

“You know what’s at stake here, Derek,” Peter said. “I'm telling you how to keep them alive.”

“No, you're telling me how to become you. And you… you know, you didn't actually do so well when--”

“I'm alive, aren't I?” Peter's eyes almost softened. With pity, no doubt. He was being pitied by someone whose ultimate plan had worked in the end, even if he’d been dead and buried for a part of it. “Fine. Don't use my methods. But in the absence of an actual plan, you might need a backup plan. Are you sure your pack will listen whether you tell them to fight or run? You know that no matter what, Scott will try to make them do the opposite because that's just your luck. At least set the board, arrange your pawns. Bite Stiles.”

Why was he even standing here, listening? Was he truly that desperate? Or maybe his current anger at Scott and Stiles was making him wish he could just make them fall in line. Biting Stiles might do that, but an Alpha securing his dominance over a beta was a tricky thing. Peter had proved that. Hell, Derek had proved it twice over with his own runaway betas.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. “Stiles would never say yes,” he said.

Peter chuckled. “Then don't ask. Beneath it all, he wants it.”

For one bright moment, it seemed like there was a good idea hidden in Peter's psychotic babble. Maybe Stiles did truly want to be a werewolf. He could want it. After everything that he had seen and experienced, he must crave power, crave protection, even if he broadcasted otherwise. Derek could bite him; he was stronger now than he’d been when he’d bit the others, the ability to control a new beta would’ve increased. Then Stiles would join his pack. And Scott would follow.

Maybe that could actually work.

Or maybe he could just kill them both. That would work too. Before they went through with their stupid plan, whatever it was. He knew, without a doubt, that this plan would get them all killed.

Unless Derek stopped Stiles. Or killed him. Or bit him. It all seemed so tempting.

As though he could read Derek’s mind, Peter’s voice drifted into the hallway. “Don’t take too long deciding.”

--

Stiles’ window was wide open. Likely he was trying to catch a bit of the afternoon breeze, but as someone who was about to betray an Alpha werewolf, Stiles had to have a death wish.

Derek carefully traversed the landmine of muddy shoes and dirty t-shirts that littered Stiles’ bedroom floor. Beyond the scent of sweat and mud and week-old sheets, there was Stiles, his dad and Scott. Nothing suspicious, except that his closet smelled like something had crawled in there and died. But Derek had once been a teenage boy and knew there was nothing suspicious in an odd smell coming from a sixteen year old’s closet. He remembered, a lifetime ago, his mother cuffing him on the back of the head for leaving his room like this even though Laura’s was always worse. A sharp stab of regret reminded him to keep focused.

Either Stiles was the biggest slob Derek had ever seen or he was a bit of a genius at hiding things because it took a surprisingly long time to find what he was looking for. Under a layer of comic books, a healthy eating cookbook, and oddly enough a book on cephalopods, Derek found an old book of spells.

He knew just enough Latin to guess the marked off pages had something to do with concealment, which did nothing to assuage Derek’s conviction that Scott and Stiles were in over their heads.

He didn’t get much further with the book when a car pulled into the driveway. Derek listened to the Sheriff making his way into the house. From the scent, Sheriff had his hands full of some type of deep fried diner-fare. He considered his options for a moment, but as tempting as the window was, he wasn’t ready to leave. If this was happening soon, which it clearly was, he didn’t have the luxury of letting it rest.

He put the book back, re-piling the mess in some likeness to what it once was, and stood by the closet, ready to slip inside at the sound of steps. Not ten minutes later, Sheriff trudged up to Stiles’ room. Derek watched through the crack in the closet door as Sheriff dropped a basket of folded laundry a foot inside the door with a look on his face that said he didn’t dare venture further.

With a slight screech and a jerky stop, Stiles’ Jeep pulled up not long after. The front door banged open and shut again, a bag was tossed to the floor and the first words out of Stiles’ mouth were, “You are not eating that,” as he stomped into the kitchen

“I’m working nights this week, Stiles.” Sheriff talked around a mouthful, making Stiles' point moot. “A salad’s not going to get me through the night.”

“Mel’s has a chicken caesar wrap that you said last week was actually pretty tasty.”

“I lied. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”

There wasn’t a lot of ice to the Sheriff’s tone, but the sudden pounding of Stiles’ heart said there was truth enough to hurt anyway.

“Tomorrow,” Stiles said, not letting himself get derailed. “Tomorrow you are eating a salad wrap.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll survive my twelve hour shift on rabbit food tomorrow night if your room is spotless before I have to leave.”

“What -- I -- I have things...”

There was a crinkle of something being dug from a take-out bag. “Jimmy was just telling me about this new place on Main with the best bacon double--”

“Fine!” Stiles said, defeated. And Derek’s opinion of the Sheriff went up a few notches. “Fine. Oh my god. You are evil.”

Sheriff stopped chewing long enough to say, “It’s called parenting.”

“Evil parenting.”

“I’ve found that works best with you.”

Stiles grumbled all the way up the stairs, a bag clanking at his side with each step. From the vantage point of the closet, Derek watched Stiles walk smack into the laundry basket. His arms flailed. The bag in his hands crashed to the floor. In a blur of limbs, he tumbled after it.

Candles spilled from the bag, rolling across the floor and the basket of previously folded laundry was a tangled mess on top of Stiles' legs.

This, Derek huffed, was the mastermind about to put an end to the generations old Hale Pack.

“I brought up your laundry,” Sheriff shouted from the kitchen. Derek was starting to really like him.

“Thanks ever so.” Stiles scrambled to stuff the dozen or so candles back into his bag.

Stiles was a bit of mess, more so than usual. He shoved clothes into drawers at breakneck speed, kicked dirty shoes under his bed and kicked his dirty clothes in the direction of his closet.

“Bacon double cheeseburger,” he muttered, his cheeks hot and angry. “That is not happening.”

It struck Derek then how fiercely Stiles protected his own -- whether his dad from clogged arteries or Scott this past year. A person like that would be good for the pack. But a person like that picked their own, picked the ones he’d protect. Derek would never be able to force it on him.

Sheriff popped his head in a few minutes later. “I’m off. Are you staying in or do I need to keep a look out for your red hoody at every disturbance call?”

“Me? Nope, I’ll be right here. Safe and sound.”

“Alright, have a good night, then. And if Scott comes over, you stay out of trouble and out of my liquor cabinet.”

“Dad! You know me better than that.”

“Why does that not reassure me?”

Sheriff turned to leave, shaking his head and Stiles blurted out, “Be careful out there.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s my line.”

“Sorry, it’s taken.”

Sheriff grinned, then looked around the room, which looked more rearranged than cleaned. “Spotless. Twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, yeah. This is just the first layer, you know.” Stiles kicked a balled up sock across the room and it hit the closet door. Derek slunk further into the shadows. “Now go. You’ll be late.”

Sheriff paused like he wanted to say more but instead gave Stiles an odd smile that Derek couldn’t decipher, and he left. A moment later the front door slammed shut and Stiles exhaled sharply.

Reaching for the bag, Stiles said, “Time to save some lives.” He sounded resigned, tired. Derek wasn’t sure what to think anymore; he watched in silence.

Stiles pulled out candle after candle, positioning them in a loose circle in the center of his now-cleared floor. “This better not burn down my house, Deaton, or my father is going to be so pissed.”

Derek stared through the slits in the door. A headache bloomed behind his eyes at the thought of Deaton’s involvement in this.

Across the room, Stiles continued to talk to himself as he prepared for... whatever Deaton had suggested.

Once the room was set up, Stiles grabbed his phone. Derek could hear Scott’s voice on the other end. “All set?”

“I had my last little pep talk with Deaton. I’m going to try it out now on my Furby.” Stiles held the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he grabbed a black and white stuffed animal off his bookshelf and held it up by the ear. “If this works, it’ll be you tomorrow.”

“All right,” Scott said. “Good luck.”

He closed the line, tossed his phone to his bed then set the Furby down in the center of the candles. “All right, Bright Eyes, this shouldn’t hurt a bit. In theory.”

Stiles found the spellbook under the pile by his computer and began flipping through the pages, talking himself through it. The room filled with an endless flood of mumbled words as he tried either to memorize the passage or to psych himself up for the spell. Derek wondered at what point he needed to stop watching this happen and actually stop it from going too far even though the idea of an enchanted Furby didn’t manage to inspire much fear.

Stiles lit the first candle, trembling a bit. His voice was high-pitched, nervous, as he said, “You just sit still, Bright Eyes, and if this works, Scott and Stiles are going to pay a little visit to that mean old Alpha pack.”

Derek cursed, squeezing his eyes shut in disbelief. He half-wondered if he’d heard wrong. He knew Scott had never wanted to be part of his pack, that Stiles could barely scrape together a spoonful of apathy for Derek, but to make a deal directly with the Alpha pack... None of this made sense.

Then again, it was Stiles; sense was a foreign concept.

In all the guessing he’d done in the last few hours about what Scott and Stiles' plan might be, Stiles contacting the Alpha pack had never even crossed his mind. It was suicide. It would get them all killed. Sooner than Derek expected. The Alpha pack seemed to have been at least pretending to evaluate Derek’s capabilities as an Alpha before they struck. This would be the end of all pretenses.

In theory, they were supposed to protect their kind, get rid of wild packs, keep the questionable ones in line, make sure the werewolves stayed hidden. But Derek couldn't trust they'd think twice before striking if given even the slimmest of justifications.

This teenage idiot had no idea who they were dealing with.

With each candle now lit, Stiles sat cross-legged in the center of the circle in front of the creepy stuffed owl-thing. “I feel fucking ridiculous,” he said, panic adding a bit of sing-song rhythm to his voice.

Derek was pretty sure that Stiles didn’t have enough magic in him to do anything seriously dangerous -- the plan, more than the magic, would be what got people killed. There was a tremor in Stiles' voice as he stumbled over the Latin. Nothing happened.

Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay, Stiles. You can do this.” Stiles read the passage in the book open in front of him one more time, sounding out the Latin slowly. Finally, he scrubbed his hands over his face, and said, “You just need to believe.”

He took three more tries, growing more frustrated, his pronunciation more sloppy each time. He had no handle on his power (if he had any to begin with -- Derek was not sure who’d convinced him he did). He could see the panic start to settle in. Stiles was fumbling in the dark, trying to believe in himself enough to make this work.

Stiles paused again, tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs like he needed to hold himself tight or he’d fall apart. Derek looked away. It was over. Whatever the spell was meant to do, it had obviously been essential to their plan. He’d call them out in the morning for being idiots, but for now Derek breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t gotten anyone (or everyone) killed.

But when he looked back, Stiles' expression had hardened. He was back to sitting cross-legged. A whispered saying slipped from his lips, repeated continually just under his breath like something he’d been forced to memorize by some therapist years ago. But it was working. Stiles' eyes were set, determined. When he spoke in Latin, the words came out clear and focused. The room flared with heat.

A wave of something hit Derek in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and throwing him against the back of the closet. Gold flashed, momentarily blinding him, and then everything went black.

--

When Derek woke, the room was silent and dark.

It didn’t appear he’d been discovered, as he was still lying on the floor of Stiles’ closet. Odd thing was, the closet door was now open. How Stiles missed the unconscious werewolf lying in his laundry, Derek had no idea.

He crawled out soundlessly.

Stiles was asleep in his bed. The candles were arranged under Stiles’ desk and the spellbook hidden out of sight again.

The clock on the nightstand read midnight. He’d been out for a few hours, then. He wondered just how much he’d missed and if Stiles' spell had worked when he’d been knocked out. Bright Eyes was back on the shelf without so much as a scorch mark on its ridiculous ears, so Derek doubted it. It was time to end this insane plan of theirs.

“Stiles.” Derek tapped Stiles' face until he stirred. When Stiles' eyelids fluttered open, then shut again, Derek added a second sharp, “Stiles!”

Stiles flailed and sat up. He blinked and then blinked again, looking around the room, mouth open.

Derek stood back, arms crossed over his chest. He glared, waiting for Stiles’ heartbeat to spike and for that scent of fear, shock and annoyance Stiles got every time Derek was unexpectedly in his room. Stiles’ eyes darted around the darkened room a second time. He squinted right past where Derek stood.

Stiles’ breath steadied. Derek frowned, his eyes narrowing as Stiles flopped back onto the bed with a whispered, “I’m going insane.”

To Derek’s shock, Stiles simply turned over and burrowed deeper under his covers.

Derek snapped his jaw shut, realizing he was gaping. Through clenched teeth he gritted out, “Stiles!”

Stiles jumped comically, arms and legs thrashing out.

“Jesus. Fuck.” Stiles held his chest like his heart might pound right through it. He scanned the room. “Derek?” He neck craned to look in every dark corner. “Where are you?”

He pounced, his forearm pressing straight across Stiles’ throat. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rip your throat out right now.”

Stiles gasped, tapping at his arm, his eyes wide, panicked and confused. Derek glanced down at Stiles struggling against… nothing. It took a moment to process what he was seeing: Stiles struggling against nothing. Even though Derek could feel himself pressing down on Stiles, feel Stiles’ fingers digging into his arm to get him to ease up, below Derek there were only Stiles’ hands, pulling at what appeared to be thin air, like he was a mime pretending to be choked.

Stunned, Derek eased the pressure on his throat. He didn’t move away. “What the hell is going on?”

Stiles gasped for breath. “Derek? You’re…” He sucked in another lungful, slapping at Derek’s arm, squeezing up his bicep to his shoulder. “You’re invisible.”

Derek smacked Stiles' hands away as they reached his jaw. “What the hell have you done?”

Stiles didn’t seem to share Derek’s panic. His face lit with a bright smile. “Holy shit, the spell worked!” He hollered, squirming out of Derek’s grasp to sit up. “On the wrong person, but it worked.” He reached out again, hands spread wide until he made contact with Derek’s chest. His laugh was a touch hysterical. “How amazing am I?” Stiles looked up, his eyes focused somewhere over Derek’s shoulder. “Pretty amazing, am I right?”

Derek slammed him onto the bed to get his attention back. “I should kill you where you stand.” His voice was rough, low. He knew his eyes were flashing red; though, no one could see.

Stiles' mouth dropped open, smile gone. “First, not actually standing,” Stiles said. It came out no more than a squeak. “And second, you are possibly more terrifying while invisible. That’s got to be some consolation for you, right?”

“You were going to betray me,” Derek growled. “You and Scott. I heard you.”

Stiles swallowed. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, oh that.” Derek’s claws tightened around Stiles’ neck.

Stiles' eyes flickered helplessly around the room, and the panic on his face of not being able to read Derek at all was very satisfying. His hands scrambled uselessly at his neck to loosen Derek’s grip. “It wasn’t like that,” he rasped.

“Tell me.” Derek pressed down until Stiles winced, then eased up to let a bit of air through. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Stiles’ heartbeat was frantic, his breath coming fast and shallow. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times and Derek growled his impatience. “Look, we tried to work with you.” The words tumbled out, quick and honest. “Two weeks ago! We suggested a treaty. You wouldn’t listen.”

“A treaty won’t work.” He’d told Stiles that a dozen times already. “A treaty will be taken as an offer to surrender my pack to them because they won’t treat me as an equal in any negotiations. They don’t think I’m competent.”

“I’m sorta seeing their poi--” Stiles stopped at Derek’s growl. “Okay,” Stiles went on, a nervous laugh slipping out. “We were talking to Deaton.”

“Deaton. You do not talk pack business --”

“Dude. I’m not in your pack.”

Derek’s mind flashed to Peter saying, “so don’t ask.” And he wondered if Stiles had any idea just how tempted Derek was to make him eat those words. “Don’t push me, Stiles.”

“We had to talk to someone who would listen, okay? The pack was falling apart and you weren’t even seeing it. We talked to Deaton about how to be seen as strong.”

“I was already doing that.” In that moment, Derek was glad Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, or else he might see right through the lie.

“And we were looking to see if it could be done without taking forever.”

“Not everything happens in an instant, Stiles.”

“I’m talking about no death and gore looming around every possible corner for months. I’m talking about more brains and less slicing people open with your claws.” Stiles smacked at his arm. “Can you ease up on the death threats for a second and let me explain? It’s a good plan. And if you don’t think so, you’ll get plenty of chances to kill me after. For fuck’s sake, you’re an invisible werewolf. I have no chance in hell of even making it to the door.”

Derek huffed, but stood back, looming over Stiles and hating a bit that Stiles couldn’t see the expression on his face to know how pissed he was right now.

“Scott and I were thinking… If we could get behind their defenses.”

“Impossible.”

“I know, right? That place is like Fort Knox.” Stiles snorted. “But if we could, you know... get in there, and catch them while they’re vulnerable and not do anything. Then we could earn their respect and show them we’re peaceful.”

Derek snorted. Peaceful. Stiles might as well send them flowers. “First of all it’s impossible and too risky. The house is too secluded. They’d sense anyone within a hundred yards of their building. And to risk everything to do nothing when we got inside? What’s the point?”

“Hence the spell! Invisibility is awesome!” Clearly this was the part of the plan Stiles liked best because he was suddenly animated, hands waving. “I was going to make Scott into the Invisible Man. He was going to go in, grab something.” Stiles grinned. “Like a pair of one of their boxer shorts -- the ugly one with the scar and the hair, him -- I bet he’s got My Little Pony undies or something. Anywho... When you show off the… the thing to the pack the next day, you prove you could’ve killed them in their sleep. And you didn’t!”

Stiles beamed up at him, still not quite looking in the right spot. “And they’ll be convinced you are an okay Alpha since you pulled this off and they’ll get the fuck out of Dodge.”

Derek blinked, a bit stunned at the plan, which was actually far cleverer than he’d imagined. “David and Saul.”

“Right! What?”

“David and Saul.” Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s a story. King Saul was hunting David. While he slept, David snuck into his camp and could easily have killed Saul. Instead, he crept close and cut off a piece of Saul's cloak. Then he showed it to Saul in the morning.”

“Um, totally what I was thinking.”

“And you and Scott were going to give me the...”

“The My Little Pony undies.”

“The personal item,” Derek corrected because there was no way stealing an Alpha’s boxers was happening in any plan he was going to be a part of. They’d have to take something useful, something that would give them leverage.

“Whatever. Yes.” Stiles waved off Derek’s complaint. “We figured once we had the personal item we’d be able to convince you it was a good plan.”

“Before I killed you for going against my orders.”

“That was our hope. Yes.”

“You two are idiots.”

“But it’ll work, right? I mean. You’re invisible, dude.” He poked at Derek, hitting him just above his navel. Stiles flashed a grin like a child’s proud I did that. “That’s pretty cool, right? And even your scent is masked. It’s a kickin’ spell. Admit it!”

Derek sniffed his arm, realizing for the first time that he wasn’t able to detect his own scent. This might actually work. He must have made some sort of sound of approval because Stiles' arms shot in the air like he’d just won the State Championship.

“You think so too! I’m so fucking awesome.” He laughed, giddy with relief. “So now that we know it works, tomorrow night Scott can come over and--”

“No.” Derek grinned. “I’m doing this now.”

--

Derek grabbed Stiles’ elbow and directed him to turn onto Maple Drive.

Stiles tripped and huffed at the sudden invisible tug. It was probably good that it was well after midnight and the streets were mostly deserted. Only one person walked passed them, a guy stumbling home from the club, swaying enough that Stiles complaining to himself about not being allowed to take his Jeep didn’t even register as odd.

As the drunk tossed his cigarette butt into the brown grass, Derek silently left Stiles for a moment to stomp out the ember before the grass caught a spark. He sniffed, thinking again how the air was desert-dry and that he’d forgotten to warn the pack to be on the lookout.

As they approached the townhouse complex, Derek whispered, “There. It's parked behind the red van.”

Stiles let out a low whistle. “You sly dog, you. You try to be all mysterious like you Apparate from place to place, but it’s just strategic parking, isn’t it?”

“You could stay home, you know.”

“We discussed this. You need me. You driving around invisible is going to attract attention, don’t you think? The unwanted kind, like the police? And the farmhouse is twenty miles out of town. Not exactly great for a quick getaway on foot.”

“I could do it.”

“And I could drive my Jeep.”

“No.” Derek did not want Stiles tied to this in any way if it went wrong, and that Jeep was far too recognizable. He unlocked the car and his heart broke a bit as he watched Stiles get into the driver’s side. “Not a scratch.”

“What are you Han Solo, now?”

Derek growled and leaned across to put the keys in the ignition.

Stiles' heart rate sped up. “Whatever, dude.”

“Just be careful.” Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and led him to the invisible keys. He moved Stiles' fingers to turn the ignition, and the Camaro rumbled.

Still leaning in close for no other reason than to see Stiles squirm, he whispered, “Keep them in the ignition. Do not take them out. We don’t have time to search for invisible keys if we want a quick getaway.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath. “Right, yeah.” His eyes darted to where Derek was leaning into his shoulder and again his heart thudded loudly. Derek knew if Stiles could see Derek’s raised eyebrow, he’d be blushing. It wasn’t just nerves making Stiles shake at the moment. Derek tucked that bit of information away for later.

He reached into the back and placed Isaac’s ball cap on Stiles' head. It wasn’t exactly a disguise, but on quick glance through the darkened windows, it would be enough to make Stiles barely recognizable.

Stiles managed to pull out of the parking lot without hitting anything and Derek relaxed a bit. “It’s a good plan.”

To Stiles’ credit, he kept his mouth shut. But Derek still rolled his eyes at the huge grin that spread across Stiles’ face.

Two miles down the stretch of highway that led to the farmhouse, Derek told Stiles to pull over.

“This is close enough,” he said, grabbing a black bag from the backseat. He checked to see what would happen if it was slipped under his shirt.

“Whoa,” Stiles said as the bag disappeared from view. “That is so cool.”

“Turn the car around and wait. If I’m not back in an hour, get the fuck out of here and tell the pack to be ready for the fallout.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Stiles had a stubborn look in his eyes that said that was the best Derek would get. Derek didn’t need to listen to his heartbeat to know he’d do what he wanted no matter what Derek said.

--

The farmhouse appeared abandoned from afar. The Alpha pack was careful to keep any candles or flashlights in the few rooms with blacked-out windows. Their vehicles were parked in the dilapidated barn so as to not draw attention from the locals who frequented the highway a half-mile from the house.

Derek sniffed his way through the cornfield, the brittle stalks snapping as he bent them. The ground was dusty beneath his feet. There were guards posted along the narrow drive, and a couple more standing just inside the front door. The storm cellar entrance would be the easiest way in, but it had a well-worn path from the barn and Derek guessed they used it as a main entrance to the house. He opted to climb the lattice to the roof and slip in a front-facing window.

The bedroom he entered was empty. A few messy piles of blankets said someone used this room to crash. Likely, they spent more time in the cool cellar during the heat wave. The boarded up house was stifling. A quick look showed him nothing relevant to grab. He checked three more rooms until he caught the main Alpha’s scent in the largest.

Unlike the others, this room was well used. There were books piled in every corner, the drawers were filled with clothes and unlit candles scattered every surface. Derek took a moment to flip through the books on the overturned crate by the bed. One was well worn, with a wispy thin writing decorating every margin. Another was a leather bound notebook, in which the last filled page was titled Hale Pack (2012). Derek didn’t bother starting to read; a quick glance told him the book contained dirt on at least hundred packs in North America.

Derek ripped out the last page before he slipped the books into his bag.

On the blank sheet he wrote:
If you want to discuss a treaty
Tomorrow, noon
Beacon Hills High lacrosse field.

On the way back to the front room, the creak of stairs stopped him in his tracks. He pressed himself against the wall of the hallway, clutching the bag under his shirt. The Alpha, a lower member of the pack who Derek hadn’t seen very often, passed by without a second glance.

Derek let out a quiet exhale and crept to the window. With every step he distanced himself from the house, his confidence grew.

He was back at the car less than forty minutes from when he’d left.

Stiles was waiting for him, still wearing Isaac's hat. It was too big for him, falling over his ears, making him look even younger than usual. He was playing with his phone, oblivious to Derek standing just outside his window. Derek wondered how he’d ever made it through the last few months with his complete lack of survival instincts.

Derek smacked the driver’s side window with his palm. Stiles screamed. His phone flew up, first hitting the roof then smacking the floor and sliding under the seat.

Still high off the success of the heist, Derek let himself enjoy the moment.

Stiles scrambled to roll down the window.

“Derek?” he called out into the darkness. “Are you laughing? Is that your laugh? I’ve never heard it and I’ve got to say it’s the creepiest fucking thing ever.”

Derek opened the passenger side door and sat. Stiles head spun a hundred and eighty degrees and Derek was only sorry Stiles couldn’t see the grin that was on his face right now; he was sure it was wolfish.

“Asshole.” Stiles did a full-body shiver as if he needed to release a bit of adrenaline from the fright. “So?”

“I have something of theirs they are going to want back.” He reached forward to turn the ignition. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Stiles pulled them back onto the road, fishtailing off the dirt shoulder.

Stiles was buzzing, his hand tapping the wheel, even though the radio wasn't on. His eyes darted to his rearview mirror, to his side mirrors, and back to the road in a nervous pattern. Derek wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to calm the fuck down, but he doubted that would help.

Stiles glanced in his direction. “Anyone see you?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but when he remembered it couldn’t be seen he just cuffed Stiles on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Stiles scratched at his short spikes.

He slowed as they entered the town limits and something rattled on the floor with the speed change.

“Oh shit, my phone.” Stiles leaned forward and reached down to pat his hands along the floor.

Derek cursed, grabbing the wheel as the car swerved into the lane of oncoming traffic. “Are you insane?”

“My phone is precious, okay?” Stiles reached under the seat. “I’m not losing it in your car.”

“Fine.” Derek yanked Stiles back up. “I’ll get it. You drive.”

He felt around, his face pressed to Stiles’ knee, his hand reaching between Stiles’ legs. Stiles' scent was strong and musky from adrenaline and lust. Derek had to remind himself that now was not the time to get distracted. His fingers closed on the slick hard plastic just as Stiles muttered, “Oh shit.”

Only then did Derek see the red and blue lights reflecting off the dash. He sat up and carefully placed Stiles' phone on the console between them as Stiles pulled over to the side of the road.

Derek was grateful he was invisible or there was no way he’d be getting out of this without the Sheriff’s gun pointed in his direction. “How fast were you going?”

“I don’t know! You had your head in my lap, okay? I was distracted! This isn’t how this particular fantasy usually ends.” Stiles shot a look at the cruiser pulled up behind him. “Oh, god. I am grounded for the next forever.”

With a blinding wave of his flashlight, Sheriff stepped up to the car.

“Stiles?” His tone was somewhere between ‘why am i not surprised' and 'you've got to be kidding me'.

“Hey, Dad!” Stiles waved; his voice cracked a bit.

“Nice hat.”

“It’s Isaac’s.”

“Isaac Lahey?” Sheriff’s eyebrows shot up.

Stiles took one look at his dad’s face and winced, knowing that had been the wrong answer.

“Do I even want to know?” Sheriff’s flashlight moved systematically through the interior of the Camaro.

“My Jeep’s got a flat. So yeah. Derek’s car.” Stiles tapped the dash and flashed his father a grin. “Camaro. Nice, eh? Want a ride?”

Derek almost choked.

Sheriff’s face hardened. “Derek Hale? You are driving around at two AM in Derek Hale’s car, wearing Isaac Lahey’s ball cap. You realize I’ve recently brought in both those people for questioning in murder investigations?”

Stiles shrunk in his seat. “I need new friends?” He gave his dad a weak smile, pulled off the cap and tossed it into the back. “And... I’m returning the car now?”

Sheriff nodded like Stiles had picked the only possible correct answer. “How about a police escort for that?”

“Not necessary, Dad.” Stiles used that weird drawn out voice he got when he was trying to sound convincing, but it came out more like begging. “You’re a busy guy.”

Sheriff was unconvinced. “I think I can make the time to ensure my son hasn’t committed grand theft auto. You’re important to me like that.”

He walked back to the cruiser, shaking his head and muttering about years off his life.

Stiles took a minute to smack his head on the steering wheel a few times before he started the engine.

Derek broke the silence first. “You can’t lie to save your life.”

Stiles’ lips pressed tight. The look he shot Derek was fierce. His voice was gravelly as he said, “I think you’ll find that I can.”

His face seemed to lose his boyish charm more frequently lately. His cheekbones were a bit more sunken but that might be the play of the shadows as they drove through the streets of Beacon Hills and off to the preserve.

They didn’t talk the rest of the way out to Derek’s. Sheriff followed them right up to the Hale house, parking just behind the Camaro.

Stiles put his phone into his pocket and got out, saying, “Derek’s probably sleeping. You know. Like any sane person at this hour, am I right?”

Sheriff looked up at the burned out wreck of Derek’s family home. “Hale lives here?”

“Yeah. No... Er, he just asked me to leave the car here... with the key under the visor.” Stiles glanced back into the car, eyes wide and apologetic. He mimed taking the keys out of the ignition and flipped the visor up.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Police escort door to door! You do love me!”

“Get in the car.” Sheriff’s pulse rose every time Stiles opened his mouth.

As though he couldn’t help himself, Stiles asked, “Do I have to sit in the back?”

“Stiles!”

Derek waited until he heard the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels fade in the distance, then he took off at a run.


Part 2