Chapter Text
Springtime’s almost over and Derek can actually feel the temperature rise as the sun climbs on the sky, his werewolf senses on overdrive with all the floral scents and the prey roaming freely in the forest. He’s been taking extra long walks in the forest lately, trying to clear his head, to formulate his thoughts on the future. The rest of his pack is about to graduate high school, and while he has to respect some of their wishes to go away to college, to travel, to live their lives, as the alpha his instinct is to keep them all close to him, here in Beacon Hills where he can protect them, where they’re safe, where they all belong. He knows it’s immature from a normal person’s standpoint, but none of this is normal, and he’d be left almost completely alone again and he hates that.
Of his five wolves, only Isaac and Erica are planning to stay after graduation, and they’re too busy fawning over each other and making epic summer road trip plans to care that the rest will be leaving for college. Scott and Jackson managed to score themselves lacrosse scholarships at SFU, which isn’t exactly next door to home despite being in California, and Boyd will be joining the Army not two weeks after high school ends, as his family—his human family—wants him to. Derek’s grateful that Isaac and Erica are only going to community college a couple of towns over, so they’re not moving away, and even though he wouldn’t dream of hindering the others’ futures, he just wishes they’d consider the pack before making such life-altering decisions.
The leaves in the tree branches over his head make a soothing sound as the breeze blows through them, and Derek takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment and listens as he walks. He imagines that centuries ago an alpha’s word was stronger than the law to the rest of the pack, but he can’t expect the same treatment now; he knows his betas are expected to go to college, get jobs, make families, and while he hopes they’ll come back to Beacon Hills for the jobs and families part, he knows he has to let them go for a while, for now. He just wishes it was easier done than said.
And then there’s the Stiles issue. The boy has been a closed book as far as his future plans go, and it’s been driving Derek insane; it’s enough that he’s basically losing three of his betas, but not knowing whether the honorary human member is also planning to desert him is too much. He’s become aware of a growing fondness he’s developed for the scrawny boy over the years—if he’s honest, it’s probably been there since the day he met him—and he’s come to realise Stiles isn’t that same scrawny boy anymore; he’s grown up, built up more muscle and more confidence, and turned into a young man that everyone is now interested in. Derek’s seen the way Stiles’ peers look at him, he’s taken note of all the different people he’s been on dates with over the last few months (one girl, two guys, all of them fleeting), and he has silently admitted to himself that he is, in fact, jealous of them. He can pinpoint the exact day at the end of February when the realisation hit him like a freight train, because since then he’s been unable to put Stiles off his mind for more than minutes at a time.
He reaches the hilltop so he takes a moment to admire the view, the trees all around him and the town of Beacon Hills resting peacefully in the valley. Somewhere at the edge of the forest, his pack (and Stiles) are getting out of school right about now, and Derek feels the urge to run down the hill and meet up with them, maybe drag Stiles away to go hang out at his place or something, like they’ve taken to doing over the past year without really talking about it. All this thinking about the future has made him restless, and there’s nothing like a few hours of Stiles’ company to take his mind right off the annoying issue of letting his betas leave him. Yes, he decides, he’ll do that, and begins his descent of the hill towards Beacon Hills High.
He gets there a couple of minutes before the final bell rings, and when it does he watches the swarm of highschoolers burst out the doors and into the parking lot, noise of conversation and starting car engines bubbling up and swallowing the sound of birdsong and tree-leaves in the breeze. He spots Scott and Stiles exiting through the door, and takes a few tentative steps towards them as they come down the stairs.
“Stiles, Scott, hey,” Derek calls out, and the boys look up at the sound of their names. Stiles smiles his broad carefree smile and Scott gives him a nod as they both head toward him, and Derek feels so good that the days of clandestine meetings and police misunderstandings and hostility between them are in the past; it feels incredible to have packmates—to have friends—he can pop up to see for no reason any time he wants. It’s everything he ever wanted.
“Hey man,” Scott says when they meet at the bottom of the stairs; they stop in front of him while the river of schoolchildren continues to flow into the parking lot. “What’s up?”
“I was in the area and thought we could hang out for a couple of hours,” Derek says nonchalantly, throwing a casual shoulder shrug to emphasize the easy-going nature of his swing-by. The boys give vague nods in response, and he’s about to suggest milkshakes at the retro diner when a tall, muscular boy in a grey button-down shirt gives Stiles a playful slap in the back and says “hey, gorgeous, haven’t seen you all day,” and Derek’s mouth goes dry.
Stiles turns around to look at the intruder and flashes him a huge grin the likes of which Derek was hoping were reserved only for him. “Ben! Where ya been, dude, you missed practice,” he says, and they do a shoulder-bump handshake thing which Derek finds horribly dated, but of course says nothing about.
Ben gives a scoff and adjusts the shoulder strap of his backpack with the hand that isn’t on Stiles’ back still. “Had to take a make-up French test,” he says with a wince, flipping his brown locks out of his eyes with a movement of his head. Stupid boyband hair, Derek thinks. “If I fail, my life is over.”
“Drama queen,” says Stiles and Ben laughs; Derek notices Scott is looking away, down at his feet, his face frowned as he’s biting his lip. So Ben isn’t as popular with Scott, Derek muses, and makes a mental note to ask him about it when they’re alone.
Stiles looks from Ben to Derek and back and flounders as he realises they don’t know each other. “I’m sorry,” he says, gesturing from one man to the other, “Derek, this is Ben Lothario. Ben, this is Derek Hale. Shake hands or whatever.”
Derek grumpily extends his hand for a handshake and Ben takes it in his own calloused one and shakes it vigorously. “Hey man, how are ya,” he says, his eyes staring straight into Derek’s. He returns the stare, though he is sure he must look menacing because he has his trademark sourwolf face on (completely not on accident), and Ben gives an awkward laugh when he doesn’t respond. He turns to Stiles again.
“Wanna play Xbox at mine? I got the new expansion yesterday.” Derek notes the invitation isn’t extended to Scott, and raises an eyebrow in suspicion as he watches Stiles’ reaction.
“Yesterday? What did you do, queue up at midnight?” Stiles laughs, and when Ben just smiles in return, his face the epitome of smugness, Stiles gives an excited squeal and bounces on the spot. “You’re kidding! Holy—we have to play it. We have to.”
“Come around mine at four then? The guild is planning a raid at 4:30. I’ll order pizza,” Ben says with a pat on Stiles’ back, almost conspiratorial. Derek scowls.
Stiles nearly has a fit, mouth gaping, arms flailing. “Y-yeah, I’ll see you at 4,” he stammers out, and Ben lowers his head swiftly to plant a quick kiss on Stiles’ buzzed hair as he wraps his arm around his neck in a loose chokehold. “Don’t be late,” he breathes against Stiles’ forehead and begins to move away, firing a finger-gun at him as he passes Scott, and giving a vague wave at Derek when he catches him staring.
They’re all quiet for a few seconds as Stiles gawps at Ben’s retreating form, while Derek and Scott sport equally disgruntled frowns. Derek clears his throat and Stiles breaks out of his daze, fumbling with embarrassment. “Heh, sorry about that,” he says, reaching behind his head to scratch lazily at his hairline.
“He’s...” Derek pauses as he searches for the right word, “... new,” he finishes, suspicious sourwolf scowl locked firmly in place.
Stiles half-chuckles and adjusts his book bag strap on his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, not meeting Derek’s eyes. “We’re just hanging out.”
“He doesn’t just want to hang out though,” Scott butts in, tone disapproving. He’s still biting his lip, worried frown and all. Derek watches with intrigue. Stiles scoffs.
“So what if he does?” he asks defensively. “He’s not the first guy I’d be dating.”
“I know that,” Scott says, and for a few moments doesn’t say anything. “It’s just,” he begins, voice faltering, “... he gives me the creeps, okay? I don’t like him.”
Stiles actually rolls his eyes at his best friend, more than mildly irritated. “Cut it out, alright, he’s cool.”
Scott drops the subject with a shrug; Derek can tell this is a conversation they’ve had before, and he wants to find out all about this Lothario guy because his first impression mirrors Scott’s, and he doesn’t know if it’s his latent attraction to Stiles or a genuine alarm going off in his head, but one thing is for sure: he doesn’t like the idea of Stiles hanging out with that guy either.
He clears his throat and suggests they go grab milkshakes at the retro diner, and Stiles just huffs and smiles fondly at him and says yeah, let’s go, and they all take his jeep and head into town. The car ride is short, but it doesn’t take long for epiphanies to come, because before the ten minutes are up and they’re sitting in a booth with red leather couches ordering strawberry and oreo milkshakes, Derek’s decided that he’s had enough of this unrequited love bullshit.