Chapter 7

"It's nothing big," Stiles had told Derek about Lydia's party. "Just pack. And Danny, because Ethan." Derek had pulled a face, which could mean any of a dozen things, though Stiles was banking on either 'why would I want to hang out with a bunch of kids' or terrified.

Even though Derek's got every reason to stay away, Stiles keeps looking toward the door.

"What are you waiting for?" Scott asks, only minutes after Lydia announces that it's an hour until midnight.

"Derek's back," Stiles says. "I told him to come tonight."

"I'm glad you're comfortable enough to invite people to my parties, Stiles," Lydia says, passing him an open beer.

He stares at the bottle in her hand. "It's Derek," he says, and then shakes his head, declining the drink. Most of the people here have worked with Derek too many times for Stiles to expect anything but his acceptance, but maybe he's biased. Maybe he's projecting his own feelings about the man onto his friends.

Lydia cocks her shoulder and purses her lips into a smile, makes a soft noise that Stiles knows well enough to recognize that she's noticed something. He presses his lips tightly together and looks away.

"Speak of the devil," Scott says, his voice low enough that only Stiles beside him and the other werewolves will hear it. He gets up and heads for the door.

Stiles follows, but Scott is out the door before he gets to it. It closes in his face, and he fumbles with the doorknob for long enough that he misses seeing the cause of the cracking sound from beyond it.

When he bursts out the door, Derek is working his jaw as a bruise fades and a split lip heals. He looks cowed and hurt, his head ever so slightly lowered, and his eyes flick toward Stiles, then back to Scott.

"Are you back?" Scott says.

Derek nods.

Scott breathes out and seems to relax. "Okay. Good." He turns, and, as he passes, puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "You'd better come in then."

The door clicks shut, leaving Stiles outside with Derek. "Did he just punch you in the face?"

Derek shrugs. "I probably deserved it."

"No, you—"

"I did." He looks up at the door and smirks. "I left..." he says, and leaves the sentence unfinished.

"You had a reason." Stiles grabs Derek's arm and tugs him toward the door. "Come on, dumbass. No one's gonna bite you. Well, Aiden might, but Lydia can handle him."

Derek resists. "Stiles, we have to talk."

Stiles' jaw drops. "Are you kidding me? You're gonna drop one of the most dreaded statements ever now? It's New Year's Eve, man. I want to spend it with my friends."

He tries for the door again, fingers still wrapped around Derek's wrist. He goes nowhere and rolls his eyes. "That includes you, okay? Oh my god."

Stiles takes him into the kitchen first, gets himself a coke, and Derek a beer. Derek stares down the neck of the bottle as he leans against the counter, then lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a long draft. "I didn't get a chance to tell you everything," he says. "I don't want you to think I tried to hide it."

Stiles blinks. As much as they've had to trust each other, Derek's kept things back from all of them, out of guilt or a feeling of responsibility, and there's something in his voice, like it's laced with regret. Stiles wants to ask, wants to know right now, but it's New Year's Eve and he's with his friends and Derek's back, with maybe a way to save him and he just wants to not be terrified for another—he pulls his phone out—half an hour. "Thirty-two minutes to midnight, Derek. It can wait." And he grabs Derek's sleeve and yanks him through into Lydia's living room.

"I'm just saying," Lydia says, waving a wine glass with a little more exaggeration than usual. "It's got to be weird. Allison was with Scott but now she's with Isaac and at midnight they're totally gonna make out and isn't it just a little bit awkward?"

Scott looks over at Isaac on the other couch and gives him a tight smile. "I'll live," he says.

Lydia crouches down beside Scott and sets her glass on the coffee table. "It's New Year's Eve," she says with a pout. She looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. "It's not fair that you should be alone."

Stiles glances at Aiden, because his reaction is hilarious. He's like a tightly coiled ball of frustration, unable to act, and no right to do so because Lydia keeps him just far enough away to keep anyone from calling it serious. The guy might still technically be an alpha, but he's not the alpha of this pack, and if he wants to stay in town, if he wants to stay close to Lydia, he can't go up against Scott, can't do a thing.

And Lydia loves to mess with him.

Ethan, by contrast, is laughing. He's sitting on the floor with Danny, their limbs intertwined. That's looking pretty serious, even though Danny doesn't know his boyfriend is a werewolf yet, doesn't know about werewolves at all, though he's been fairly close to the thick of things too many times for it to be kept from him much longer. One day he's going to find out.

Lydia looks up at Scott and licks her lips. Aiden is almost vibrating, and if Stiles can see it, what can the werewolves feel? "I'll make out with you at midnight, Scott," Stiles says, scooching closer to him on the couch, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Scott breaks into a wide smile and a blush colors his cheeks. "Stiles, what?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah. Come on. You're alone. I'm..." he takes a deep breath. "Alone. Who better than your best friend?"

Catcalls fill the room, and Scott scrunches up as he laughs and pulls a face.

Stiles pats him on the cheek. "You're so adorably straight, buddy." He pulls his arm back, and his eyes pass over Aiden, now visibly relaxed. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"He so is," Allison agrees, and folds in on herself as Isaac behind her tenses. "What?" she says, turning. "He is."

The room fills with laughter, but there's someone quiet. Someone in the room, but not part of it. Stiles looks up at Derek, leaning against the wall, a half-full bottle of beer dangling at his thigh. Derek's eyes are on Stiles, probably have been the entire time. His expression is all but blank.

Stiles wants to call him over, but he knows that Derek is just waiting for midnight, waiting until Stiles lets him tell the rest of the story. Stiles knows, though, that whatever he's found, it's not going to be easy. He doesn't want to die, but there'll be a price to pay to save his life.

He wonders if any of them will be prepared to pay it.

"We really need more girls in this group," Scott says, and then elbows Stiles in the side. "Hey, how come you didn't invite Dana?"

Stiles sees Derek's frown before he drags his eyes away. "She's not part of the...group," he says.

"The new girl?" Isaac asks. "She might as well be. She was only sitting with us at lunch the entire last couple of weeks of school."

"She's into you, Stiles," Scott says. "And she's cute. You should have told her to come."

"What? No." Stiles squirms in his seat. "She just, doesn't know anyone else. Sort of follows me around because I helped her with her locker."

Isaac frowns. "Is that a euphemism for something?"

"Err, Stiles?" Allison says. "That means she's into you."

Danny shifts and gets to his feet. "Leave him alone," he says. "He's into someone else."

Everyone looks at Lydia. Stiles watches Danny, sees his eyes flick over Derek as he heads for the kitchen. He picks up his can and drains the last of the coke, and pulls himself to his feet to get another. Derek's still frowning as he passes.

Danny comes out of the fridge with three beers in each hand. He stands back to let Stiles pass. "I thought that guy was your cousin," he says.

Stiles blinks. "What? Derek? No." He closes the fridge and puts his coke on the counter. "No. He just looks like my cousin. Miguel. With the nose bleeds."

Danny lifts an eyebrow. "Whatever, man." He heads back toward the living room, pauses before he goes through the door. "It's a good thing he isn't your cousin, because the way you two were looking at each other just now? That would be seriously wrong."

Stiles tells himself Danny can't possibly understand what's behind those looks. He cracks the tab on his can and heads for the door.

It swings inward. Through the open door, Stiles hears Lydia calling one minute to midnight, sees her set her phone on the coffee table, propping it against an empty beer bottle, before his way is blocked by Derek and he's gotta step back or be bowled over.

"Dude," he says, reaching out, pushing on Derek's shoulder so he can pass. Derek doesn't move.

"Is there a girl?" he asks, and the tension in his voice is more fear than anger.

Stiles shakes his head. "No. You think I'm going to start something now? It'd be pointless, for a start, and can you imagine trying to explain..." He looks down. He tries to get past again, but Derek puts a hand on his hip and stops him. "Dude, thirty seconds."

Seven voices join together in the living room. "...twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four..."

"Stay here," Derek whispers. "Please, Stiles."

"...nineteen, eighteen, seventeen..."

Stiles looks up and shakes his head. "You couldn't wait another minute?"

"...twelve, eleven, ten..."

Derek crowds up against him, slides his hand up Stiles' shirt. "No."

"...five, four, three..."

The pulse in Derek's middle finger matches the seconds as they tick away. On two, the voices fade out, and Derek kisses him, and all Stiles hears is the blood rushing in his ears and a resigned 'Happy New Year' in Scott's muffled voice.

Stiles is touched, because as gestures go, this is not what he expected from Derek. He didn't expect anything, but certainly not this. He figures Derek's being all noble again, doing the guilt thing and feeling as if he's done something wrong. Stiles knows he should stop it, tell Derek that it's not required.

He can't bring himself to stop. The taste of Derek's mouth takes him right back to the first time, all that emotion and sensation, the way Derek brought him to heights of need he'd never experienced before, hasn't since, probably never will again. He wraps his arms around Derek's neck, leans back and shifts his feet apart, letting Derek's thigh fit between his legs. His pants are uncomfortably tight, his cock straining against the too-tight waistband of the jeans he should have shoved to the back of the drawer, but wore anyway.

Stiles turns his head away, breaking the kiss, but as Derek's mouth shifts to his throat, blunt human teeth working the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, Derek grinds against him, and he's hard, too, and Stiles is surprised. He can understand the wonder Derek could feel at what's growing inside him, because he knows what it means to Derek, but it doesn't make Stiles any less of a freak of nature. "You don't have to do this," he breathes, forcing the words out, because if Derek stops now Stiles might just scream.

"I want to," Derek grinds out, and then his tongue is in Stiles' mouth again, and his hand moves from Stiles' belly to circle his waist, pulling him closer, grinding against him harder.

Then he just stops and pulls away. "Scott's leaving," he says, and grabs Stiles' hand, tugging him toward the door. "We need him."

Stiles almost chokes in shock. His balls are hurting and he can barely walk. "Err, did you miss the whole 'adorably straight' part of the night? Because I can guarantee Scott's not going to be into whatever this is."

Derek throws him a smirk and guides him out of the kitchen. "Not for this, Stiles. We need his help to save your life. I think he'll be interested in that."