Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Derek despised social events. He preferred the seclusion his title allowed him. He avoided the growing groups of socialites as much as possible, often times keeping to the outskirts of the ballroom whenever Peter hosted a party. He would even slink away to one of the many side rooms in the house. He enjoyed the privacy the rooms allowed him, offering him a hideaway.

Derek hid behind his scowl, glad that his demeanor could scare people away, despite their desire to connect their own name to his family. He only accepted because his uncle asked him to attend.

Peter had been almost as much of a recluse as Derek since the fire. They had taken to realizing that they were all each other had after the fire ripped their lives apart. Peter assumed Talia’s title as the head Alpha of the Hale family, despite the burns covering his body. Derek stayed in Peter’s pack, a need to make up for the fire—for his part in ruining their lives.

That was the night Derek caught sight of Stiles. He had felt an attraction to Stiles to moment he saw the young Omega.

Derek watched Stiles scan the shelves of books, growing fond of the curiosity the Omega displayed whenever he stumbled across a book of interest. He finally took pity on the boy, clearing his throat as the only audible cue that the library wasn’t as vacant as Stiles may have thought. He winced when Stiles nearly threw one of the books into the air.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles stammered to apologize as he picked the book up.

“Guests aren't normally allowed in here,” Derek offered in what he hoped was a friendly tone.

“I was feeling overwhelmed,” Stiles confessed. “I only wanted to slip away for a moment, but was carried away.” He turned to gesture towards the shelves. “You have a large library, and it helps me to read when I’m anxious. It’s an … escape, of sorts.”

“I can understand that,” Derek replied, moving to replace his own book onto its respected place on the shelf.

“Not a fan of parties?” Stiles asked, his fingers dancing across the cover of the book in his hands. He took a step away from Derek out of respect.

“I haven't been for some time,” Derek offered.

“You don't think Lord Hale would mind us in here?” Stiles asked as he watched Derek choose a new book with ease.

Derek snorted in amusement. He couldn’t see Peter coming into the library for any other reason than to take a nap. “Lord Hale wouldn't mind,” he answered with a small smile. “He rarely comes in here.”

Stiles nodded. He froze when he saw the burns covering the back of Derek’s hand.

The burns were lighter, twisted scars that marred Derek’s skin. They wrapped around his hand, traveling up his wrist to hide beneath his sleeve.

Derek wanted to curse when he realized Stiles was staring at them. He imagined that the scars were displeasing to anyone, especially someone isolated in a foreign room with a stranger. He easily pulled the sleeve down to hide the scars from view. Still, he was overwhelmed with gratitude that Stiles didn’t recoil.

It had been months since someone was close enough to Derek to see the scars. He still felt guilty that he was able to hide his scars when Peter was forced to wear them across his throat and part of his cheek.

“I apologize,” Stiles started.

“You apologize often,” Derek commented.

“It's expected,” Stiles explained. “But I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I haven't seen … I haven't seen much in life.” His heart was beating fast with excitement.

“And you're here to see much?” Derek softly asked, curious why such a perfect creature would be hiding away when a ball carried on elsewhere.

“I'm here to meet someone,” Stiles replied.

Derek’s blood ran cold, hating himself for hoping that the faint smell of Omega was from somewhere else. He knew that this Omega must be the one Peter had been bidding for. He had seen the correspondences—had seen the money and the disputes Peter had with rival Alphas, all in an attempt to get this Omega to himself.

A trophy to brag about.

Derek recalled Peter’s words when he was finally informed of his uncle’s plans to wed again.

He’s supposedly perfect.

“Perfect in every way,” Derek softly mumbled in correction to his uncle’s words.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed when he heard Derek mutter to himself. “I’m in the way?” He questioned, not hearing exactly what Derek said.

“I said ‘Is this common way’?” Derek lied, knowing that it sounded nothing like what he said before.

“I suppose it’s not common for me to wander the estate I’m visiting, no,” Stiles softly chuckled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Of course,” Derek replied. “And have you met the person you’re looking for?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Stiles managed to charmingly counter Derek’s question.

It was delightful, witty banter. Something Derek missed, dearly. But now, he hated it more than anything, knowing that Stiles was the Omega meant for his uncle. He knew instantly that the attraction he felt came from the tartly sweet scent of Omega.

A knock sounded at the door before they were opened. “Omega Stilinski?” Isaac’s voice called out in a timid manner, as if he knew he would be in trouble should Peter discover his mishap.

“We’re here, Isaac,” Derek answered, his eyes trained on Stiles still.

“I'm sorry, Lord Hale,” Isaac started when he realized that it was Derek with Stiles. “But Omega Stilinski’s father is looking for him.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, a soft question covering his features as he waited for Alpha Hale’s reaction.

Derek turned his gaze away from Stiles, knowing he allowed his eyes to linger longer than was proper.

Stiles faintly smiled in acceptance of Derek’s demeanor. “I hope to learn more of you, Lord Hale,” he offered with a respectful bow.

Derek hesitated before returning Stiles’ bow. He watched as Stiles left with Isaac, closing his eyes once the doors shut. He deeply breathed in a lungful of Stiles’ scent, before harshly huffing it out as if its very existence burned his nostrils. He knew he wasn’t going to forget the scent—nor was he going to stop thinking about the Omega it belonged to. He felt traitorous, his thoughts daring to linger on the Omega meant to be his uncle’s.

~*~

“Did you meet him?” Peter asked, breaking the silence between them for the first time since they retired to the parlor.

Derek looked at Peter, curious what answer his uncle desired. “I did.” He decided to be truthful.

“And?” Peter pressed.

Derek snorted in annoyance. “You’re the one that will marry him, not me.”

“And by doing so, he’ll become your pack as well,” Peter countered.

“He seems to be well liked,” Derek halfheartedly offered.

Peter turned to look at Derek. “Is he that uninteresting?”

Derek answered with a shrug.

“He seems to have a problem with speaking too much,” Peter commented. “He’ll drive me into an early grave if he normally flaps his mouth as much as he did tonight.”

Derek uncomfortably shifted his weight in his chair. He was annoyed with Peter’s comment, unsure why he should care as much. “He’s nervous.”

Peter looked at Derek, arching his eyebrow as an invitation for Derek to elaborate.

“An Omega who has seen little in the world, suddenly having his hand vied for by some of the wealthiest Alphas in the country,” Derek specified. “Of course he talks a great deal. He feels as if he has to make up for his lack of experienced accomplishments.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “As long as the boy can provide heirs, there is little else to concern himself with.” He slouched a little in his chair, almost as if he was repelled by the thought. “They said he hasn’t had a heat yet.”

Derek turned his gaze from Peter. “Many Omegas don’t experience a heat until they find a suitable mate.”

“And we all know you’re an expert when it comes to Omegas,” Peter turned a critical eye on Derek.

Derek turned a glare to Peter. “Not all Omegas are Kate, uncle,” he forcefully concluded.

“No,” Peter replied. “Just like not all Alphas are as foolish as you.”

“Nor are they as hateful as you,” Derek answered, getting up from his chair. “Congratulations, uncle. It seems you’ll have a mate in the coming weeks.”

Peter grunted in response. “I’ll have an Omega.”

The unspoken distain was evident in Peter’s voice. Derek could hear the underlying truth in Peter’s dislike—Peter would never see an Omega as being worthy enough to call his mate.

~*~

Derek hated watching the melancholy mood of Omega Stilinski—or just “Stiles” as he informed them. He had done his job during the mating ceremony, standing in front of his uncle as he watched Alpha Stilinski walk Stiles down the aisle and towards the altar. He took Stiles’ hand, symbolically transferring Stiles from the Stilinski pack to the Hale pack. He could feel the way Stiles trembled when he took his arm, conscious of the way Stiles clung to him as they moved to stand before Peter. His heart hurt when he heard Stiles’ soft ‘thank you’ as he reluctantly released his hold on Derek.

Derek laid awake that night, staring at the ceiling of his room as he tried to shut his hearing off. He didn’t want to hear what was happening in the other side of the house. He didn’t want to know what his uncle was doing to Stiles. He knew his wolf was still attracted, desiring to have Stiles for himself as he grew attached to the Omega over the passing months from their initial meeting until tonight.

Derek had spent more time with Stiles than Peter had. Peter had all but ignored Stiles’ existence, never making an attempt to see or speak to him. It irked Derek to know that his uncle was going to mate with Stiles, feeling as if he didn’t deserve him.

Part of Derek had grown wrapped up in the way Stiles spoke to him, freely and joyfully as he told him about his family and friends. He enjoyed listening to Stiles speak of the books he read, of the musical instruments he desired to learn, of the places he wished to go.

Derek knew more about Stiles in the passing weeks than he had about his own uncle, which was why this night was tearing him apart. He had seen the way Stiles tensed when Peter took his hand, forcing the young Omega to rise from his seat in the parlor. He dug his claws into the armrests of his chair, forcing himself to nod in acknowledgment when his uncle bid him goodnight. His eyes lingered on Stiles when he caught him looking at him. He waited until Stiles was gone from his view before he paced some. He threw his glass of bourbon in the fire, not caring when the crystal shattered as the alcohol forced the flames to grow.

Derek retired to his room and tried to read, knowing that nothing could change the fact that he knew what was happening. He broke the spine of his book when he heard the pained whimper echo through the entire house. His wolf clawed at his skin, growling that someone was hurting his Omega—that he had to do something. He wanted to run from it, but forced himself to stay. Even if Stiles didn’t know he was close, he couldn’t abandon him. The young Omega no doubt wanted to run away from it all, but couldn’t.

Derek buried his head beneath his pillows, wanting to hide away from every soft noise that he could hear coming from Stiles. He focused on his breathing, determined to forget the wounded gasps that cracked from Stiles’ chest.

~*~

Shame welled in Stiles’ chest as he sat at the breakfast table, remaining silent as his eyes drifted towards Peter, watching him read through the papers in his hands. He recalled the way he tried to reach for Peter’s face last night, attempting to kiss him when they were alone in their bedroom. He subconsciously ran his hand over his wrists, still able to feel and see the imprint of Peter’s hands roughly grasping him, stopping his attempts to touch him. He felt even more foolish when realizing that he had allowed himself to romanticize the idea of being married off to an Alpha of standing.

Last night, all of Stiles’ childish assumptions melted away once he was standing naked in front of Peter. He tried to ignore the blush burning his cheeks as he stared over at the fire, unsure what to expect. He was surprised when Peter told him to get on the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, his skin hot against the cool sheets. He looked up at Peter, hoping that Peter would be gentler in his touch now that he was following his instructions. His breath caught in his chest, a lump lodged in his throat when Peter reached a hand out to him. His wolf felt proud, pleased that his Alpha was going to touch him. He was confused when Peter merely took hold of his upper arm, forcing him to move up the bed and turn onto his hands and knees. He turned his head back to look at Peter in confusion, his body turning with him. Peter had simply corrected him by turning his hips, spreading his legs until he felt too exposed.

Stiles was pulled from his thoughts when Derek entered the room, moving to take his seat on the other side of Peter. He sat up some, wincing as a pain shot through his back. He placed his hands in his lap as he cleared his throat some. “Good morning,” he weakly offered.

Derek nodded in response. “Good morning,” he softly uttered, keeping his eyes focused on anywhere but Stiles.

“Are you heading back to school?” Peter asked Derek, still focusing on his papers.

“I was leaving right after breakfast,” Derek answered as he looked at Peter.

Peter nodded.

Stiles’ stomach clenched, realizing that Derek wasn’t looking at him on purpose. He stared down at his hands, picking at his fingernails as he tried to keep his heartbeat calm. He was embarrassed, knowing that Derek—and the entire household—likely heard last night. He remembered the way he tried to hide his pain through soft whimpers that he hoped sounded pleased. He even tried to move with Peter, the pain subsiding a little then. He was ashamed when he cried as Peter’s knot formed, his whole body tense and in pain as he clawed at the bedding.

It was too much, too soon.

What Stiles learned in his classes were lies. He didn’t feel euphoric or sated as he laid on his side, staring at the fire. He had blinked his tears away when Peter finally separated from him. He foolishly looked over his shoulder, thinking that his Alpha would want to hold him close to continue the bond, but all he was met with was Peter’s back.

Stiles had hugged his pillow against his chest as he curled into it, pretending to disappear into the fabric. He had awoken in the early hours to a cold and empty bed, realizing that this was what he could expect in his life with Peter.

“Will you be coming back at all?” Stiles dared to ask.

Derek forced himself to look up at Stiles. He hated having to focus on Stiles now that there was the unspoken knowledge that he knew what happened the other night. “During break.”

Stiles didn’t know when the normal breaks for school was. He was never afforded the belief that he would have the opportunity to attend school himself.

“Some people have to worry about having careers. Not all of us can marry wealthy,” Peter coldly commented.

Stiles hung his head in shame, only starting to realize that Peter’s opinion of Omegas was worse than he once thought.

~*~

Peter was away on business far more often than Stiles expected he would be. He was often quick in his departures, with nothing spurring him into a hurried return.

Stiles found solace in walking the grounds, or spending his days in the library. He found himself falling asleep more than reading books, exhausted from the previous night. He tried to perfect his needlework in spare time, hoping that his feats in cross-stitching would amaze Peter. His attention to detail was always greater than the other Omegas in his seminars, leaving him to wonder if it would prove pleasing to Peter. He foolishly thought that Peter would care about something other than producing an heir.

Stiles startled when Peter burst through the library doors unexpectedly. He placed his book down, looking at his husband. “You’re back,” he commented, offering a small smile in welcome.

Peter didn’t acknowledge Stiles’ greeting, merely snatching a hold of Stiles’ wrist, yanking him up out of his seat.

Stiles winced at the harsh grip, stumbling some as he tried to get to his feet. He tried to keep up with Peter, his heart pounding loudly as he thought about what Peter could possibly be so upset about. “Alpha,” he called, knowing that Peter didn’t like it when he used anything but his title.

Stiles worried when Peter didn’t answer him. He tripped over his feet when Peter roughly whipped him into their room, as if he was nothing but a rag doll. He turned to look at Peter, his arms instinctively clamping close to his chest in an attempt to keep himself safe. He stood his ground as Peter moved closer to him, coming into his personal space.

Peter grabbed Stiles’ clothes, moving quickly to discard them.

“Alpha, please,” Stiles started, his hands immediately grabbing at his clothes to keep them on. “I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” Peter snapped, his eyes burning red.

Stiles flinched at the venom in Peter’s words.

“What good are you if you can’t do the simple duty of giving me an heir?” Peter questioned. “What use are you to me, then?”

Stiles didn’t bother arguing. He let his arms fall to his sides, his eyes looking elsewhere out of shame. He let Peter pull his clothes from his body before being forced onto the bed.

Afterwards, Stiles remained on his stomach, his hands hugging onto his pillow as he kept his head turned to the side. His eyes traced the patterns in the wallpaper, admiring the detail he found there. He partially winced when he shifted his body, his muscles tense and sore from Peter’s touch.

“I’m entertaining visitors this evening,” Peter spoke for the first time since pulling Stiles’ clothes off.

Stiles dared to lift his body up, turning to look at Peter. He had never heard Peter speak in such a menial tone before. He appreciated the change from sharp commands and disheartening insults—he felt as if he had done something right.

“And I expect you to be on your best behavior,” Peter continued as he pulled his trousers on. He didn’t bother to close his shirt, his appearance being one of lust induced fever.

And with Peter’s shirt in such a state, Stiles could see the scars clearly, especially now that he was seeing Peter in the fleeting daylight pouring through the windows. The burns were large, covering a majority of Peter’s torso, even traveling well below his trousers.

Stiles knew how Peter hated the scars. He had tried to be loving in gesture, an attempt to prove that the scars meant nothing to him concerning Peter’s rank as an Alpha. He wanted to help prove that he was dedicated to Peter. Those actions ceased after the first attempt left bruises on Stiles’ wrists—he knew when his touch was unwelcomed.

“Of course, Alpha,” Stiles answered, knowing Peter would expect him to acknowledge his statement. He dared to lift his eyes to Peter’s face when he noticed his movements ceasing. He stared up at Peter, uncertain if he had made a mistake in addressing him how he demanded.

“Good,” Peter faintly uttered, his voice almost lost in thought before he turned his back to Stiles. “Any embarrassment from you is an insult to me.”

~*~

Derek focused on the texts sprawled out in front of him. His eyes stung from the hours he spent staring at the words written across the pages. He knew it was hopeless. His thoughts were still focused on the letter his uncle had sent him. He knew it was a form of bragging, knowing his uncle better than anyone else did.

Nephew,

I won’t bother asking how classes are going—you’re likely already at the top of your class. No point in making pretend that I should be surprised with your excellence. You are a Hale after all.

Work has been slow, but is improving. I think it helps merchants to welcome me with open arms, now that they think I’m respectable enough to keep an Omega.

Married life suits me, I find. The Omega is tolerable enough. He’s incessant with his speaking, constantly talking when he shouldn’t. I think he’s discovered how unpleasant his voice is now that he’s started to only speak when prompted. I suppose even the most eligible Omega in the country could use some educating.

I expect him to take with something soon. It’s insufferable, having to wait for Deaton to inspect, only to declare that there is still nothing. The boy’s too valuable to just give up, though, even if he does turn out to be defective. I’ll have to find another purpose for him.

The rest of the letter detailed work Peter wished to have Derek work on once returning to the estate.

Derek had nearly torn the letter to pieces, enraged by his uncle’s words in describing Stiles. He hated that his uncle had been practically gifted such a beautiful and devoted mate. His thoughts strayed to Stiles, wondering if the Omega was well, being treated decently by at least the servants.

Derek’s resolve to finish faster was only spurred on by the thoughts of Peter’s mistreatment when it came to Stiles. And Derek knew that the servants would do what they could to keep Stiles safe, but there was only so much to be done when it came to Peter.

~*~

Stiles took a deep breath before looking up in the mirror. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The bruise was still blossoming across his cheek, most of his skin inflamed in the wake of Peter’s hand.

Peter had reacted swiftly, his hand shooting out faster than Stiles thought possible. The force had knocked Stiles to the side, almost out of his chair—it shocked Stiles more than anything.

It was true, Peter wasn’t gentle with him at night, behind the closed doors of their bedroom, but Stiles never heard of an Alpha physically disciplining their Omega for speaking. At least not in front of non-pack members.

Stiles couldn’t even remember what he said that displeased Peter. He could just remember the small scoff that came from the visiting Alpha, his ear ringing from the force of Peter’s blow.

“You’ll make him cry, Peter,” the female Alpha cautioned. “He won’t be pleasant to look at if you rough him up too much.”

Stiles had kept his eyes on the ground, scared that looking at anyone would make Peter angrier. He promptly left the room when Peter demanded he get out of his sight. He went to their room, knowing that he would be expected there when Peter felt like retiring for the night.

Hours passed without a sign of Peter’s return. Stiles tried reading his book, even knowing that there was a possibility of angering Peter with the very sight of it—Peter despised Omegas thinking that they were clever enough to adopt reading for leisure. But the words on the pages calmed Stiles. He felt like he could escape from reality—that there was a hopeful ending for him. He used to despise the stories the other Omegas would read—tales about sweeping romances where the Omega was cherished by an Alpha who loved them dearly.

Now, those stories were the only ones that made Stiles think he could possibly change Peter’s mind about him.

Growing tired in the late hours, Stiles made the mistake of wandering the hallways in hope of stumbling across Peter, or a servant that could help him discover where his husband had disappeared to. He paused his footsteps when he heard the muffled sounds coming from one of the guest rooms—the female Alpha’s. He stepped closer, trying to decipher what he was hearing.

A deep blush burned in Stiles’ cheeks when he realized he was hearing moans of pleasure. He slowly backed away from the door, knowing his curiosity lead him into believing that there was no intrusion. He was considered the Omega of the Hale estate in title alone, but not practice. He had no right to be intruding upon his guest—a visiting Alpha, at that. He stumbled when he backed up into the decorative table, one of the many heirloomed vases teetering at his disruption. He grasped at the vase, barely missing the handle as he watched in horror at the vase smashing into pieces amongst the floor.

Stiles fell to his knees, grabbing at the sharp pieces in a failed attempt to collect the shards. He knew, deep down, that he was going to be caught. Even if he ran, his scent would linger in the hallway and the Alpha would know he had been spying on her. His heart beat faster when he heard the door open.

“Oh, the poor thing,” the Alpha’s voice taunted from her spot in the doorway. “Fumbling around in the dark hallway is no place for an Omega.” There was a twinge of mockery in her tone, her amusement falsely playful in nature.

Stiles turned to look at her, stunned into silence as he took in her form.

Her dressing gown was draped loosely around her body, sash precariously tied around her waist. Her hair hung around her shoulders, wild from the passion Stiles’ clumsiness interrupted. She leaned against the doorframe, completely calm and languid besides the smile on her lips as she lingered, much like a predator stalking its prey.

“You look scared,” she smirked down at Stiles. She faintly snorted when Stiles didn’t answer her. She leaned back against the doorframe, her long limbs elegantly displayed. “Your Omega isn’t very well trained, Peter.”

Dread fell deep within Stiles’ stomach when he heard the sound of a pair of other footsteps. He knew who they belonged to, but the realization hurt more than anything. Tears prickled the back of his throat, his eyes burning when Peter emerged into the hallways, standing next to the visiting Alpha.

Peter’s shirt was hanging open, seemingly forgotten by Peter as he pulled his trousers into an appropriate manner, fastening them properly around his hips. It was all similar to how he had dressed after finishing with Stiles earlier, before the guests arrived. Only now, Peter seemed more annoyed at having to dress than how happy he was to dress earlier. His gaze landed on Stiles, a look of displeasure befalling him.

The Alpha moved behind Peter, wrapping her arms around his waist as she leaned her chin on his shoulder. A grin danced across her lips when she saw Stiles’ lip quiver at how her hand freely caressed one of the scars on Peter’s chest. “Perhaps he would prefer to watch, maybe even join? He does seem to be a curious thing,” she purred in Peter’s ear.

Stiles tore his sight away from the two of them, scrambling to his feet as he made his way back down the hallway, fleeing to his room. He furiously wiped the tears from his eyes, desperately trying to stop his vision from blurring. He reached his hand out for the door, to hide himself away from sight, believing that Peter would remain with the Alpha for the entire night. He wished he had been right.

A faint cry shattered the silence of the hallway, cracking from Stiles’ throat when a rough hand grasped him firmly, tightening like a vice grip.

Stiles reacted on instinct, turning to address the attack. He grabbed at the hand holding him, desperate to get free. He hesitated when he realized it was Peter. “Please, you’re hurting me,” he uttered, wishing Peter would let go of him. He stilled against the door, happily remaining silent as payment for Peter releasing his arm.

“You were told to remain in bed, not wander the halls at your leisure,” Peter angrily reprimanded him, his hand slamming against the door.

The sound of impact startled Stiles.

“I’m sick of your disobedience,” Peter continued, his voice like gravel cutting through the silence of the hallway. “You speak out of turn. You plague my every waking moment with your incessant voice.” He angrily huffed, Stiles’ shaking form only annoying him more. “You can’t even do your job.”

“This isn’t my fault,” Stiles answered, partially whimpering when he realized he spoke out of turn, seeing Peter’s glare deepen.

“I can’t stand you,” Peter bitterly stated. He didn’t care for the way Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed, the way his wide eyes glazed with unshed tears at the harsh words. “The very sight of you is repelling to me. I tolerate you because you were meant to give me heirs—a task you have proven to be useless at.” He shook his head. “You were supposed to be some amazing Omega, highly prized and valued over others. And as it stands, you’ve proven to be nothing but a wasted investment.”

Stiles turned his body, grasping at the door handle in a weak attempt to get away from the corner Peter drove him into.

Peter was the one that shoved the door open, not at all surprised by Stiles’ stumbling from the door giving way too quickly. “Her thighs are a thousand times more welcoming than yours.”

“Then go back to her,” Stiles answered, his words desperate for Peter to just leave him instead of mocking him. He fought back tears when Peter grabbed him, forcing him to turn and face him. “Why lie to me? Why marry me?” He partially demanded, ignoring the pain of Peter’s claws digging into his arms in anger.

“Because two Alphas are next to unlikely to have a child,” Peter snapped, shoving Stiles backwards and onto the bed.

Stiles stumbled, his limbs almost splaying out as he tried to catch himself.

“Because I was assured that an Omega would be with child within weeks of our coupling,” Peter answered, uncaring of how much hurt he could smell in Stiles’ scent. “But here we are, months into this pathetic excuse of a marriage, and you still haven’t taken with anything.” He leaned over Stiles, encroaching on his space. “Because fucking Alphas I find attractive makes it easier for me to stomach the idea of fucking you—of being stuck inside you almost every night.”

Stiles kept his gaze down, wishing Peter would take his silence as submission—acceptance that he was to be nothing but a means to an end. He turned his head away from Peter, waiting for him to leave him. He released an indignant yelp when Peter grasped ahold of his legs, easily flipping him over. He tried to claw his way up the bed, to get away from Peter. He didn’t care that Peter was his Alpha. He didn’t care if he was supposed to be a “good” Omega and submit. He didn’t enjoy the pain Peter gave him.

“Stop,” Stiles protested, trying to keep his clothes on as Peter pulled at them. A frightened sob cracked from his throat when he heard the tearing of his clothes, felt the press of Peter’s body nakedly against him as Peter forcefully spread his legs.

Stiles cried the entire time, trying to fight back as best he could, only to be overpowered every time. He was silent when Peter left him alone, slowly pulling the blanket up to cover himself. He didn’t bother shedding out of his ruined shirt, not having the energy to do more than close his eyes and hope that he’d have the strength to try tomorrow.

~*~

Stiles curled his legs up to his chest, slowly breathing in the steam of the bath. He was glad that the servants didn’t ask questions or stare at him and his bruises like he had dreaded they would. He was grateful for the warmth of the water, the soothing feeling of the milk and honey mixture he had found in one of the pantries. He barely startled when Erica entered, her steps soft and calm as she approached him.

Erica wordlessly moved to kneel next to the tub, sprinkling some mixture into the water. She averted her gaze from Stiles, respecting his privacy as best she could.

Stiles watched the mixture fall into the tub, reaching a hand out to the flower petal he saw floating on the surface. “What is it?” He asked, unfamiliar with the flower.

“Lavender and salt,” Erica answered. She finally looked at Stiles. “It helps relieve pain,” she elaborated.

Stiles weakly nodded his head, releasing his hold on the flower petal. He waited until Erica was done, intrigued when she offered to help him wash. He had been told he would have servants to tend to his every whim, should he marry someone as well off as Lord Hale, but he disliked the idea of forcing someone to do things for him. “You don’t have to,” he answered, slowly moving his body away from the side of the tub Erica was knelt next to.

“How do you expect to get your back?” Erica replied.

Stiles frowned, knowing she was right. He hesitantly lifted his arm, giving in to Erica. He was surprised how gentle she was with him. He noticed how often Erica would pause before washing over his bruises, knowing she was inspecting them.

“Have you ever been in love?” Stiles absentmindedly asked, wishing to fill the silence with something more—with someone willing to converse with him.

Erica paused her hand, looking at Stiles. “Yes,” she honestly answered. “I still am, actually.”

Stiles softly smiled at that. “Who are they?”

Erica resumed her washing before answering, “Boyd.”

Stiles nodded, remembering that Boyd was in charge of the stables. “He’s very kind.”

“He is,” Erica answered.

“He’s good to you?” Stiles asked.

Erica smiled as she thought about Boyd, her heart always swelling with love whenever thinking of him. “Yes. He’s very good to me. As is anyone towards those they love.”

Stiles nodded.

“I know love,” Erica continued, allowing her hand to still on Stiles’ shoulder. “And this,” she lightly pressed against the bruise of a handprint wrapped around the back of Stiles’ neck—where Peter had held Stiles down the other night as he bred him. “This isn’t love.”

Stiles didn’t pull away from Erica as he should have. He felt weak for inviting such a caring touch. “Thank you,” he faintly uttered, not wanting to admit to Erica that he knew it wasn’t love that drove Peter to treat him in such a manner—it wasn’t even lust. It was the desire to have a child, one that Stiles seemed to be unable to give Peter.

~*~

Derek dismounted from his saddle, his gaze falling onto the partially illuminated house. He hadn’t sent word that he was arriving early for vacation. He had miraculously finished his exams with enough time to warrant his early departure. He had planned on letting Peter know of his intended arrival, but ultimately decided against it. He would have rather visit when Peter was away on business, knowing he could relax and avoid conversing at length with Peter. But he knew he couldn’t avoid Stiles.

If Peter was speaking the truth, Stiles should likely be plump with the various delicacies Erica would sneak him now, all thanks to his feet being swollen from pregnancy. It would mean that Stiles was being treated well by Peter if there was a child on the way. Perhaps, Derek thought, that was all Peter needed to change back to the man he was before the fire.

“You’re back early,” Boyd greeted Derek, taking hold of the horse’s reins after Derek walked his mare towards the stables.

“I thought it couldn’t hurt to come back as an early surprise,” Derek offered.

Boyd offered a wordless affirmation that he understood Derek’s reasoning better than Derek did.

“How is everyone?” Derek asked, wishing to inquire about the events concerning the estate.

“Fine,” Boyd replied, taking the saddle off of Derek’s mare. “Isaac managed to make it through a thunderstorm without going feral.”

Derek was surprised by such news.

“Omega Hale is to thank for that,” Boyd explained as he continued to care for the horse.

“How so?” Derek asked.

“He spoke with Isaac about his fear,” Boyd continued. “Got Isaac to admit that thunderstorms are just an act of weather, nothing more. Then when the next one hit, Stiles tied a blindfold around Isaac’s eyes, and had Erica help him wrap layered cloths against his ears. Isaac said he couldn’t hear or see a thing, only smell the rain and the spark of lightning. It … calmed him.” He paused his movements. “I should say, Stiles calmed him.”

Derek leaned against the wall of the stables, not at all surprised that someone as curious as Stiles would have figured out a way to help those in need. “How are Erica’s seizures?”

“Better,” Boyd answered.

Derek silently nodded. “Should I thank Stiles for that as well?”

Boyd released a faint laugh. “Erica’s been managing her own foods, but the young Lord has been trying to upkeep an herb garden near the maze. And I dare say he’s been employing Erica’s help with it, trying to use remedies to soothe everyone’s ailments.”

Derek turned his gaze to the estate. “And my uncle,” he started, refusing to look at Boyd as he chose his next words carefully. “Does he rape Stiles every night, or just when he feels like it?”

The soft groan of the wooden beam beneath Boyd’s hands was answer enough.

“I’m sorry,” Derek uttered. “I know that’s a hard thing to answer.”

“Isaac tries to bring him enough drink that he passes out,” Boyd explained. “But then he just wakes in the middle of the night and hunts him down.” He released his hold on the wooden beam, seeing where his claws sharply scrapped lines into the surface. “Erica has tried taking care of Stiles’ aches and bruises the best she can, but they won’t heal, not when he isn’t allowed a moment to relax.”

“And you’ve even taken to sabotaging the carriage, it seems,” Derek stated as he observed the unusual amount of spare parts littering close to the stables.

Boyd looked at the spare parts, shrugging in response. “The longer it takes your uncle to return to the estate, the longer peace Stiles knows.”

Derek nodded. “I’m glad you’re here with him,” he admitted as he turned to look at Boyd. “I was afraid to think what would happen to someone as hopeful as Stiles should he be left alone with someone like Peter.”

Boyd’s frown didn’t soften, his expression still a sorrowful one.

“Is anyone still awake?” Derek asked. His silent question of whether Peter was still awake was evident enough. If he could keep his uncle from Stiles longer, it would be a small kindness he could give Stiles.

Boyd turned to look at Derek. “Your uncle retired earlier this evening,” he answered. “He barred Stiles from his room—says he won’t have a place to rest until he’s … done his job.”

“He’s sent him to one of the guest rooms?” Derek asked in disbelief.

Boyd shook his head. “Stiles won’t take a room, no matter how much we press. He knows how Peter would react, should he find out. He’s worried about Peter lashing out at us.”

~*~

Derek took his time walking through the hallways, appreciating the quiet greeting he received. He was pleased that the others had a break from seeing to Peter’s needs. He paused by the doors to the library, sensing the sleeping form hidden within. He gently pressed the doors open, observing the dimly lit room. He spotted a small, lit candle by the armchair, the light glowing around the occupant.

Stiles had fallen asleep in the armchair, despite how small the piece of furniture was. He had curled himself into the cushion, his head propped against the back of the cushion, a book sprawled open in his lap. He had a blanket draped over his legs to keep him warm from the small chill creeping through the house now that the fires were extinguished.

Derek observed the way Stiles was sleeping. He couldn’t believe how easily his uncle could neglect such a beautiful and caring person. He had heard of the ways Stiles helped the servants, how he treated them as the pack mates they truly were. He admired how kind Stiles was, only another reason Peter didn’t deserve him.

Derek thought about moving Stiles, possibly carrying him to one of the guest rooms to guarantee that the young Omega received a decent night’s rest. He reached a hand out, the faintest caress of his knuckles brushing up against Stiles’ skin as his fingers moved a few strands of hair from Stiles’ face.

Stiles released a faint sigh, a near whimper in his sleep, as his head turned to seek out the owner of the kind gesture. He curled deeper into the chair when a cold chill fell over his body, another glaring consequence of having a mate absent, no one keeping him warm against the night cold.

Derek made a decision, not caring if Peter grew angry with him for doing the decent thing by giving Stiles a bed to sleep in for the night. He bent down, bracing his arm behind Stiles’ back as he slipped his other arm beneath Stiles’ legs. He easily lifted the Omega, turning him towards his chest. He steadily made his way out of the room, heading down the hallway towards the guest room near his own room. He wanted Stiles close enough that he could hear any distress that could befall him. He wasn’t surprised that Stiles didn’t wake from being lifted and moved—he knew Stiles was likely exhausted from Peter’s endless hounding.

~*~

Stiles rushed to get ready in the morning, discovering himself to be in a room he had never before been in. He realized it was one of the many guest rooms. He couldn’t remember how he came to be in the room, curious as to how he could possibly have gotten himself here. He recalled the soft touch of a hand touching his face last night whilst in the depths of sleep. He wondered who it could have been, if it had truly happened. His thoughts drifted to Derek, thoughts of the young man being ever so noble.

Stiles pushed those thoughts away, asking himself why someone like Derek would care about him in such a manner. He hesitated when he nearly passed by the mirror. He paused, looking at himself, his gaze dropping to the flat span of his stomach. He had been with Peter for months now—nearly a year of sharing Peter’s bed and suffering his rough touches and cruel words. And for those months, nothing had happened. He ran his hand along his stomach, recalling how often his tutors and peers spoke about the ease they experienced in transitioning to carrying a child. He understood Peter’s irritation with him and his inability to take with anything. He recalled the words of Lydia’s aunt, from the ball before he met Peter—words of advice should he be needing them in the coming future. He remembered how she spoke in hushed words, about how some Omegas need help when it comes to their heat and the potential of conceiving—that there was a tea even she used before conceiving more than half her babies.

Stiles closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he let the image of a swollen belly and loving hands caressing him fall from his thoughts. He hurried to the dining room once he was presentable, hoping that Peter would not be irritated by his late arrival. He slowed his pace when he finally entered the dining room, noticing that Peter was still reading his newspapers over an empty, clean plate. It was a sign that Stiles hadn’t missed the morning meal.

Peter didn’t look up from his paper when Stiles took his respectable seat beside him. “Sleep well,” he dryly stated.

Stiles looked up at Peter as he busied his hands with the napkin in his lap. “As well as I could,” he offered.

Peter released a partial grunt of acknowledgment.

Stiles turned to look at Erica when she entered with a tray of food. He faintly smiled at her, a welcoming gesture that he hoped would convey that Peter was in a tolerable mood today.

They ate in the same silence that normally lingered between them during these times that they were forced to sit together.

Stiles silently drank from his teacup as Peter wrote down something at the bottom of a letter he had been given by Isaac. His free hand fiddled with the napkin in his lap, a worrying habit he did when he feared Peter’s response to his proposed questions. He waited until Isaac left with the letter and its response, placing his teacup down with ease as he looked down at his napkin, shyly looking back up at Peter as he steeled his resolve. “I was wondering if we could head into town today?”

Peter blankly looked at Stiles. “And why would we do that?”

Stiles bit the inside of his lip. “You said you had little to do today before you leave,” he offered. “I thought getting fresh air might be nice. There’s also some tea that I would like to get. And once you leave, I won’t be able to go by myself.”

“I don’t have time to bring you,” Peter replied in annoyance. “Have one of the servants go for you.”

“The tea … It has many components,” Stiles answered, keeping his gaze down as he stared at the plate. “I’m afraid that some of the merchants will be selling them by their different names, and the servants could be confused.”

“It’s a tea,” Peter snapped as he looked at Stiles. “It can’t be that important. Find yourself grateful for what you have here.”

“Do you have to yell this early in the morning?” Derek questioned as he entered the dining room, his gaze traveling over to Stiles.

Stiles was surprised that Derek was here, not knowing he had come back from school yet. And in that moment, he realized that what he had thought was nothing more than a dream the other night must have truly been Derek.

“So it was you that arrived last night,” Peter answered, not caring for his nephew’s comment.

“I finished my exams early,” Derek replied, taking the seat next to Peter, sitting across from Stiles.

“Good, you can take Stiles into town, then,” Peter replied.

Stiles looked up at Peter before looking at Derek. “You don’t have to—it was a silly errand anyways,” he started.

“Silly enough to pester me but not him,” Peter stated.

Stiles looked down at his plate in silence.

“I’m sure it seems silly to someone like you, uncle,” Derek replied.

“Then you won’t find it a waste of your time,” Peter answered.

“Not at all,” Derek stated. It was worth bickering with Peter, seeing how relieved Stiles looked afterwards.

~*~

Stiles was inspecting the healer’s various products, smiling when the woman noticed him.

“I didn’t think we’d see you again,” the female Omega pleasantly greeted Stiles, moving around her table of wares to embrace him.

Stiles faintly smiled, hugging the woman back. “My husband has been busy,” was all he offered as an excuse, uncertain how much he was allowed to disclose.

“Well, I’m glad you could finally make it,” she answered as she moved back to the other side of the table. “Is there something you’re looking for in particular today?”

Stiles looked down at his list, knowing that any Omega would know what it was he was trying to concoct. He turned to look at Derek, relieved to find him still lingering by the bookseller. He looked back at the healer. “I have a list, if you wouldn’t mind helping me.”

The healer smiled, reaching her hand out for the paper Stiles was clutching in his hand. She took the list with ease, turning it in order to read the writing. Her smile fell, eyebrows furrowing when she looked up at Stiles. She knew what it was, displeasure falling over her features.

“This could be dangerous,” the healer stated, not making a move to gather the ingredients Stiles was asking for.

“Please,” Stiles earnestly pleaded. “I haven’t … I need help making it happen. Lady Martin’s aunt told me about this tea. She said it helped her in the past.”

The healer frowned, her gaze moving over to Derek before looking back at Stiles. “Does he know?”

Stiles paled some, quickly shaking his head.

The healer sighed before reluctantly moving to gather the necessary ingredients.

Stiles was relieved the woman was finished when Derek finally moved to stand with him.

“Almost done?” Derek offhandedly asked, uncertain if Stiles managed to find what he needed.

“Almost,” Stiles faintly answered, patiently waiting for the healer to tie the bag.

“A scoop is enough to help,” the healer instructed Stiles as she placed the bag in his hand. “Do not exceed more than two scoops in a day,” she warned.

Stiles nodded. “Thank you,” he answered as he hugged the bag of ingredients to his chest, praying it would be the answer he was looking for.

“How much?” Derek questioned, knowing that Stiles had no money of his own—that Peter likely didn’t give Stiles any money to purchase the tea.

“I will not accept your coin,” the healer harshly answered Derek, glaring at him. She looked back at Stiles, explaining, “It is a gift. One I hope you won’t have to use.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what the exchange between the two of them meant. But he did understand when someone was mad at him, and he could feel the woman’s anger for him in the venom of her words.

“What is it?” Derek asked as they walked down the road, his hand wrapped around the reins of their horse.

“A tea,” Stiles faintly answered, tightly clutching at the bag as if it was a lifeline.

“A tea for what?” Derek questioned.

“Just a tea,” Stiles replied.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t give you your gift,” Derek jested. He stopped walking when he realized he couldn’t hear Stiles’ footsteps accompanying his own. He looked back to see Stiles standing still, staring at Derek quizzically.

“My … gift?” Stiles questioned, his features perplexed.

“Why does that sound so strange?” Derek asked.

“I suppose I don’t understand,” Stiles offered, moving once more to stand by Derek’s side. He watched Derek retrieve a small object from the satchel tied against the horse’s saddle. He peered over Derek’s shoulder, seeing the brown parchment paper wrapped around the rectangular shape.

“I never gave you a gift to welcome you,” Derek explained, offering the wrapped gift out to Stiles. “I suppose it’s unkind of me to try and ask for something in return.”

Stiles continued to silently stare at the wrapped object, still clinging to his tea is desperation.

Derek’s features softened in confusion. “Of course, you don’t have to accept it,” he started to pull his hand away from Stiles. He was a little surprised when Stiles’ hand shot out to grab the object, preventing Derek from pulling away.

“Please, I just,” Stiles started, releasing a deep sigh, one that sounded close to tears. “No one has given me a gift before,” he explained.

Derek released a faint snort as he let Stiles have the gift. “I know that’s a lie.”

Stiles looked offended by Derek’s words.

“You were the most eligible Omega in fine society,” Derek factually stated as he turned to tend to the horse, softly stroking a hand down her mane as he tried to focus on something other than Stiles. “To believe you have never been gifted something would make me a fool.”

Stiles held the wrapped gift closer, allowing his fingertips to caress the rough material of the parchment. “I’ve been given flowers and chocolates,” he admitted. “Even fine jewelry and clothes. Things that an Omega needs to show status. They weren’t gifts,” he concluded, looking up at Derek. “Those were all given to me as brags. The idea of luxury being presented to my father in hopes that he’d choose them. No one’s ever given me a gift before with me personally in mind.”

Derek frowned at that.

“Thank you,” Stiles added, looking back down at the wrapped object.

“You haven’t even opened it,” Derek countered. “You may hate it.”

Stiles released a soft laugh. It was the first one Derek had heard since before Stiles’ marriage to Peter.

“I'm sure I won't,” Stiles stated in reassurance. “Thank you,” he repeated, his fingers gently making easy work of the wrappings. He ran his fingertips over the leather cover of the book. He traced the title as a small smile danced across his lips. “The mysteries of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Our library doesn't have a copy,” Derek explained, carefully evaluating Stiles’ reaction. “You've been having a long time to yourself lately, and I thought you'd appreciate some variety.”

“I haven't read this yet,” Stiles replied. “We’re told that we won't have a need for such silly things,” he added. “Our tutors tell us how often Omegas let their imaginations run wild when we should be focusing on maintaining a household; seeing to our children.” Stiles’ features fell some. “I suppose I don't have that problem.”

Derek reached a hand out to touch Stiles’ shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “It's still early,” he offered, biting his tongue some. “Peter … he's not the easiest person to connect to.”

Stiles pressed the bag of tea into his chest, knowing it was his only hope. “Deaton’s spoken to me about what's happening. He said … he said that the fire had a progressively negative effect on Peter’s psyche.”

Derek allowed his hand to fall away from Stiles, turning back to the horse. “Peter was injured worse than me in the fire. Most of his body was injured. As I'm sure you've noticed.”

Stiles remained silent as he resumed walking beside Derek. “Not in particular.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles.

A light blush crept up Stiles’ neck, moving to settle on his cheeks. “Peter is particular in … how we see each other.”

Derek ran his hand over the mane of the horse, his nails carding through the horse’s hair as he struggled with control.

Stiles took Derek’s silence as understanding as he watched his feet kick up dirt from the road. He was slightly surprised when he felt Derek take his arm in hand. It was the gentlest touch he felt yet, more of a guiding gesture than a forceful demand. He looked up at Derek, furrowing his eyebrows in question.

“Storm’s coming,” Derek explained as he moved from behind Stiles. He moved to Stiles’ side, placing his hand on his hips.

Stiles ignored the heat burning in his belly as he shuffled the items in his arms in order to gain a hold on Derek’s shoulders. He marveled at how easily Derek was able to lift him up into the horse’s saddle. His hand lingered on the span of Derek’s shoulders, his fingers wanting to stay touching Derek as he reluctantly pulled away, knowing he wasn't allowed such pleasantries.

Stiles was surprised when Derek climbed onto the horse behind him. He hid his blush, trying to concentrate on the movement of the horse rather than the close proximity of Derek’s body. He tried, but failed.

Derek’s body was flush against Stiles, his chest broad and warm against Stiles’ back as he reached around him to grasp the reins. He settled into the saddle, his thighs brushing up against the back of Stiles’ as he bracketed Stiles’ hips with his own.

It was intimate, more so than it should have been. Derek’s arms were wrapped around Stiles as he steered the horse towards home. Stiles allowed himself the luxury of pressing back into Derek’s body, remembering how he once thought he'd feel this protected—this cherished—when held by his husband to be.

“You carried me to the guest room, didn’t you?” Stiles softly asked, a familiarity falling over him from just the press of Derek’s warmth against him.

“You shouldn’t be forced to sleep in a chair,” Derek answered.

Stiles nodded in acceptance. “Still,” he faintly countered. “Thank you.”

~*~

“Where have you been?” Isaac questioned the moment their horse approached the estate.

“Weather,” Derek half answered as he dismounted. He reached up to Stiles, helping ease him off the saddle and to the ground.

“Alpha Hale has been asking,” Isaac answered, knowing Derek would understand his warning.

“My uncle needs to learn to worry less,” Derek replied, watching as Boyd took the horse further into the stables.

Stiles held the tea and book closer to his chest as he moved from Derek. “I'll inform him that we've returned.” He started to head inside, pausing as he turned back to look at Derek. “Did you know?”

Derek looked at Stiles, his eyebrows arching in question. “Did I know what?”

“Who I was, the night we met,” Stiles elaborated.

Derek’s eyes flickered to the book clutched against Stiles’ chest. “Not at first, no. But after Isaac called you Omega Stilinski … well, I knew then.”

Stiles nodded, feeling better in knowing that Derek hadn’t lead him on.

“Did you?” Derek asked, curious to know.

Stiles hesitated. He knew he walked a fine line in anything he dared to utter aloud. And he knew the peril he would face for admitting such a truth—that he had entertained the idea that his intended was another. “I had hoped you were him,” he softly confessed, tearing his gaze away from Derek as he turned to head into the estate.

~*~

Derek was roused from his sleep by a sharp knock on his bedroom door. He hastily gathered his trousers, ignoring the absence of his nightshirt as he made his way over to the door. He was surprised to find his uncle standing in the hallway, observing him with an annoyed look.

But it wasn't the look Peter gave him that caused Derek to pull away. It was the smell that hit him.

The smell of a fertile Omega in heat covered Peter.

“I need you to fetch Deaton,” Peter stated, as if it was explanation enough.

“Why?” Derek asked, his own voice sounding wrecked, just from the smell of Stiles lingering on his uncle.

“Because Stiles is delirious,” Peter replied. “His heat is … inconvenient.”

Derek slowly observed his uncle, unsure of his meaning.

“Fetch Deaton for me, or the boy will suffer the longer I'm not with him.” Peter used Derek’s compassion as leverage, knowing Derek cared more about Stiles’ wellbeing than listening to him.

Derek was swift in his haste, knowing he could have spared the horse some when Deaton appeared unconcerned at his beckoning.

“Your uncle has yet to realize that an Omega’s heat is far more intense than an Alpha or Beta rut,” Deaton explained when they returned to the estate. “Stiles is young—virile. He is going to need more attention than your typical Omega.”

“Peter doesn't overreact,” Derek countered as he escorted Deaton into the house.

Derek had been right—Peter wasn't overreacting. He knew something was wrong when both Peter and Deaton came to update him on Stiles’ condition.

“Has he had a change in his diet?” Deaton asked Peter.

“He eats little,” Peter replied, sounding exhausted.

“He asked to get a new tea,” Derek offered, knowing that Peter didn't know the first thing about Stiles, let alone his diet.

Deaton observed Derek carefully. “What type of tea?”

Derek shook his head, not knowing what Stiles had been hiding when getting the tea. “The woman in the market seemed to know what it was. She seemed angry with me.”

Deaton sighed. “It will pass,” he offered as an explanation. “He's in a pseudo-heat, activated by a mixture of herbs.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, realizing why the woman in the market was angry at him.

“Is it as effective as a normal heat?” Peter finally asked.

Derek turned and looked at Peter.

“Heats don't make Omegas more fertile than usual,” Deaton explained. “Heats desensitize an Omega’s pain receptors. It puts them into a frenzy, making them seek being bred.”

Peter huffed in annoyance. “Is he even fertile at all?”

“Stiles likely sought out this tea because he has yet taken with child,” Deaton offered. “He is young, Peter, and it is not uncommon for an older Alpha to have trouble while trying to breed an Omega.”

“He's yet to take with anything,” Peter answered, not listening to Deaton’s explanation.

“He did this because of you,” Derek finally snapped, not surprised when both Deaton and Peter turned to look at him. “He's trying, it's not his fault.”

“Thank you for your input, nephew,” Peter replied, uncaring for Derek's outburst.

Deaton waited until Peter went back into the room with Stiles. “You're not wrong,” he stated as he packed his bag. “Stiles is a fertile Omega. This pseudo-heat is only half as intense as his normal one will be. It seems intense now because the onset happened too quickly for his body to adjust. He has yet to share a heat with Peter, and this is his body trying to make amends. At the same time, his body is rejecting such a weak coupling.”

“Peter’s an Alpha,” Derek countered.

“But he's not as young as he used to be,” Deaton explained. “After the fire, he suffered too much trauma to his body to guarantee a child would spring from coupling with another Alpha.”

Derek knew what Deaton was speaking of. It was clear that Peter was seeking an heir when he started entertaining the idea of vying for the attentions of an Omega. It was strange when Peter looked towards mating an Omega when he could never before stomach the idea of being, in Peter’s opinion, lowered in such a manner.

“Will Stiles have a child after this?” Derek asked.

“Unlikely,” Deaton heavily answered as he finished packing his bag. “Unless Peter gets extremely lucky, even with a heat like this … it's unlikely Stiles will ever be able to give Peter a child.”

“Tell him that,” Derek pressed.

“I have, Derek,” Deaton answered. “He knows it is a small chance, but he's also a proud man. He'll never believe that he's unable to have again what he had before the fire.”

Derek turned away from Deaton. “So you don't care what happens to Stiles the longer this is drawn out?”

Deaton blankly looked at Derek. “Do you?”

Derek bit the inside of his cheek. “My uncle is a violent man when he doesn't get what he wants.”

“I'm afraid that's the man Stiles’ father married Stiles off to,” Deaton replied. “With respect, Derek, your uncle is still remembered as the man he was when Talia was Alpha of the Hale family.”

“He hasn't been that man in years,” Derek corrected.

“Exactly,” Deaton agreed.

~*~

Stiles was sitting on the porch, blanket draped over his legs as he relaxed in his chair. He was watching the gardeners shearing the bushes and tending the flowers. His body was sore from the previous nights, exhausted from his heat driving him to do nothing but keep his body sated. He wasn't sure if it worked, barely remembering if Peter even bothered to see to him all the time. He remembered being held close as Peter’s knot formed, his hips bucking and trying to rock back and forth, seeking more. He also remembered Peter pushing him away afterwards, how drained and lonely he felt—abandoned by the one that was supposed to be protecting him as his body worked hard to produce a child. He remembered crying alone when Peter would reject his touch and cravings for intimacy.

Stiles startled when he realized someone had joined him on the porch without even noticing their arrival. “Good morning, Derek,” he mindfully breathed in surprise.

“Afternoon,” Derek answered as he took a seat next to him. “Feeling any better?”

A small blushed burned Stiles’ cheeks as he looked away from Derek. “A little, thank you.”

“Did he hurt you?” Derek asked, knowing no one else would dare to ask Stiles, or to confront Peter if he had.

“No more than I've hurt him,” Stiles lightly answered.

“Impossible,” Derek bitterly uttered. “My uncle is a proud man, more than anything. He'd hurt you tenfold in reprimand if you caused him pain.”

“It was my own fault,” Stiles replied. “I didn't tell him I was taking the tea in hopes of hurrying a heat along. I didn't even tell you when you asked.” He looked down at the blanket covering his legs, idly picking at the woven fabric. “I made him late for his trip.”

“And that gives him reason to hurt you?” Derek questioned.

“He didn't—”

“Don't lie to me,” Derek snapped as he stood from his seat, taking a few steps away from Stiles, moving to lean against the porch railing. “I can hear you. At night.”

Stiles tightened his hold on his blanket. “I'm weaker than an Alpha,” he finally stated in a firm tone. “Even than a Beta. Peter isn't used to bedding an Omega. It's … it has taken time for me to get used to it, but it's easier now.”

Derek scoffed, shaking his head. “That's not what sex is about. It's not supposed to just be about ease. Or did your classes just teach you to roll over and present, without hopes of gentleness or care?”

Stiles ignored the hot tears burning his eyes as he turned to glare at Derek’s back. “You pretend to care then mock me?” He demanded to know. His glare didn't soften when Derek turned to look at him. “What do you want to know? That I cry every time Peter forces my legs open? That if I'm too audible, he'll clamp his hand over my mouth to stop the sobs? Or that he's taken to other’s beds because he finds mine revolting?”

Derek remained quiet as Stiles quickly brushed the tears away.

“I don't know what is right, just what I've been given,” Stiles answered. He relaxed in his chair, turning his attention back to the gardeners. “I'm sorry for the inconvenience I've afforded you.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, wishing he was better with his words. “I'm not cross with you. This whole situation … Peter will never accept that he's unable to have an heir.”

Stiles turned to look at Derek. “Deaton told you?” He questioned.

“He explained the situation,” Derek offered. “That the fault lies with Peter and not you. That Peter will continue to grow in anger, but place the blame elsewhere, as he always has,” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“It won't stop until I give him what he wants,” Stiles concluded, his voice sounding small, as if he knew the solution but dared not to speak it. “I'm at a dead end, with one solid route to proceed.”

Derek carefully observed Stiles.

“Please, don't make me say it,” Stiles answered Derek’s silence.

“I'm not sure what you're speaking of,” Derek lied. He had ignored the thought Deaton had planted in his mind. He pretended that excitement didn't bubble up in his stomach when he thought of the chance to actually fulfill such a task. He lied to himself, determined to believe that he didn't wish for it with every ounce of his heart, even if it was a direct betrayal to his uncle. His family. His Alpha.

Derek’s Alpha, who used and abused his Omega to no end, when Derek’s own instincts screamed at him to protect.

“I can't produce a child to present to Peter on my own,” Stiles started, his voice heavy from the fear he held back. “Deaton said that it should only take one try—that my body is … used to the concept of being bred.” A sharp blush burned his cheeks as he dared to look at Derek. “It would still be a Hale child.”

Derek tensed at hearing Stiles utter the request. “Deaton told you to ask me this?” He questioned, unmoving from his spot.

“He told me it was the only sure way I would conceive,” Stiles answered, still unsure of Derek’s answer. “I thought to ask you. Because—”

“You thought incorrectly,” Derek sharply stated as he pushed away from the railing. He stared intensely at the blanket covering Stiles’ lap, knowing it acted as a shield to help hide the damage Peter inflicted the precious days. “I'd never commit such an act,” he stated, his fists tightening. “Not against Peter.”

“If Peter asked you to, would you?” Stiles asked, his chest burning with shame.

“If Peter wished me to, it would be a different story completely,” Derek answered.

Stiles nodded. “I … I'm sorry,” he quietly offered. “I misunderstood.”

“How could you mistake that?” Derek partially demanded, wanting to know how he could let himself lead Stiles on in such a manner.

“Foolishness,” Stiles barely answered.

The silence was deafening, leaving Stiles aching for Derek to say something—anything that would reassure him that Peter would never know he asked such a thing of Derek.

“We'll pretend this never happened,” Derek offered, feeling the shame in Stiles’ scent, knowing Stiles showed regret in how he refused to look at him.

“Thank you,” Stiles hollowly replied. “I'm … I'm awfully tired.”

Derek barely nodded as he moved towards to house doors. He paused, wishing he could make Stiles understand. No matter how bad it seemed, Peter was still Peter. Derek’s uncle and Alpha, the last of his family, and to do such a thing to him … it broke Derek's heart to realize how easy and willing he found himself wanting to agree.

“I'm headed back to school,” Derek informed Stiles. “I was planning on delaying my departure until my uncle returns. To make sure you weren't alone.”

“I'm fine,” Stiles hollowly replied, watching the wind shaking the blossoms through the air.