Chapter Text
Stiles huffed, opening his right eye only a sliver in hopes of glimpsing whatever it was Deaton was concocting.
“Focus Stiles.” Deaton urged, not even turning to face him yet still somehow knowing Stiles had opened his eyes.
Stiles huffed again and slammed his eyes shut, frowning as he struggled to sit still. Part of Deaton’s tutelage was perfecting the art of meditation and, right at this moment, as he sat cross-legged on Deaton’s table, it was a part he could do without. Stiles had never been good at shutting anything down, not his mouth nor his flailing limbs and most certainly not his mind. The entire exercise was one in futility.
“How much longer?” Stiles groaned, resisting the urge to open his eyes again.
“Until I say so Stiles.” Deaton calmly replied.
Stiles’ frown deepened and his face scrunched into one of immense frustration, his brows knitting together despite his still closed eyes.
“Stiles.” Deaton voiced.
“I’m focusing.” Stiles bit back, scrunching his eyes closed even tighter.
“Stiles.” Deaton repeated.
“Doing my best here Doc.” Stiles ground out.
“Stiles!” Deaton barked, and Stiles’ eyes flew open instantly.
The once barely flickering candles that were scattered throughout the room were now roaring infernos licking the ceiling in straight pillars of heat.
“Too much focus, Stiles.” Deaton sighed as Stiles quickly extinguished all the candles. “The point is to clear your mind, be at peace with your power, not fuel it until it burns you out.”
“I thought I was.” Stiles sighed, rubbing his face with his hands in hopes of ridding it of the frown he’d been sporting.
“You’ve progressed quickly with your magic.” Deaton admitted matter-of-factly. “Sometimes I worry too quickly. In a few short months you’ve surpassed the level most take decades to achieve.”
Stiles nodded, unable to prevent the pride that filled his chest.
“Still, without mastering the needed level of control your power is dangerous. It will consume you from within like a slow burning ember that starts a five alarm blaze.” Deaton seemed almost concerned as he said this, though his expression didn’t change from the mask he usually wore.
“I’m trying.” Stiles all but whined.
“I know, and that’s what worries me.” Deaton put the concoction he’d been mixing into a jar and stowed it away on a shelf. “We’re done for today.”
Stiles leapt to his feet, practically tripping over his own feet as he ran for the door.
“Stiles.” Deaton stopped him in his tracks. “Deliver this to Derek for me.”
He tossed Stiles a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper that made it infuriatingly unidentifiable.
“What is it?” Stiles asked, rolling it over in his hands.
“It’s for Derek.” Cryptic as usual, Deaton dismissed Stiles and vanished into a back room out of sight.
The Hale house was busy as usual, filled with pack members with nowhere else to go. After it had been rebuilt it quickly became the prime hangout for all the pack puppies, whether they lived there or not.
“How was your powwow with Dr. Dickweed?” Jackson called to Stiles as he approached, smirking at his own comment.
“Fine.” Stiles shrugged, not in the mood to sink to Jackson’s level. “Derek?”
Jackson just gestured inside with his thumb and went back to lying in the sun on the porch, quickly losing interest in Stiles without a reaction.
Stiles trudged through the front door and across the front sitting room where Erica and Boyd were sprawled across the couch watching TV. They both gestured to the kitchen in the same manner as Jackson without saying a word, clearly having heard Stiles’ question before he even entered the house.
Derek briefly glanced at him as he took a seat on a stool at the kitchen’s island.
“Something you need?” he huffed, going back to brewing his coffee with his back to Stiles.
“Something you need actually.” Stiles offered, tossing the small package onto the island. “From Deaton.”
That got Derek’s attention and he quickly turned around and scooped it up, stashing it away in his pants pocket before Stiles could ask any more questions.
“Thanks.” He nodded curtly, and then locked eyes with Stiles for the briefest of moments before retreating upstairs into his room.
Stiles sighed and ran his fingers through his now shaggy hair, expertly pushing his feelings of lust aside lest the wolves catch a whiff of it. Derek was exasperating to be around – the grumpiness, the reclusiveness, his pure molten eyes, and the shivers that always accompanied him curtsey of Stiles’ skin. Needless to say it was near impossible for Stiles to hide his feelings, thus why he’d begun avoiding the broody alpha of late.
Derek didn’t seem to notice or mind his absence – something Stiles was both thankful for and hurt by – and Stiles found it much easier to flirt with nameless guys at the jungle with Danny than own up to his actual feelings.
Even with pack business the most Stiles ever saw of Derek was the two seconds it took to get handed a walkie-talkie before the pack departed, leaving him and Lydia behind to do research. Stiles had becomes quite proficient with uncovering long forgotten underground lore, and staying behind made Derek less moody for some reason which just made life easier for everyone. Still, staying behind had everything to do with avoiding his feelings and absolutely nothing to do with pleasing the object of them – no matter what Lydia had to say about it.
“Leaving already?” Erica called as Stiles opened the front door.
“Places to go, people to see.” Stiles laughed, waving goodbye and quickly hopping into his jeep before any of the wolves decided he didn’t have a choice but to stay.
Stiles pulled into his driveway and stepped out of his jeep, not even managing to unlock the front door before his father pulled in as well.
“You’re home early?” Stiles arched a brow, the statement really more of a question.
“Just picking up a file I forgot.” His father huffed, as if doing so was a monumental chore. “Everyone’s pulling overtime at the station. Three people have gone missing in the past week.” His father paused, looking at Stiles as if realizing something for the first time. “You haven’t… heard anything have you?”
Stiles rolled his eyes with a smirk, kicking his shoes off in the front hall before going in search of chips.
“Nope. Everything’s been pretty quiet, the pack’s been almost bored actually.” Stiles offered, never failing to find it amusing how after learning the truth his father still refused to ask him anything directly about the pack.
“Hm.” His father frowned, a mixture of relief and frustration on his face as he grabbed the file and turned to leave. “Let me know if that changes.”