Stiles gets the house to himself for two hours. Two hours to calm down enough so that when the pack comes over for movie night they won't be able to sense even the smallest bit of tension between him and their alpha.

He should've known that was gonna be a lost cause.

The pack arrive in, well, packs. First Scott, Allison, and Isaac – Stiles does not want to know what is going on there because as hot as the concept is Scott is still his brother so it's just weird. Then Lydia and Jackson, fighting about something or other; Jackson's probably being an annoying prick again. Erica and Boyd come in a few minutes later, then Peter (ugh why is he here?) and Derek creep in just as Scott's starting to dig in the cupboards for food.

Turning his back on the Hales, Stiles hip checks his best friend. "Dude, I'm about to call in pizza."

"So?" Scott gets out around a mouthful of Cheetos.

He rolls his eyes. "So we're having curly fries with, duh."

Lydia scrunches her nose. "Pizza and curly fries? How are you not fat and riddled with acne?"

Stiles clasps a hand to his chest. "A compliment from the fair maiden herself. I swoon."

This earns him an eye roll and a hair flick as Lydia heads back to the living room, probably to inspect their movie collection. "A maiden is a virgin and innocent, Stiles, and you should know by now that I am definitely neither."

Putting the fries in the already set oven, Stiles snickers. Man he loves being able to joke with her now and not be constantly trying to impress her.

After he calls the pizza place and orders their usual he heads out to the living room where he hears the others arguing over the movie, Scott following after with his bag of Cheetos.

In front of the shelves the girls are holding up their choice and glaring at Jackson, who's holding up another movie. From one of the armchairs Peter is watching with a trademark smirk while Isaac looks back and forth like it's an exciting battle of wills (when they all know who's going to win here), Boyd looks bored, and Derek scowls. Unsurprisingly, Jackson tosses aside the movie he's holding and collapses in the corner of the couch with a pout.

"So," Stiles crosses the room, going past his usual spot in the middle of the couch (read: avoiding Derek) to flop into the other armchair, "what movie are we watching?"

Allison frowns and Lydia narrows her eyes at him, both clearly noticing him giving up the coveted middle seat that gives the perfect view of the TV and sound quality. Their eyes aren't the only ones on him either; he can feel Derek's as well. If he keeps that up Stiles isn't going to be able to keep his cool for the whole night.

A Blu-ray case is tossed into his lap. Erica smiles as she settles on the floor between Boyd's legs. With a look Lydia gets Isaac to move off the couch and onto the floor in front of Jackson. Scott willingly sits on the floor on Erica's other side, in front of Allison, who's next to Derek.

Looking down at the case, he has to swallow thickly. The Princess Bride? Really? Today wasn't already bad enough so now he has to watch his mom's favorite movie?

Now that anger is warring with an aching sadness, both of which he shoves aside so he can smirk at the girls as he holds up the case. "Really? This movie is about one seriously helpless chick, the very picture of the damsel in distress. I would've thought you three would hate it."

Erica offers a shrug as she smirks back. "Maybe we're not damsels in distress but there is one in the room with us," she purrs, winking at him.

His brow creases. "Me?" he snorts, pointing at himself. "I thought you guys would've realized by now that I am so far from a Buttercup." He motions at the other betas. "I've kicked all your asses plenty of times. Y'know, the opposite of anything Buttercup does."

On the couch Derek snorts, drawing a glare from Stiles.

"Something funny about what I just said?" Stiles grits through his teeth. He can feel Scott staring at him with the confused puppy face, no doubt reading his emotions.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Just that they think you can't take care of yourself."

His arms flail out. "Yes, exactly! I can take care of myself," he growls, claws and fangs itching to come out. "No one needs to fucking save or protect me from anything because I. Can. Handle. It."

From the far corner of the couch Derek stares back at him, jaw and fists clenched. "Not everything, Stiles. You're not invincible."

That makes him laugh because seriously? That is just fucking hilarious, Derek trying to lecture someone about invincibility. "Oh my god, really? I am well aware I'm not invincible, Derek, but I think I can decide for myself what my limits are and fuck you for trying to decide that for me."

"Whoa, dude," Scott interrupts from the floor. "That's not what he was saying."

Before Stiles can think of an appropriate response – because Scott defending Derek is just fucking rich – the doorbell rings. "Saved by the bell," he mutters as he gets up to go pay for the pizza. After the delivery guy leaves Stiles sets the five boxes on the coffee table then goes to check on the fries. As he's pulling them out the oven he hears Scott walk in.

"Hey dude, you okay?" Scott asks, leaning against the counter next to him.

Floppy shrug. "Am I ever okay?" He smirks.

That earns him a shove. "You know what I mean. What was that back there?"

"Nothing, Scotty. Just our usual banter." He can feel Scott's skeptical look as he loads the curly fries onto a plate and grabs some napkins.

"I know you're lying, Stiles, so c'mon. What happened with you and Derek?" A hand grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. "You almost wolfed out in there." Shit, it's the puppy eyes.

Taking hold of Scott's shoulders, Stiles looks him in the eyes. "Even if something did happen – I'm not saying anything did but hypothetically, if something did happen, why would I talk about it when the whole pack is here, including Grumpy Brows?"

For a few moments Scott stares at him, then he nods. "Alright, well, how 'bout we talk later, after everyone leaves?"

Stiles raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms. "Really? So you're not going home with Allison the night her dad's away on business?"

And here comes the confused, conflicted puppy face with wide eyes, furrowed brow, frown and all. "Crap."

A sigh escapes Stiles and he deflates. "It's fine, dude, spend the night with your girlfriend." He grabs the plate of fries and a soda from the fridge and goes back out to the living room before he has to see more of the puppy eyes.

When he gets out there Erica, Jackson, and Isaac rush to make it look like they weren't just listening in, stuffing their faces with pizza. (Wait, why is Jackson eavesdropping? Weird.) Of course Peter doesn't bother, smirking like he just heard something useful, and Derek looks more uncomfortable than usual.

Not in a sharing mood, Stiles takes the plate of fries with him and grabs his own box, then camps out in his chair and starts chowing down.

"What's the matter, Stilinski?" Jackson sneers. "Having cravings for your time of the month?" He whines when Lydia's hand reaches out and smacks him on the back of the head. "Lydia!"

"Don't be unnecessarily cruel, Jackson," she snipes before turning to Stiles with a crinkled nose. "But must you stuff your face like a starved man? It's unattractive."

Around a mouthful of curly fries Stiles replies, "Whatever, these fries are delicious. And like I was attractive to begin with." With his mouth so stuffed, though, all that comes out is a muffled jumble of words. Luckily for him, because if any of them had heard he wouldn't hear the end of it.

Even still Lydia gives him this look like she knows what he just said and she's judging him hardcore – more than usual that is – and she doesn't know why she permits him to be in her presence at all, let alone on a Friday night. Then she turns back to her pizza with a sniff.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles looks over at the TV and sees no one has put the movie in yet. "What the hell, guys? None of you know how to put in a lousy movie?" He sets his food down, glaring and pointing at the others to make sure they don't try to steal it, then gets up to put the disc in. All the while he's grumbling under his breath, not caring that the others can hear. He's also ignoring the emotions he can feel coming off Derek – frustration, annoyance, sadness, regret – because if anyone should be feeling any of that it's not Derek.

The movie in, Stiles starts it up then flops down and picks his food back up. During the movie he doesn't joke around, talk along with his favorite quotes – not as much as he usually does. And he knows the others have all noticed, that they're alternately watching him with raised brows and frowns, but he can't bring himself to care too much; he just wants the night to be over so Derek (and Peter, definitely Peter) will leave.

Fortunately The Princess Bride is fairly short and the others want to spend the rest of their Friday night doing couple-y things or whatever. So as soon as it's over and the boxes and napkins are cleared they start leaving in their pairs – or trio in Allison, Scott, and Isaac's case.

Peter is the last to leave with parting words and a creepier smirk than usual. "I hope whatever… disagreement you and my dear nephew are having is settled soon. I do hate seeing you two fight." His hand runs along the back of Stiles' shoulders as he heads out the door, that and the words making Stiles shudder.

Shaking it off, Stiles shuts and locks the door, leaving the porch light on for when his dad gets off shift, then puts away the movie and shuts off the entertainment system before heading up to his room to do whatever 'til he feels like sleeping. He surfs the interwebs, multiple tabs open out of habit, and listens to his music on shuffle. After a few hours he hears his dad's patrol car coming up the street so he plugs in his headphones and loops them around his neck. This way he can still hear over the music and his surroundings but he's not disturbing his dad's light sleep.

He half listens as his dad pulls in the drive, shuts off the car, comes inside and locks the door back up, shuts off the porch light and takes off his shoes, then walks up the staircase. On his way to his room he sticks his head in Stiles' door.

"Hey kiddo." He smiles, eyes a bit bloodshot from a long shift that was probably paperwork-filled. "You have a good pack movie night?"

Stiles grins widely, close-lipped. "Yeah dad, it was super fun!"

His dad rolls his eyes but he's still smiling. "Alright, well don't stay up too late."

"'Course," Stiles smirks, waving him off. "'Night, dad."


The house is pretty quiet after that, his dad getting in bed and falling asleep straight away, breath slowing and evening out.

Turning back to his laptop, Stiles decides some killing is in order so he logs into Dark Souls and settles in for the rest of the night.

Around three in the morning, just when he's starting to get bored (just because he doesn't have ADHD anymore doesn't mean he's magically able to stick to one task at a time for an extended period) Stiles hears and smells someone creeping into the yard. He groans and headdesks because he knows exactly who's jumping up to the roof and slipping in like an open window is an open invitation.

"What do you want?" he mutters to his lap, not lifting his head. When there's no response, of course, he rolls his head to the left and raises his eyebrows. "Well c'mon, speak. You can't have come in the middle of the night to just brood at me. So what do you want?" He sits up and raises a finger when Derek starts to open his mouth. "And if it's about this afternoon, unless it's an apology and a 'you're right, Stiles', I don't want to hear it."

Derek scowls from beside the window, arms crossed. "You were right," he forces out like it's a bad taste in his mouth.

"Now was that so hard?" Stiles simpers, getting up to stand in front of Derek so he can mock him from up close and personal.

The scowl deepens and they have a staring contest – man, they have these a lot, don't they? – until Derek gets this strange glint in his eyes and inches closer.

That can't be good, but Stiles stands his ground. "What're you doing?" he demands when Derek doesn't stop until their chests and hips are tightly pressed together, Derek's right leg between his, and their noses are about an inch apart.

Derek's eyes, a liquid green with specks of blue and brown and a thin ring of red around the irises from this close, dart between his and down to his lips, which his breath is ghosting off of.

"What—" Stiles swallows, "—what are you doing?" His voice most certainly does not waver.

It's Derek's turn to smirk, oh so smug as he no doubt hears Stiles' heart picking up pace to match his own. "Oh I think you know."

With a lick to his lips, Stiles takes another moment to search Derek's eyes before he slams forward those last couple inches to bring their lips together. Immediately, he delivers sharp nips and tries to force his tongue inside, one hand inserting itself in Derek's hair and the other grabbing his ass to shove their groins even closer.

Just when Derek's starting to respond, taking hold of Stiles' waist and hair, is when Stiles startles awake, heart racing and dick already throbbing even though the dream didn't get to the good part.

An arm flinging itself over his eyes, Stiles growls to himself. "Like that'd ever happen…"

While Friday is taken as a day of rest, Saturday sadly is not. So seven in the morning finds Stiles driving out to the Preserves for training. When he gets there only Derek's Camaro is parked in the gravel drive even though he left late so he could avoid this.

"Awesome," he mutters, slamming shut his door and stomping over to the porch to fling himself down. He can hear Derek moving around inside, doing his pre-training pull-ups on the living room doorframe. Stiles rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone to text Scott, asking what the hell is taking them so long to get here.

Soon, though, Derek finishes up and comes to stand against the front of the house just behind him. "Where are the others?"

Stiles scowls down at his phone, no response. "How the hell should I know? I'm not their keeper." He turns slightly to raise a brow at Derek. "Anyway, you're the all-powerful, all-knowing alpha, shouldn't you know where the rest of your 'subordinates' are?"

Derek rolls his eyes, though Stiles can tell from his scent that that question got a smad (sad/mad – clever, right?) response. "I'm not all-knowing or all-powerful, Stiles," he sighs at a support beam.

"Really?" Stiles hops up to lean against said support beam, arms flung out to the sides. "Could've fooled me yesterday, what with you just knowing I wouldn't be able to handle the responsibilities and powers that come with a full mate bond with an alpha."

"That's not –" Derek cuts himself off with a growl, pushing off the wall and closer to Stiles. "You're reading into things again."

"Right," Stiles snorts. "So I was just reading into things when you said you didn't think it wasn't important for me to know about the bond. So I was just reading into things when you decided for the both of us that a complete bond is 'too dangerous'." His hands curl into fists at his sides as he stares Derek down. "What does that even mean? How could it be anything but beneficial?

"The book said I could get stronger, be like a second alpha like in real wolf packs." He pushes off from the beam to step into Derek's personal space, just like Derek has done to him so many times before. "Do you think I'd make a shitty mate, a shitty second alpha?" Lifting an arm, Stiles pokes him hard in the chest. "You gotta give me more here, dude. More than 'because I'm the alpha' or 'because it's too dangerous and because I said so' because those are stupid ass, weak reasons and you know it."

Derek says nothing, though a growl steadily grows louder as Stiles goes on. His jaw clenches and ticks, his heart races, and his emotions swirl – Stiles can sense it.

And he knows. He knows he shouldn't, he knows you're not supposed to provoke any werewolf, let alone an alpha, let alone your own alpha, but he's so pissed off, and he knows he can hold his own. So he ignores his instincts to back down, leans into Derek so their faces are a breath apart, and growls, "Give me a real damn reason why it's dangerous for either or both of us, or I swear to god I will kick your ass so hard –"

That is, of course, when Derek finally reacts, shoving Stiles so his back is against the support beam and Derek is leaning into him. (That cannot be safe; they're probably gonna break it and fall off the porch.) "I don't need a reason," Derek growls, eyes flashing, "because being the alpha and knowing better, knowing more than you about this, is reason enough. All you should be doing is obeying my orders and moving on."

Stiles struggles against his hold and Derek roars in his face. The urge to flinch, to whine and cower and obey, is strong but Stiles fights against it. Instead he growls right back, lets his own eyes flash and his fangs and claws grow as he shoves in return. "And I said it's not happening."

That's when Stiles notices the other have shown up because he hears five whines from the front yard. He turns around to growl at them for interrupting the conversation (never mind that he should have noticed them coming) and sees their shocked faces as they come out of protective crouches, sees Allison and Lydia looking shocked and mildly impressed, sees Peter with this calculating gleam in his eye, the one from last night. This is when he realizes what he just did and he freezes, eyes widening and mouth gaping. And looking back up at Derek up against the side of the house he finds him just as amazed, his own eyes wide and staring at him.

Stepping away from the house, Derek searches his face, eyebrows tilted up and hands twitching like he wants to reach out. "You – Your eyes just flashed between gold and red."

"What…" His claws and fangs retract as he stares back. "How did I just do that?" Stiles asks, forgetting his anger for a moment.

"I – don't know," Derek admits, shaking his head.