Chapter Text
It took Stiles several moments to figure out exactly what was going on, confusion only surpassed by sheer surprise that he was still alive. He was still in the woods, but they were different. Not just the light and the fact that Derek was standing somewhere different, but the fact that Scott was there. And so were about a dozen small creatures flying around and trying to claw them into little bits. Stiles looked at the wand in his hand and knew exactly where he was. More importantly, he knew when he was. He was back at the moment when he’d first picked up the wand. Only this time, he knew that the wand was his.
"Adam?" Derek asked.
Stiles looked him in the eye and smiled, “It’s me.”
Scott was standing only a few metres away, slashing at the creatures that swarmed at his head. Buzzers, Stiles now knew they were called. They were a type of fairy, basically humanoid but small and covered in fur. Bookworm had called them pests and said that they were easily scared off by fire. Well, Stiles had a spell for that now.
He aimed his wand at the largest of the creatures, which was hovering just above Scott’s head, and he summoned his will. He’d lit a candle a hundred times. This was the same thing, only this time he was protecting someone he cared about.
The symbols on his wand started to glow, starting with the ring of protection signs: a druidic rune, a shield, and a sheriff’s star.
“Burn,” Stiles said.
What emerged from the end of the wand wasn't a little spark of flame enough to scare off a fairy pest. What emerged was a stream of white-hot fire that spread out until it was nearly a metre wide when it engulfed the fairy. The little creature basically vaporised and the rest of its swarm vanished almost at once, just disappearing into the air in a panic.
But the stream of fire had been wide enough to hit Scott, even though he’d dropped to the ground right away. He rolled now on the earth, and batted a hand at his smouldering shirt. Above him, branches were blazing. A collection of burning leaves fell right on top of Scott.
“Crap!” Stiles said. He needed to do something. Panic rose inside him and he needed to put this right somehow. Water. He needed water.
He could call up the elements. He’d done it before at one of the magic workshops. He focused, thinking of the tattoo on his chest, the pentagram with the representations of the elements. He channelled his will into it, called on his magic, feeling the warm glow inside as he did so.
“Water,” he said.
What followed was not what Stiles had expected either. A torrent of water shot up from the ground, like someone had turned an entire ocean into a fountain. It rose up into the air well above the tree tops and then came crashing down all at once. It hit Scott, knocking him down from where he’d been getting to his feet, and then the whole load of water splashed out the woods. Stiles was nearly knocked on his ass by a wall of water that came up to his waist.
The level dropped rapidly as the water spread and soon Stiles was standing in the middle of a soggy, and fairly singed in places, patch of woodland. Scott was in front of him, soaking wet and with visible burns showing along his arm and shoulder, where his shirt had been completely burned away. Stiles hurried over to him.
“Scott?” he asked.
Scott leapt to his feet, claws out and eyes glaring red. He looked at Stiles, looked at the wand still in Stiles’ hand, and then looked into Stiles’ eyes.
“What are you?” Scott asked.
“Scott, it’s me.”
Stiles raised his hands in what was supposed to be a placating gesture, but he was still holding the wand and Scott seemed to be rather nervous about that. Scott grabbed Stiles painfully by the wrist, steering that arm so that the wand was pointed away from them both. Scott looked furious and scared at the same time, glaring into Stiles’ face from inches away.
“What are you really?” Scott asked. His grip tightened on Stiles’ wrist. Stiles gave a hiss of pain.
Then Derek was there, sticking his claws into Scott’s arm and raking through the flesh. Scott gave an angry yowl of pain, but he let go and Stiles had his bruised wrist to himself again. Derek stood between them, blue eyes blazing and claws red with Scott’s blood. Stiles put a hand on Derek’s arm to stop him before he did something to really hurt Scott.
“Don’t touch him,” Derek said.
“Derek, stop,” Scott said. “Something went into him, some sort of energy. That’s not Stiles.”
“It’s me, I promise,” Stiles said. “I’m sorry about the whole setting-you-on-fire thing. That was entirely accidental. I mean, not entirely because I wanted to shoot fire at the buzzers, but I didn’t expect it to come out quite so… enthusiastically.”
“Stiles can’t shoot fire,” Scott pointed out.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘couldn’t,’” Stiles said.
Derek gave a little snort of laughter and then suddenly he was ignoring Scott. He turned to Stiles, grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a kiss. So much was contained in that one kiss. There was fear and joy and passion, all rolled up into it. Derek’s hand still cupped his neck and the other hand crept up the back of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles worked his free hand round Derek’s back and pulled him in closer, pressing their chests together so that he could feel Derek’s warmth melting into his own. Stiles kissed back, delighted to be here with Derek, delighted that he wasn’t dead, delighted that Derek still wanted him, even after everything that had happened.
Wait. Had everything happened?
Stiles broke the kiss, a little breathless. He still held on to Derek though; he had no intention of letting go.
“Did anything change?” Stiles asked.
“How am I supposed to know what’s changed?” Derek asked. It was a fair question, since he couldn’t remember Stile’s original timeline.
“The nemeton,” Stiles said, “did we wake it up?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I thought when your dad was taken that if I didn’t help you find it, I’d stop what you were trying to stop, but that didn’t help.”
Because Stiles had performed the ritual in order to find the nemeton. Stiles remembered talking to Derek about it afterwards. He remembered Derek talking about how he was trying to keep a promise to someone he’d lost. At the time, he’d assumed he was talking about his mom or another family member. Now he knew otherwise. Derek had been talking about him. Derek had refused to help precisely because he thought it was what Stiles really wanted. In trying to change events, Derek had shaped them.
Stiles was standing exactly where he’d been before his trip back in time.
“It all happened the same,” he said. “Allison and Aidan?”
“Dead.”
“Nothing’s changed. Nothing at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and Stiles didn’t know why he was apologising. This was all because of Stiles, because he’d been too secretive. He’d thought he was being clever, making sure not to give away too much, but all it meant was that Derek had to face events blind. Every bad thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the night of Scott’s bite could be traced back to Stiles’ stupid decision to keep secrets.
That thought sparked another one and Stiles looked round, “Where’s Scott?”
There were tracks through the exceptionally muddy ground. He must have left while Stiles and Derek were kissing. He was probably seriously weirded out by this situation. Stiles wasn’t sure which would be stranger for Scott, seeing Stiles shoot fire from a magic wand or seeing him make out with Derek. After all, he and Derek had never exactly gotten on in this time.
Stiles turned back to Derek, “Why the hell were you always so grumpy with me if you knew who I was all along?”
Derek was still holding onto Stiles, but his hand had shifted from the neck to rest of Stiles’ shoulder. He looked a little guilty now, looking way but never releasing his hold.
“At first, I thought it would keep you safe if you stayed away from me. Then later, when I worked out you weren’t going anywhere, I tried, but you never believed me when I said I cared about you.”
Stiles thought about it, looking back over old interactions in a new light, “If you’re talking about that time at the distillery, you never actually said you cared about me. You said I was an idiot.”
“You are an idiot. An exceptionally smart, intuitive idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.”
“I thought you just put up with me.”
“I do put up with you.”
Derek leaned in for another kiss. Stiles let him. For those moments when he’d felt himself fading away, he’d thought he’d never experience this again. He was going to enjoy this. Besides, he was probably the last person to judge someone for mistaken judgements.
“I love you, Adam. I was so scared I wouldn’t be with you again.”
“I was right here all along.”
“Yeah, but you hated me.”
“Derek, I have never hated you. OK, maybe a little at the beginning but you were ridiculously grumpy. And scary. Really, really scary.”
Derek tilted his head and nuzzled at Stiles’ neck, “I’m still scary.”
Stiles leaned his head and let out a moan as Derek’s lips and stubble brushed against the side of his neck. He brought his free hand up to work through Derek’s hair. He was already half-hard in his pants, ready for whatever Derek might have in mind.
Derek started walking forwards, still never breaking contact, and so Stiles had to stumble backwards, clinging onto Derek to stay upright. He back hit a tree trunk and then Derek was there, pressed against him, practically grinding against him. Derek’s hands were moving up and down Stiles’ arms, while Stiles grabbed Derek’s ass and pulled him in closer.
“Oh god, Derek,” Stiles breathed.
Then his brain took control from his cock for a minute.
“No,” he said. Derek kept kissing at the side of Stiles’ neck, nibbling a little on his earlobe. Stiles bit down another groan. “Derek, stop.”
Derek stopped. He took a tiny step back, keeping his hands on Stiles’ arms. He looked Stiles in the eye, looking puzzled and hurt and maybe even a little scared.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“We’re not having sex in the middle of the woods where we just fought off a bunch of fairies.”
“Oh,” said Derek. “Why not?”
“Well for one thing, as far as everyone in this time is concerned I’m underage and my dad really will shoot you. For another, I don’t particularly want to get arrested for indecent exposure if a jogger comes by. And finally, it’s really, really muddy.”
Derek looked down. He seemed to notice the mud for the first time.
“I really need to figure out what happened here with my magic,” Stiles said. “The fire spell shouldn’t have been that dramatic, even if it got a boost because I was trying to use it to protect someone. And the water thing? That definitely shouldn’t have been like that. I need to figure out what’s going on before I hurt someone who doesn’t have supernatural healing abilities. And I need to straighten things out with Scott and probably grovel for forgiveness.” He paused. “And I want to see my dad. I know it’s crazy because logically I know he’s fine, but I haven’t seen him in months and I just…”
“You need to see him before you can accept that he’s safe,” Derek finished, nodding an understanding. “Alright, so what order do you want to do all that in?”
“I should check the magic thing. The book had a chapter on protection from magical effects, so I can probably use that to stop myself accidentally blowing up Beacon Hills while I figure that out.” He stopped, suddenly aware that he didn’t have a clue where that book was. He was used to it being always at hand.
“The book’s safe,” Derek said. “It’s back in my loft in a hiding place.”
They started walking together between the trees, Derek clinging onto Stiles’ hand like he was afraid to let go.
“There are other things we need to talk about,” Derek said, “important things about Laura and about something that just happened to me today, but we’ll probably need Scott there as well so we can talk about them once we’ve convinced him you’re not evil.”
Derek sounded really serious about this. It seemed the list of things they needed to do before they could have sex kept getting longer. They were reaching the edge of the woods now and Stiles could see his jeep, with Derek’s car parked behind it.
“How about,” Stiles suggested, “you go get the book while I see my dad. Then we’ll call Scott and get him to meet at my place while we sort this mess out and talk about whatever you’ve got to talk about.”
“I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” Derek said. “You might disappear again.”
Stiles kissed him, gently this time, and briefly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Besides, the quicker we do all this, the sooner we get to have sex.”
Derek was getting into his car a second later. Stiles grinned, biting down laughter at Derek’s excited reaction, then he got into his jeep and started the thing up. It was astonishing that he still had his keys, but he appeared to have everything that had been on him when Scott had dragged him out of bed to fight fairies. There was a key difference though, and Stiles pulled off his torn jacket to check. He now had his tattoos: the pentagram on his chest, the shield on the back of his left wrist, the self kanji on his neck. He couldn’t easily see it, but he presumably had the triskele in the middle of his back as well. And he had his wand and magic. No wonder Scott had been freaked out.
He drove quickly back to his house, trying to remember if his dad would be there. He couldn’t even remember what day of the week it was. On the day of the time travel accident, he hadn’t really paid attention to what his dad was doing because it had never occurred to him that he might be stuck in another time for several months. Now he had to fight to remember. He thought that it might be a Sunday, in which case his dad would probably be at home. There weren’t any major cases on at the moment, so he guessed his dad would be watching some sporting event on the TV.
Sure enough, when he got to the house, he spotted his dad’s car parked out front. It was possible that his dad might have popped round to a neighbour’s house, but unlikely. Stiles parked his jeep, picked up his jacket and wand, and headed into the house.
“Dad?” he called out.
“In here,” his dad called from the kitchen.
Stiles walked through into the kitchen, only for someone to grab him, lift him off the ground and hurl him across the room. He dropped what he was carrying, hearing the wand hit the tiled floor with a loud clatter, and then he hit the floor a painful moment later.
He tried to roll with the movement, getting awkwardly into a crouching position in time to see his dad pouring a handful of black dust to close a mountain ash circle around him.