Black Love [SUPERWOLF]

Check Point

A/N: WHEN I ORIGINALLY PUBLUSHED THIS STORY I FOUND IT HAD DELETED, SO HERE IS THE FULL VERUON I AM SO SORRY. GLITCHES, AHH

[SUPERWOLF; Stiles' House]

He felt wrong; looking at him.

He could smell the scent, that had grown too familiar to Derek, of smoke and when he finally met his eyes, he remembered drowning in the scent of burning flesh. His flesh-his families flesh. All that was missing, was their screaming.

"Are you going to introduce us to your friend?" the man, smiling so sweetly and innocently, it made Derek's inside turned, asked-gesturing nonchalantly in Derek's general area.

"No." Stiles answered flatly, the bitterness in his tone not directed to Derek, but to him. "He was just leaving."

He watched as their palms touched, their fingers intertwining til their hands were practically one. Dean had watched it all.

It wasn't until they had reached Stiles' front door-their hands still one-that Derek found he still couldn't speak.

He was drowning in a scent that wasn't there.

Stiles leaned into Derek, looking as though he were to place an innocent kiss onto his cheek, but instead, he spoke; his words so soft that not even Stiles could hear his own voice, but Derek could hear him speak clear as day. "I don't trust them." The words sounded as familiar as a greeting, that neither blinked twice when he'd spoken.

Stiles allowed his lips to finally linger over Derek's soft skin for a moment, ignoring the way his stubs nipped at his lips. When they pulled apart, slowly, Stiles held a look in his eyes-a look Derek could read as if his eyes had spelled the words himself.

Don't go home.

Derek nodded.

. . .

He stood in the center of the room; both their eyes, lingering on his for a moment before he shifted again-his movement's unsure and timid. "Which one is Dean?" he finally brought himself to ask; looking between what he considered to be: broad and broader.

"I'm, uh, Sam," the one who held nearly six inches on Stiles said. "This is Dean."

Stiles, solemly, nodded. "So... did you know we were..." Stiles allowed the two to fill in the blank, speaking the word himself felt foreign and plain wrong.

"No." Dean answered quickly, despite the way Sam's lips had parted to answer. "Melissa called us."

"And you just took her word for it?"

"No," Sam admitted, though hesitant. "But, um, our dad... he, uh, wrote about you."

"That's how we knew it was true," the eldest Winchester added thoughtfully.

"Really?" their youngest brother held so much buoyant in his voice, it was as if that small fact could mend a part of his fractured soul. Stiles wanted to wash away the look of hope, say something snarky-cruel, even-but his heart spoke differently from his mind. "Can I read it?"

[TEEN WOLF; The Preserve]

"I'm having serious deja vu."

Derek looked up from where he sat-book in hand. Stiles, taking slow, steady steps, met Derek at the porch steps, he substituted as a seat, and fell gracefully onto the step that faced Derek's back. "How long has it been since we were last here...?" Stiles took in the sight around him; taking in every detail as though it were his first time here.

"Too long."

Derek pretended not to notice how strangeristic Stiles' presence seemed when he spoke; and he pretended he wasn't physically restraining himself from asking the questions he knew Stiles would never answer 'til his own time. He just... pretended.

Stiles' arms snaked around Derek's neck from behind, laying limp on his shoulders as he drew Derek in-chest against chest; rising and falling in perfect unison. A silence stretched upon them, though neither minded; they simply allowed the birds to fill in the gap they couldn't fill. Stiles closed his eyes, and for just a moment, he felt content.

"Stiles-"

"I trust you."

"What?" Derek made to turn and face Stiles, but the human had leaned forward and trapped Derek in his embrace. "I trust you," he says again, the crook of his neck molded with Stiles' face. "Don't ever doubt that."

Derek doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

"And because I trust you, I'm going to tell you something." Stiles, reluctantly, pulls himself away from Derek; Derek turns the best he may, and it's only when their eyes connect, that he continued. "I don't trust them."

Derek can't deny that the two Winchester's held a odd presence, so instead, he asks: "Why do you say that?"

"I looked up their records."

Derek, almost fondly, smiles at Stiles-shaking his head amidtly. "Of course you did."

"Derek." The seriousness in Stiles' voice is enough for Derek's small smile to fall and his movements to seize. "What did you find?"

"Nothing."