Black Love [SUPERWOLF]

Sincerely, No One

[TEEN WOLF; The Preserve]

"Nothing?"

Derek, now standing, helped guide Stiles onto his feet, neither attempting to let go of the other. "What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't say 'nothing' because saying that makes it sound like: 'oh, if you found nothing what is there to worry about?' so maybe that isn't the best way to put it. What I should have said is that I found something that is supposed to look like nothing."

Derek blinked twice. "Stiles, what are you saying?"

"I looked up their records Derek; they're like ghosts. There is no last known location, no credit card information, hell, the only ID picture I could find of a 'Dean and Sam Winchester' were children! Not brooding thirty-year-olds, might I add, but children!"

"So you think they're frauds?"

"No"-Stiles released Derek's hands, massaging his temples-"the ideas match the age they're around now. But still. No passport? No license? They're walking ghosts, Derek!"

"Okay, okay," Derek said, digesting all Stiles had sputtered within not even a minute's timing. "Did you try the Dad?"

"Do you doubt me?" he retorted, dryly. Derek glared in response. "John Winchester's last known address was a house, in Lawrence, Kansas, but they moved in the year of 1983; after the death of Mary Winchester who died November 2nd, of that year. No one had heard from them since."

"How did she die?"

"Fire." Stiles ignored the way Derek had flinched and Derek had ignored Stiles' choice of action in return. "What am I supposed to do, Derek? These people-the strangers-are going to be my guardians in less than forty-eight hours!"

"Stiles"-Derek's face fell into the palm of his hands-"don't you think you're overreacting?"

Stiles leaned back at Derek's words; as if he'd been slapped. "You don't believe me." he stated to himself more than anyone. "You think I'm paranoid."

"I think. . ." Derek's breathe dragged as his fingers creased down his face, forcing him to look to Stiles, "I think you are hurt, Stiles, and are just-"

"I'm not hurt, Derek! I'm so much more than fucking hurt, but that doesn't change this!" Stiles flailed his arms, emphasising his exasperation. "I saw your face when they walked into my room! Did you only make that face because you were hurt?" he mocked, though neither found the humor in it.

"Stiles-"

As Derek reached to touch his mate, he pulled away. "No." he said, turning away from the former Alpha. "No." he repeats. "Get away from me." Stiles had only made it three strikingly long steps before Derek had caught his hand-Stiles instinctively retreated from the touch. "Fuck you, Derek!" As Stiles had reached for his car, he'd stopped half-way and turned back; his head lowered as he marched directly past Derek; who followed behind quizzically.

"Stiles, what-"

"I have nowhere else to go," he explained flatly.

[SUPERNATURAL; Stiles' Home]

"That went..." Sam trailed, the open beer in his hand still full as he placed himself beside Dean; who had downed nearly half his drink. "Awful." Dean commented dryly.

"I was going to say better than expected. I mean, he didn't cry."

"Winchester's don't cry," Dean leaned back against the couch. "We simply swallow away all emotions with, well, this." he raised his beer.

Sam's eyes narrowed with irritance. "Stiles is underaged."

"Fake IDs?" Dean stated, as though it were the most common of things. "Sam, I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Did that guy, who was with Stiles when we came, seem familiar to you?" he asked, twisting himself so he could fully face the mid-child of the Winchester's. "At all?"

Sam's face twisted into a slight grimace. "No"-he answered after a long pause-"why? Do you think you know him?"

"I'm not sure," the hunter confessed. "There's just something... familiar."

. . .

[TEEN WOLF; Stiles' Bedroom]

Derek didn't know if he'd made the right decision-arriving at Stiles' bedroom unannounced; especially if Stiles was still as livid as he'd been nearly six hours ago. The two had continued to debate the situation concerning Stiles and his newly found family; Derek had simply pressed on the subject; pressed too far. So, when Derek had come to Stiles' window, oh so late, he'd been hardly surprised the window was locked.

"Stiles," Derek said, his voice far more plea-ing than he'd care to admit. "Stiles, let me in."

From the inside, Derek could see papers-scattered across the carpet as though replacement, and in the center of it all, sat Stiles-pen occupying his tongue and lips.

"Stiles," Derek called again, his fist heavy against the window. "Do you really want to spend the night here-alone?"

It was a taunt; bait, even. He knew it, as well as Stiles. There was a moment of hesitation in Stiles' movements, debating whether or not he should let Derek win, but his hesitation wasn't long because it only took a moment, before the window was opened. "You suck."

Derek had to fight the smile curling on his lips as he entered the all too familiar bedroom, wary of the papers that had swarmed the bedroom. "Uh, what is, um, this?" Derek moved in place; his eyes lingering across papers that'd been scanned; from a diary, it appeared. Each paper was signed, 'J. W.'-John Winchester, he assumed-as well as others, that had been signed Claudia Stilinski'. Stiles' Mother, Derek realized with much horror.

"There, uh, diary entries." Stiles held his hand behind his neck, scratching as though he'd find an explanation beneath the seven layers of flesh. "Of, my, um, birth father and. . . you know." the word 'Mom' hung in his throat, though, never reached his tongue.

"John Winchester has a diary? He doesn't seem the. . . type. What's in it?"

"Not much," Stiles confessed, glum. "Sam and Dean wouldn't leave me alone with the diary. I had to be quick."

"Can I. . ."

There's a moment of hesitation in Stiles, but eventually, he brought himself to nod. Derek, reaching down, lifted a sheet that had been signed in scripted letters: Claudia Stilinski. His hands began to shake.

Dear Diary,

John Winchester has sent another letter; Stiles nearly read it-Noah had begun to panic when I told him this; he fears every day that John will come for him. I have to hold his hand and tell him such thoughts are foolish, but whom am I to know his motives?

Sincerely, Claudia.

The entry ends there, without so much as a signed date to ever mark her place. "I can't find the letters." Stiles says from behind Derek, who held the letter stiffly.

"You think she kept them?"

Stiles snorts, as if Derek should have known such a thing about Claudia. "My Mother is way too soft to throw something like that away." There's a pause in Stiles as he rethinks his words again. "Was." he corrects, the smile dimming. "She was."

"Stiles...?"

"I'm tired, Derek."