Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When his alarm went off at exactly four minutes past seven in the morning, the sound that escaped him could not be classified as human. He didn’t know what historians would classify the sound as, but if they heard it, they would never assume it came out of a human’s mouth. 

He could feel wetness on his face from where he’d drooled into his pillow while he slept, and reached out blindly with one hand to slap at his night stand, trying to locate the source of the noise so he could shut it off. The aggressive nature of his smacking had him, not only hurt his hand, but somehow catapult his phone off the small table into the depths of his room.

Or like, right beside the night stand, since it was plugged in and thus couldn’t go far. 

Peeling open his eyes, he let the sound that had previously escaped him start up again, the low groan of dismay filling the empty room as his eyes slowly focussed on the chair across from the bed. It was covered in clothes, since he was using it as a makeshift wardrobe, only because he was lazy and when he finished doing laundry, he just threw everything onto his chair. He always did homework in the library anyway, wasn’t like he needed his desk, really. 

His alarm continued to blare as he stared at the chair, as if doing so for long enough would magically have time reverse so he could get a few extra hours of sleep, but alas, no dice. He had class at eight, and if he didn’t want to be late, he had to get his lazy ass up right now. 

But he was so comfy. It was so freaking comfy. The bed may not have been the softest he’d ever slept in, but compared to the mattress he’d had last year, this was a definite upgrade. University beds were not designed to be comfortable, but he’d lucked out this year, and by God, he was going to appreciate it. 

No roommate, reasonably comfy mattress, and a dorm room in the dorm closest to the common’s block where the cafeteria and student-run convenience store were. Really, he was living the dream.

Aside from the whole alarm blaring thing. His neighbour would start banging on the wall soon if he didn’t shut it off, the guy was a cranky prick. He hoped he ran out of toilet paper the next time he took a shit.

Was he petty? Absolutely. The pettiest of them all. 

He was still lying there contemplating his pettiness when, as predicted, banging sounded on the wall and he buried his face in his drool-stained pillow to let out an aggravated sound. 

“I’m up,” he called, pulling his face free and forcing himself to roll over, throwing both feet over the side of the bed and snatching up his phone. “I’m up,” he said again, more loudly, when the banging continued. 

Turing the alarm off, his neighbour let out two more angry bangs before going silent. He made a face at the wall and flipped him the bird with both hands more emphatically than was strictly necessary given no one could see him. 

Tossing his phone back onto his night stand, Stiles Stilinski rubbed at his face with both hands, inhaling deeply and holding it, wondering if he could make himself pass out. It wasn’t skipping class if he passed out, right? 

The only reason he managed to force himself to drop his hands and grab his toiletries was because his dad was paying to get him a good education, and he was not letting that man down. The guy was probably going into more debt than he could afford, even with the scholarship Stiles had managed to snag for the place, and by God he was going to get his education!

Regardless of what the Supernatural community decided for him. 

Walking into the communal bathroom, he grunted a good morning to one of his dormmates, who looked just as tired as he did. Stiles couldn’t fathom why, wasn’t like this guy had stayed up all night researching Bunyip. What was a Bunyip? Who knew other than Stiles! Since he’d spent most of the night looking into them. 

But did the dude beside him looking half-asleep know what a Bunyip was? No. He probably didn’t. Because he didn’t live Stiles’ life. His stupid, stupid life. 

Finishing up before the other dude, who looked like he’d fallen asleep while brushing his teeth, Stiles headed back for his room to get some real clothes on. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but his second class today was one of his criminology courses and they had FBI agents coming in to talk to the class as a whole. Apparently the professor and the new head of one of the divisions were friends or something and he’d managed to convince them to come in and talk to the students. 

Stiles found that to be pretty cool, and he wouldn’t have skipped that class for anything—except something life or death, but seriously, for once, things that wanted to kill people could wait for fifty minutes. 

His first class was English composition, which was a complete waste of time, but mandatory for graduation. He’d already procrastinated taking it for two years, so he really had to get a move on. 

Once he was dressed and as presentable as he could get, he threw his messenger bag strap over one shoulder and headed out, being sure his door was locked despite knowing the thing auto-locked. Satisfied, he turned to push through the door leading to the back stairwell, going down two flights of stairs, and exited the dorm. He realized once outside that he should’ve gone out the front door, since it was closer to the common’s block, but he still had time. Besides, walking around the building would wake him up. 

He would’ve preferred a full breakfast, but he’d dragged his feet too much this morning and would be late if he sat down to eat, so he just grabbed a muffin, some yogurt, and a huge coffee before heading out to his first class. 

English composition was literally the stupidest thing in the world, in his opinion. Depending on the job, why did anyone need to know this shit? Stiles wasn’t planning on becoming a teacher, or a writer, or any other profession that required a proficiency in writing, so why was English composition a mandatory course anyway? 

He was going to solve crime and kick butt. Or something. He hadn’t decided yet, he just knew he wanted to be in a similar field as his dad. Maybe he’d join the FBI, if he could get in. Actually, maybe he could chat with one of the FBI agents who’d be coming by in his next class.

As tired as he was from the research, he was actually pretty stoked for his criminology course. It was interesting on a good day, but with the FBI around? It was probably going to be an absolute banger of a lesson. 

Now he was getting excited, and he spent more time watching the clock on his phone than he did paying attention to what was being said. When he was finally dismissed from the class, he hoisted his strap over one shoulder and booked it. He had ten minutes to make it halfway across campus, and he wanted to get a good seat. He usually always did, since he loved this class, but today it was especially important and he had a feeling a few of the girls would try and snag the front row in hopes of being closer to who they were guessing would be a hot FBI agent. 

Stiles also figured most of the class who usually bailed might actually show up for this one, and he didn’t want to get stuck at the back when he was usually at the front. The professor knew his name was Stiles, and everything!

Rushing into the building, he had to quickly sidestep a woman exiting it when he almost bashed into her, but just used his years of playing lacrosse to pivot and go through the other door instead, rushing up the stairs to the next floor. 

He managed to make it to the large hall in record time, which was exciting for him because he snagged his usual seat in time to see a group of people he didn’t recognize walk in. He’d been right in his assumptions that the skippers would show up, so he was glad he’d hurried to class. 

Putting his bag on the seat beside his to save the spot, Stiles pulled his notebook out and opened it to the next page so he could write the date in the top corner. He was trying to keep his notes organized for once, and since his laptop was on its last leg, he didn’t have the luxury of bringing it to class and being all over the place. Copy/paste did not work with a notebook. 

The noise behind him was getting louder as more people filed in, and Stiles looked up in time to see Heather walking towards him. Pulling his bag off the seat, he nodded hello to her as she sat down, Stiles putting his bag on the floor by his feet. They weren’t exactly friends, but they’d been in three of the same courses in their first year, and had started chatting. Since then, they’d had an additional five courses together due to being in the same major, and it was nice having someone to bum notes off of if one of them missed class, for whatever reason. 

He felt like he could’ve had more of a friendship with her if he wasn’t so fucking busy trying to protect people from home, but this was his life now. He’d survive. 

Mostly. Lack of sleep might kill him, but whatever. 

“Good morning,” Heather said with a smile, taking her Macbook out of her bag and setting it on the small excuse of a desk the auditorium used. 

“Morning,” Stiles replied. “How was your night?” 

“Good.” She turned to smile at him. “Went out for pizza with my roommate, and then we watched some horror movies. What about you?” 

“I had pizza for dinner too,” he admitted, not mentioning it was a hot pocket he hadn’t even had time to heat up. He’d been too busy to go to the cafeteria and it was closed by the time he’d remembered food was a requirement and not optional. “Then I spent the rest of the night reading.” 

“You do love reading,” she said with a light nudge. 

Stiles laughed at that, because oh, if only she knew. What he wouldn’t give to watch some horror movies instead of living in one. 

They continued to chat amiably for a few minutes while the class filled up. The professor walked in a minute or so before it started, raising one hand in greeting to Stiles, Heather, and the other three regulars who sat in the front row. Heather waved back, but Stiles just nodded a greeting to him. 

It didn’t take long for the class to quiet down when the professor clapped his hands together loudly and began to speak. Stiles noticed there wasn’t anyone at the front of the room with him, and wondered if the agents cancelled. That would be kind of a bummer, but he was sure they were busy. If it came down to hanging out in a classroom with the future of the country, or going out to find some sadistic serial killer, Stiles was pretty sure he knew which one he’d rather the FBI be doing. 

The professor was still in the process of explaining their upcoming assignment, which he’d discussed at length in previous classes but was obviously recapping for the people who’d been skipping, when the door at the front opened again and he cut off mid-sentence, turning to it. 

“Ah, excellent.” He clapped his hands together once. “Welcome, welcome! Come on in.”

A group of three men and one woman in suits walked into the room, all of them looking stony-faced and imposing. Stiles was sure it was all for show, because even agents were normal people too. He was sure they’d thaw out as the hour passed, and he sat up a bit straighter as they were being introduced, eyes raking over them all. He deflated instantly when he noticed who’d been speaking to his professor, the man’s face partially obscured at first, but now clearly visible as he faced the room full of students. 

Great. 

“Class, I’d like for you to meet Supervisory Special Agent McCall. This is Special Agent Kincaid, Dr. Romero, and Special Agent Hale.” 

Seriously, the guy was fucking everywhere. 

Stiles slouched back in his seat, annoyed, and the action didn’t go unnoticed. SSA McCall’s gaze shifted to him, and he didn’t look as surprised as Stiles felt he should have. He’d probably asked for the roster before agreeing to come, and now Stiles was stuck listening to this bozo talk for an hour. 

He should’ve skipped class after all. 

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly, a kind smile on his face that Stiles knew was as fake as the suit he was wearing. “Glad you could all make it here today. We don’t usually make a habit of coming to impart our wisdom on young minds, but your professor and I go way back, and I thought it might be nice to give everyone here some idea of what might be in your future.” His eyes shifted to Stiles. “Not all of your futures, mind you. Some of you might not hack it in this field. Remember, we are not our parents.” 

“Thank God for that,” Stiles muttered. He thought he’d said it quietly enough not to be heard, but one of the agents turned his head ever so slightly, eyes shifting to Stiles. 

They stared at one another for a few seconds, Stiles catching the movement, but the agent looked away before long, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

Stiles slouched further in his seat and began to doodle in his notebook as SSA McCall began to talk about the job, and how criminology tied into what he and his team did on a daily basis. It took a conscious effort for Stiles not to roll his eyes, and when the agent reminded everyone that being responsible in a job like this was important, Stiles couldn’t hold back his snort. 

“Says the drunk who beat on his wife,” he muttered. 

Again, he knew he hadn’t said it loudly enough to be heard by anyone except maybe Heather—who was too busy making moon eyes at the agents—but the one on the end, the last one to be introduced, looked over at Stiles again, the movement catching his eye. 

Stiles looked up at him, and saw the barest of smiles twitching at the agent’s lips before he faced forward once more. 

Frowning, Stiles slowly closed his notebook, setting his pen down and staring exceptionally hard at the guy. He was a good looking dude, Stiles wasn’t going to lie. Tall, toned, high cheekbones, manicured hair and beard. His skin was tanned, his eyes a soft green, and his hair dark. All in all, a fine specimen, and he could understand why Heather was sighing dreamily beside him. Stiles would’ve been interested too, if he was completely delusional. 

But this guy was, not only way out of his league, but also an FBI agent and thus not sticking around. No point in trying to date someone who’d be gone in like, four hours. 

Stiles tuned SSA McCall out while he stared at the other agent, the man keeping his eyes straight forward. The other two with him looked a little bored and restless, but this guy was standing perfectly still, not moving an inch, like he was used to staying motionless for extended periods of time. 

Squinting suspiciously, Stiles lowered his voice so it was absolutely impossible for anyone to hear him, even Heather, and spoke. 

“Hello Werewolf.” 

This reaction was less subtle, the man’s head snapping in his direction. It looked like he’d had to refrain from flashing his eyes and Stiles rolled his own. 

“Relax, I look like I wanna start trouble with you? I don’t need any Hunters knocking on my door for breaking the rules on exposure.” 

That didn’t seem to instill him with any confidence, and the agent’s face turned dark, a scowl forming on his features. 

Stiles had no idea why he was getting so defensive. He knew the rules, Hunters had come into town a year or so after his best friend had turned into a Werewolf. They’d been after a rogue Chimera and had stumbled upon the Beacon Hills pack instead, wherein they’d explained that the Supernatural world was a secret—which was pretty fucking obvious to Stiles, but apparently not to everyone else in this life. As long as they kept to themselves, didn’t hurt anyone, and made sure not to bring everything to light for the normies, the equivalent of the Supernatural police—aka Hunters—wouldn’t come calling. 

Stiles wasn’t interested in getting another visit from them, they’d been scary enough the first time. Mostly because Scott hadn’t registered himself with them, but in his defence—and Stiles’—they hadn’t known there was a Supernatural police to register with. They’d cleared it all up eventually, but it had been a very tense few hours of discussion with the Hunters. 

“Do you really think I’d have said anything if I was looking to hurt you?” Stiles asked quietly, kind of annoyed. “Your teeth are sharper than mine, I’m not looking to lose any organs. You know anything about Bunyip?” 

That earned him a head tilt and the intensity of the glare lessened slightly. 

“Bunyip? You know, it’s like, Australian or something? Eats people? That’s about all I could find online, but apparently there’s one out in Louisiana terrorizing the area my buddy’s going to school in. It’s hard to find stuff about things that don’t exist.” He raised both hands to put air quotes around the last two words, and Heather turned to look at him. 

“Did you say something?” 

“Nope,” Stiles said, raising both arms high above his head. “Just stretching.” 

Heather shrugged and turned back to pay attention to SSA McCall. Stiles kept his eyes on her as he continued to stretch until he was sure she wasn’t paying attention anymore, then shifted his gaze back to the Werewolf. 

Dude was still trying to burn holes through Stiles’ skull, but he at least tilted his head ever so slightly towards the door, a clear indicator that they would talk after class. Stiles grinned and let his arms drop, then crossed them over his chest as he slouched in his seat. 

The Werewolf was still watching him, but seemed to snap back to the present when he was motioned, and his boss said, “Agent Hale here can give you some more insight on that topic, as it’s his area of expertise.” 

Stiles wondered if he’d been paying attention enough to know what he was meant to be talking about, but thankfully he seemed familiar with what, exactly, was his expertise and he started talking to the room at large about how best to track an assailant. 

His eyes kept shifting over to Stiles as he did so, probably wondering if Stiles was going to silently make fun of him, too. He didn’t, because Stiles had no beef with this guy, and he actually sounded competent, unlike his boss. 

He also had a nice, smooth voice, so that helped. 

When he was done with his piece, they went through the other two’s areas of expertise, and finished off the class with another boring monologue from the man of the hour himself. The professor thanked them profusely as the class ended, and since he started clapping, the rest of the class obliged as well, even though Stiles felt like it was a weird thing to do. 

Packing away his things, he saw the agents filing out, and tried not to be disappointed his one source of information was disappearing through the door without a backwards glance. Oh well, more research for him tonight, he supposed. 

Throwing the strap over his shoulder, he turned to Heather as she carefully put her laptop back in her bag. 

“You sticking around campus today, or you heading out?” 

“I have work today, so I’m bailing early,” she said, continuing to pack away the various items she’d pulled out. “Should be around tomorrow though. Lunch?” 

“Sounds good.” He raised one hand in farewell before preceding her out of the class. “See you then.” 

“Bye Stiles.” 

He faced forward again and hadn’t even made it two steps out of the classroom when he came face to face with SSA McCall. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Well, it is a university campus, and this is a university course, so it makes more sense for me to be here than you.” Stiles offered the fakest smile he could and tried to side-step. The agent moved into his path, stopping him. 

“How’s Scott?” 

“You have his number, ask him yourself. Oh, wait.” Stiles snapped his fingers, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “He blocked you. Totally slipped my mind.”

The older man’s face darkened at those words, since he was perfectly aware of the fact that Stiles was the one who’d helped him block his dad’s number. 

Sadly, his best friend was not technologically savvy. 

“I’m his father,” he said darkly. 

“Well, like you said yourself, thankfully we are not our parents, so Scott’s got a chance in life.” 

When Stiles started past him, Rafael McCall’s hand hit him hard in the chest and pushed him back against the wall beside the classroom door, pinning him there. He wasn’t overly violent about it, but he wasn’t exactly soft, either. Stiles was pretty sure his sternum was going to be hurting for a couple hours. 

“One day, that smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble you can’t get yourself out of,” he warned him, tone absolutely arctic. Stiles could smell the alcohol on his breath, and couldn’t say he was surprised to find out little had changed since the man had been kicked out of his own home years ago. “Tell my son I’d like a word. He knows my number.” 

“Did it occur to you he doesn’t want a word?” Stiles asked, ignoring the hand pressing him hard into the wall. “I thought he made that pretty clear when he returned the financial support for university that you sent him. You want to be a good dad? Maybe use those so-called skills of yours and recognize you’re the problem and he wants you to leave him alone.” 

Stiles saw the man’s hand rise but before it connected with his face, a loud voice cut through the noise in the corridor. 

“Sir.” 

Rafe’s hand aborted the hit at the last second, slapping against the wall by Stiles’ head instead as he glared down at Stiles. 

“Hayden’s got an update for you on the case.” 

“Thank you,” he said, still staring at Stiles. “I’ll be along.” 

“She says it can’t wait.” 

It was obvious this conversation wasn’t over, but evidently the good Supervisory Special Agent didn’t want his subordinates to know how much of an asshole he was, so he just pushed away from the wall, pressing down unnecessarily hard on the hand against Stiles’ chest so that he grunted at the action, and then turned to walk away. 

Stiles rubbed at his sternum as he watched the man’s retreating back, resisting the urge to blow a raspberry after him. It was probably a good thing, because his professor exited the classroom a second later, smiling at Stiles and wishing him a good day. 

Responding in kind, he watched his professor continue on down the corridor, following in Rafe’s wake. Rafe himself had already started walking past Agent Hale, who watched him go, turning slightly to keep an eye on him all the way to the end of the corridor until he was out of sight around the corner. 

He turned back to nod a farewell to the professor approaching him, and then did the same thing, watching the man walk to the end of the hallway and disappear. 

Then he faced Stiles, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slowly approached him. 

“I had that,” he informed the agent. 

“Clearly,” was the dry response, the other man stopping right in front of him. “And you were going to do what, exactly?” 

“Stop his fist with my face.” 

The look he got then was intense, like the guy couldn’t believe Stiles had just said that, while simultaneously knowing it was one-hundred percent true. 

Stiles just shrugged, still rubbing his sternum. “Not like it’s the first time he’d have hit me.”

“You know each other.” A statement, not a question. 

“He’s my best friend’s dad.” Stiles smiled sarcastically. “A drunk and a wife beater. My dad had to help Scott’s mom get Rafe out of the house and to rehab. She told him not to come back until he can love his family more than the bottle. That was eight years ago, so it’s pretty telling.” 

The agent just arched one eyebrow and tilted his head slightly to one side, which was just about as clear an admission of the man not having improved since he was kicked out as Stiles felt he was ever going to get. It was obvious he didn’t hit his subordinates though. 

Stiles was pretty sure even Rafe couldn’t come back from that. 

Though it’d have been funny to see him hit a Werewolf in the face, considering he’d probably just break his own hand. 

For a moment they said nothing else, the two of them standing facing each other, the agent with his hands in his pockets and Stiles rubbing his sternum as he leaned back against the wall. 

“My name is Derek Hale,” the agent finally said. 

“Stiles Stilinski.” 

That earned him an eyebrow raise and Stiles just shrugged. Derek didn’t ask, so Stiles didn’t bother explaining. 

“You know about the Supernatural.” 

“Say it louder, why don’t you,” Stiles hissed, waving his free hand urgently for Derek to shush. Did he want the Hunters to come put them on trial for exposing the Supernatural world?! 

He got a look for that, and then Derek slowly—and condescendingly, rude!—looked around them at the empty corridor. 

Oh. Stiles hadn’t noticed it’d emptied out. 

“So do you know what a Bunyip is?” Stiles asked. 

“We’re not having this conversation until I’ve had some coffee,” Derek informed him, motioning for him to lead the way. “You buy me coffee, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” 

“You realize I’m a student and unemployed, whereas you’re an FBI agent and probably rolling in cash, right?” 

“Do you want my help or not?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard his whole head went with it. He threw his arms in the air in defeat, then motioned for Derek to follow him. 

Well, if nothing else, maybe he’d get to sleep early for once. 

Sometimes—read most of the time—Stiles Stilinski wished he’d stayed oblivious to it all. He envied all the people out there, living their lives, going about their days, not a care in the world. Stiles missed those days for himself, they’d been grand. 

Sadly for him, those days hadn’t lasted very long, and while he’d have loved to blame his best friend Scott McCall for the whole mess his life had turned into, considering what happened a few years later, it would be a tad unfair. 

But, he blamed him silently anyway. Mostly from a place of love, but also from a place of deep resentment for his lack of sleep all through high school. 

That was because before high school, Stiles had lived a very normal life. Maybe not happy, given his mother’s early passing and his father’s penchant to work himself to death, but it had been normal, if nothing else. Just a regular kid with a regular family, nothing weird happening at all. 

And then when he and Scott turned fourteen, they’d been out well past curfew—both Stiles’ sheriff father and Scott’s nurse mother had been at work—and had been dicking around in the Preserve. It wasn’t meant to have any wild animals, and in some regards, that was still true. 

After all, Werewolves weren’t wild animals. Some of them were still wild though, and that was how Stiles had woken up one day with a Werewolf for a best friend. Scott had gotten bitten by a crazy Alpha Werewolf, and for a few months, it had been a huge amount of trial and error on Stiles’ part to figure out what the fuck was going on with his best friend. 

Scott, bless him, was kind of an idiot and thought he was just coming down with something every couple weeks. The ones that coincided with the full moon. Because he was an idiot and thought he was on his period. 

It took much too long for Stiles to convince him he was a fucking Werewolf, and even longer for him to investigate how to stop him from going crazy once a month. The problem with mythological beings was that—they were mythological. That meant a majority of the stuff Stiles was finding online wasn’t real. Movies and books and video games, all of them had various lores surrounding them, but nothing was real. 

Did a silver bullet kill a Werewolf? Yes it did. But you know what else killed a Werewolf? A regular bullet. Yeah, apparently if a Werewolf got shot in the head, didn’t matter what kind of bullet it was! A lot of the shit online was complete and utter nonsense, and it took entirely too long for Stiles to figure out that Scott needed an anchor. 

Thankfully, once that had been sorted out, Stiles’ life was—not normal, but manageable. He had a Werewolf best friend, and he was dealing with it. He had it down to an artform, he got it. 

And then a guy he could only class as being his biggest bully for a majority of his life had suddenly turned into a lizard. Not like, a cute little lizard people kept as pets, the kind of large, humanoid lizard of nightmares that looked more alien than anything else. 

Of course, said bully realized something was going on with Scott, and had demanded help with his reptilian problem, which was how Stiles got dragged into helping him out, too. That had been a bit more complicated, because another classmate had actually been using some kind of mind-control on the guy and breaking that off had taken way more brainpower than Stiles had given his constant sleep-deprivation. 

In the end, they figured it all out. The guy mind-controlling him died—not Stiles’ fault, but he wasn’t sad to see him go—and everything worked out well for Stiles, because he and said bully Jackson Whittemore became friends. It was another year before Stiles found out Jackson was only a dick to him because apparently he was gay and had a crush on him. 

Something Jackson hadn’t fully recognized himself until the eleventh grade and had then started avoiding Stiles for a few months before Stiles forced him to sit down and tell him what the fuck was going on. Feelings were hard, so he understood why Jackson had been worried to admit the truth since he hadn’t wanted to risk losing his friend. 

And while the Werewolf and Kanima—what Jackson ended up being—was all fine and dandy, and relatively manageable, were things going to stop there? They sure weren’t! Oh no, the universe decided if Stiles was going to have Supernatural friends, he might as well collect the whole set! 

Lydia Martin disappeared into the woods for three days and emerged naked and confused, which apparently became Stiles’ problem when she showed up sleepwalking on his doorstep and he had to figure out what the fuck was going on with her. Turned out she was a Banshee.

Jordan Parrish, one of his dad’s deputies, got into a horrific car fire that Stiles had the misfortune of stumbling upon on his way home from a night out with Scott. Stiles had gotten a lot of second degree burns on his hands and first degree burns on parts of his face and neck while trying to save the cop from the burning vehicle. 

Parrish himself had exited without a scratch, and missing all his clothing given they’d burned off. So back to the drawing board Stiles went to figure out what he was, which ended up being a Hellhound. 

And then, some new kid named Liam Dunbar showed up in town, all pompous and arrogant, thinking he was the best at everything, only to get bested by Scott during lacrosse tryouts and being completely stunned someone was better than him. Which ended up being because he was a Werewolf and had never met another one before, and with Scott being older, he was more experienced. So Stiles had that little terror to train up too, which was at least easier for once because he already knew about Werewolves. 

Then Scott’s girlfriend Kira Yukimura turned into a Kitsune—or awakened her powers, whichever, Stiles didn’t know, he was just mad he had to research it. 

Then Liam’s best friend Mason Hewitt got turned into a Chimera. How? Stiles didn’t know! He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to get a good night’s sleep for once, which didn’t seem likely. 

And all of this nonsense had happened in three years! Three years of Stiles ripping his hair out researching things that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t exist! That was why when the Hunters came to town a little over a year after Scott’s transformation into a Werewolf, Stiles had kind of been hoping for some sort of guidance, or help with figuring all the shit out. Turned out the Hunters had a database that was maintained in a super secret location but nobody was allowed to know where it was unless they were inducted into the Hunters community. So they basically patted him on the head and said, “Too bad, so sad.” 

That visit had come just after Lydia, so Stiles still had many Supernaturals coming out of the woodworks for him to research afterwards. 

So after three years of bullshit, and then Mason’s transformation into a Chimera, Stiles had been ready to throw his hands in the air and give up on life before thankfully, mercifully, the town veterinarian Alan Deaton came to his house unexpectedly when some random monster was in town sucking out people’s bone marrow—not a joke, bone marrow was going missing and it sounded not fun—and had admitted he’d been watching them from afar. 

Stiles had been very angry the man hadn’t been watching from up close, because it turned out he was a Druid, and used to be the Emissary of a large pack that had lived in his home town. He didn’t talk about his past much, but he’d ended up leaving to become a veterinarian and the pack he’d been Emissary to had told him he was free to pursue a normal life, if that was what he wanted. Since it was what he’d wanted, he’d eventually ended up in Beacon Hills and had opened his practice there for a quiet life. 

It turned out to be not so quiet, but he’d mostly ignored it until it became too difficult. Considering Scott ended up working for him part-time when he was sixteen, and then more often as he continued through high school, a lot of the pack’s bullshitery did, eventually, touch Deaton. 

That was why he finally revealed himself to Stiles which, he appreciated, but it’d have been nice if Mr. All-Knowing had actually, you know, imparted some wisdom on Stiles years before so he hadn’t been forced to figure shit out on his own using the world’s least reliable source—aka, the internet. 

But, water under the bridge. Stiles and Deaton had started talking more, Deaton gave him a lot of books, showed him a few legitimate sites that were disguised as game mechanic sites, taught him all the stuff he needed to know in order to survive this mess of a life he now had, along with promising to help the pack as much as possible. 

And then the kicker came.

Surprise! Stiles wasn’t human either. 

At this point, nothing surprised him anymore, but he’d been kind of annoyed to discover that he was some kind of magical being whose powers only manifested in times of great peril. That being when someone he cared about was going to die. Could he control it? 

No. 

This magic did not seem interested in being controlled. 

It probably didn’t want Stiles using it for nefarious purposes. 

Like extra sleep. 

So nefarious. 

Seriously, his magic was a jerk. He’d only really used it four times, twice when Scott was in danger, once when his dad was in danger—and Scott’s mom—and once when the pack as a whole had been in danger. He couldn’t control it, and he didn’t really understand it, but all four times, his magic saved the people he cared about so as long as it kept that shit up, he wasn’t going to complain. 

Would still be nice if he could use it for extra sleep though. 

Deaton had admitted to not knowing what kind of magic Stiles had used, which meant it was probably very old magic. Something mostly dormant, and dying out, but very powerful. Stiles was all for powerful magic that kept him and his safe, but he also didn’t want to turn into some kind of supervillain. 

He’d rock the cape for sure—Edna Mode could suck it, Stiles wanted a cape—but being a villain kind of went against his whole personality so he hoped he stayed on the side of good. So far, he was managing to succeed, though would admit to trying to blow up his least favourite high school teacher’s car with his mind. 

Not while he was in it, but like, just so he could blow it up and pay the douche back for being, well, a douche. Sadly, his mind powers didn’t think that cause was a worthy enough one for his magic to come through, so the car remained woefully whole. 

Of course, having to save his dad’s life with magic meant Stiles had to tell him everything that had been going on the past few years, which his father had taken surprisingly well, in Stiles’ opinion. 

Until Parrish told him the sheriff was sheriff for a reason and had figured out most of the weird shit going on in town on his own. Hadn’t expected his son to be magic, but he’d admitted to Stiles that his mother had always had a knack for being at the right place at the right time, so he wasn’t surprised to learn Stiles had inherited some magic from her side of the family. 

And so, for seven fun-filled years of his life, this was what Stiles did. Protected the normies, researched things that sucked people’s eyeballs out of their sockets with suckers on their palms, and had about thirty nightmares a day about all the crazy shit he’d seen in his remarkably short life. 

When he actually managed to get some sleep, of course. There was always something new trying to kill someone, such as the Bunyip in Louisiana where Liam was currently going to school. 

Did Stiles want Liam to die to a flesh-eating Aboriginal Australian folklore? No. No he did not. 

Would he prefer the monster attack people on the weekend so he could get some sleep before classes? That would be quite lovely, actually. 

But, all that aside, he had a Bunyip to save Liam from, and a Werewolf with some background on the whole situation, so at least he had that going for him.

Even if he wouldn’t get more sleep that night, but a man could dream! 

“How did you figure it out?” 

Stiles almost spilled coffee down his front, reaching up to swipe one hand across his mouth quickly and swallowing what he’d been drinking. He wiped at his chin for good measure, turning to look at Derek as the two of them walked out of the coffee shop he’d been bullied into buying the guy coffee at. 

Okay, bullied was a bit of a strong word. Blackmailed? Coffee for information? Sure, blackmailed. 

Then again, not like it was a hardship. The guy was hot, and he took his coffee black, it had cost Stiles like, three bucks. He’d honestly spent more on his own drink than on Derek’s, had also bought a muffin he’d devoured while they waited for their drinks, and he was pretty sure every girl in the place had collectively sighed at the sight of him.

He wondered what that must be like. Sure, Stiles knew he was cute, but he did not make half the human population lose their collective minds at the sight of him. Derek hadn’t even seemed to notice, so either he was too busy figuring out what coffee to order—because it was extremely important—or he was just so used to it that it didn’t phase him anymore. 

Stiles felt inclined to believe it was the latter, no one was that focussed on coffee.

Except maybe him, but Stiles practically breathed the stuff, it was the only way to stay conscious most days. 

“Figure what out?” he finally asked, since Derek hadn’t elaborated and had just walked silently along beside Stiles, waiting for an answer. 

“That I suffer from a rare condition,” Derek said, tilting his head slightly, as if to remind Stiles they were in public and to keep his voice down. 

Stiles wasn’t the one talking about Werewolves in the middle of the corridor! To be fair, it’d been empty, but still! They were outside right now, walking through the quad towards—Stiles wasn’t sure, just walking—so the chances of anyone overhearing them was so slim it might as well be non-existent. 

“I mean, you were pretty obvious,” Stiles insisted, wiping at his chin again. He felt like he still had coffee dripping down it, but his hand came back clean. “I was muttering so low even my neighbour didn’t really hear me, and you kept reacting.” Stiles gave him a look. “What, you never learn to blend in?” 

“What do you call what I’m doing now?” When Derek smiled, it was decidedly unfriendly, and all teeth. Stiles was pretty sure the guy walking past them in the other direction walked into a pole. Damn, even when he was being malicious, he was hot. 

“What if I was prejudiced towards you and your condition?” Stiles asked, taking another sip of his coffee and almost spilling it down his front a second time. Apparently he couldn’t walk and drink coffee at the same time. “You weren’t subtle, and there’s some assholes out there who take issue with your kind.”

“You’re not prejudiced.” 

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that.” Stiles rolled his eyes, turning to start down a sidewalk beside Derek when the other man turned. “You thought I was.” 

“I have a gun,” Derek reminded him, and Stiles toasted him with his coffee in a ‘touche’ sort of way. “Besides, you were badmouthing McCall, so I knew you couldn’t be all bad. Annoying, maybe, but not bad.” 

“I am known for my ability to annoy.” Stiles winked at him, and managed another sip of coffee without spilling it all down his front. Score. “I take it Rafe isn’t your bestie?” 

“He replaced our previous supervisor,” Derek said, sounding bitter about it. “She was amazing, but she went on maternity leave and never came back. We’ve been stuck with him for almost two years.” 

“Not a fan?” 

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one who knows how much he likes the bottle.” 

“Ah. I could smell the alcohol on him earlier, but he seemed pretty lucid so I figured he’d just taken a swig before the class started. He show up to work drunk?” 

“Sometimes. We’ve complained about it, but he’s good at talking his way out of trouble, so our response is usually to stop causing waves and do our job. Whether or not they know the truth and are covering for him, I don’t know, but I get told to shut up and stop causing problems a lot.” 

“And there goes all my desires to join the FBI,” Stiles said, turning down another street while they continued chatting. “I hate authority figures who are only in it for the paycheck. My dad’s boss when he first started was like that. Thank God it didn’t last long.” 

“What happened?” 

Stiles grinned at him. “Dad took his job. Been sheriff for almost my whole life. People love him, because he cares about what he does and the people around him.” 

“And you want to be like that too?” 

“Yeah man.” Stiles shoved at Derek lightly with a laugh, and had to quickly side-step a woman who appeared out of nowhere. “Shit, sorry!” 

She didn’t even turn to glare at him, but par for the course with this place. It was a university campus, people were always walking all over the place and getting in each other’s way.

“So, you born with the, uh, condition, or you catch it?” Stiles asked, looking back at Derek. 

The guy was surprisingly tight-lipped about himself, but was more than happy to learn anything and everything about Stiles. While he kept his magic to himself, since he didn’t usually share that tidbit of information with people he’d just met, he answered as many of the other questions as he could. It was a bit overwhelming, if he was honest, because Stiles hadn’t ever met a Werewolf quite like him, but he figured it was more because Derek was making sure he wasn’t a threat. 

Which he wasn’t. A threat. Stiles was literally the least threatening person ever. Mostly.

Well... He didn’t want to hurt Derek, at any rate. The guy seemed cool, if a bit weird. Maybe he’d never met a human who knew what he was before, and he was just curious about how that worked. 

“Where are we going, by the way?” Stiles asked, since Derek was very clearly leading him somewhere. 

“The library.” 

“Why are we walking this way then?” 

“Because I don’t know where it is.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to ask because...?” Stiles asked, stretching out the last word. 

“You were talking too much.” 

Letting out an indignant sputter, Stiles pointed a finger at him. “You were asking questions! Where the library was could’ve very easily been one of them!” 

Derek just shrugged, but he seemed amused. Stiles wasn’t sure he liked this guy, what a jerk. 

Redirecting them towards the library, Stiles tried to get some more information out of Derek about himself, but the guy still wouldn’t open up much. He eventually admitted he was a fairly private person, and Stiles shrugged in response to this. That was fair, the guy worked for the FBI and was a Werewolf. Double the people out to get him, so it was probably for the best he not divulge his deepest, darkest secrets. 

“Did you tell the Hunters about the Bunyip?” Derek asked as they made their way through the throng of students rushing to class. 

“Yeah, I tried two days ago, but they basically said it hadn’t exposed our world yet and they were busy dealing with something bigger elsewhere. I was told to keep them apprised and they’d send someone out eventually.” He rolled his eyes. “So basically, ‘deal with it yourself if you wanna stay alive,’ but that’s been par for the course with them in my experience.” 

“They’re quick to go after people who expose our world by accident, but sit on their asses when people are being killed,” Derek agreed. 

Stiles couldn’t have said it better himself. 

When they finally reached the library, Derek climbed the steps to the entrance and walked through the doors before pausing and looking around. Stiles stopped beside him and arched an eyebrow. 

“Where are your mythological books?” 

“I look like a librarian to you?” 

“You really want me to answer that?” Derek half-smirked. 

Stiles laughed sarcastically at him—seriously, what a jerk—and headed for the front desk. He explained what he was looking for to the lady manning the front and she motioned him towards the stacks. 

Great, the stacks. In the basement. Stiles didn’t mind the basement, but the stacks were a bit of a sore spot for him. He’d once been down there looking for a book for one of his classes while listening to music, and the place was called the stacks for a reason. The books were all crammed together on moving shelves that had levers to move them back and forth. 

Stiles may have been distracted by his music, and hadn’t checked a row was empty before beginning to crank the lever. There’d been a girl between the stacks trying to find a book, and if she hadn’t been close to the aisle, he’d probably have crushed her. 

He wouldn’t have killed her or anything, since the second he felt resistence he would’ve stopped and known something was wrong, but he could’ve severely injured her and had spent a good twenty minutes apologizing to her. 

She was not happy with him, and since then, he’d kind of avoided the stacks as much as possible. 

But alas, here he was, in the stacks with Derek. He had no idea why they were in the stacks, but Derek just read the legend at the end of each row until he found the one he was looking for. He checked the aisles before cranking the lever—you know, like a smart person—and motioned for Stiles to follow while he walked down the new opening. 

He did so, stopping beside Derek when he motioned the books with flair. 

“Oh, neat, books about mythological creatures that are totally, absolutely not made up,” Stiles said dryly, giving Derek an unimpressed look.

He got one right back in return. 

“Did it ever occur to you that some of these were written by real Supernaturals?” Derek asked, reaching out for one of the books and tossing it at Stiles. He almost dropped it, since he still had his coffee in one hand, but that was mostly gone by now so tipping the cup sideways did nothing. 

Considering Derek’s easy tone, Stiles was going to guess no one else was in the stacks. Which made sense, since it was the middle of the day, and the stacks sucked. 

“Wait, you mean...” Stiles looked at Derek, then the book, then the shelf. 

Derek motioned a few books in front of him. “These authors are all people you can trust,” he said, then pointed at the one he’d handed over to Stiles. “That one is probably one of the most knowledgeable ones you’ll ever encounter. If you see a book written by them, buy it, or photocopy it. The solution to your problem is most likely in that book.” 

Stiles turned it slightly so he could look down at the spine, since it’d been upside down in his arms. Satomi Ito. He made a mental note to remember that name. Maybe he’d come back down here one day and photocopy the whole book. 

His wallet would weep, since it was ten cents per copy, but well, probably cheaper than buying the book itself. 

“Thanks,” he said sincerely, looking up at Derek. “I appreciate the help. I never would’ve thought to check here, most of the books I use are from a Druid back home, so out here I’ve had to stick to the internet.” 

“Most of that stuff is nonsense,” Derek crossed his arms over his chest, scowling slightly at the book Stiles held, like the internet had personally offended him and even the thought of it was irksome. “Too many shows and movies about the Supernatural. There are a few legitimate sites, but most of it is just made up.” 

“Trust me, I learned that the hard way.” 

Derek’s gaze shifted to his face, and for half a second, the corners of his lips twitched, like he was going to smile. Or laugh. Or hell, maybe both. 

Before he’d made up his mind though, his phone rang. Derek froze, almost like he’d forgotten what a phone even was and was wondering what the noise was. Eventually, he scowled and pulled it from his pocket, checking the display before wincing and putting the phone to his ear after answering. 

“Hale,” he said curtly. 

Stiles noticed a distinct shift in the way he spoke depending on what the conversation was about.

And who it was with, he supposed. 

In class, and even now on the phone, he was curt, to the point, no wasted words. A man who just wanted to get to the bottom of whatever he was working on and call it a day. 

It hadn’t been like that with Stiles. Sure, he’d still been cagey, but he’d made jokes and even maybe kind of laughed at least once. It was like he had a switch he could flip on and off. 

Must be nice, Stiles only had one setting, and apparently, it was stuck on annoying. 

“Right. I’ll join you shortly.” Derek pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up. 

“Duty calls?” Stiles teased. 

“We’re still in the middle of a case. It led us here to begin with, so it just worked out your professor wanted to have us in for your class.”

“You heading back to your field office then?” 

“Not yet.” Derek put his phone away. “We’ve still got some things to look into.” He eyed Stiles for a few seconds, almost suspiciously. “Why, you need me gone?” 

“It was just a question,” Stiles insisted. “I wouldn’t say no to another chat with you. You must know a shit ton more than I do about this stuff, and having someone like you to absorb information from is never a bad thing.” Stiles pulled his own phone out and winced. “But later. I have to get to class.” 

He put his phone back, then shifted the large book around so he could put it back where Derek had found it, eyes raking over the names of the authors Derek had said he could trust. He wished he’d noticed the time sooner so he could write them all down, but he would be late to class if he dawdled. He’d have to come back after class to make sure he got them written down so his ADHD didn’t go into overdrive and make him forget literally everything about this conversation. 

Would Stiles remember the names of these authors later after such an episode? No he would not. But would he know the exact composition of all the building materials used to create the Parthenon? Absolutely. His brain was fun that way. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Stiles said, holding his hand out. Derek looked amused, but shook it anyway. “Thanks for the help, and the info.” 

“Glad to be of service.”

“If you’re still in town later, we should grab a bite. I still have questions about being born with the condition. Not prying, just—I like being informed.” 

Derek snorted at that, but nodded anyway while pulling his phone out, scowling at what had undoubtedly been a message. “Something tells me you’re more informed than most people.”

“Well, I had to put all this shit together on my own, so I like to think I’m more educated than the average normie.” 

Calling regular humans ‘normies’ earned him a look, and Stiles just shrugged. It wasn’t being speciesist or anything. He and his friends were quite literally not normal. 

“I’ll try and swing by sometime later,” Derek said, the two of them starting to head for the door to the stairs so they could go back up to the main level and part ways. “If I don’t see you again, good luck with your problem.” 

“It’s not my problem,” Stiles insisted on a sigh, pushing through the large glass double doors and into the fresh air. “It’s Liam’s problem that I have to fix.” 

“Ergo, your problem,” Derek repeated, smirking when Stiles flipped him off. “Take care, Stiles.”

“See you around,” he responded, waving one hand briefly while watching Derek turn and walk away from him. 

Man, what a weird dude. Nice and funny, not to mention sexy as hell, but still. 

The way he looked at Stiles was super, super weird. 

Stiles rubbed at his forehead with his phone at his ear while Liam continued to rant on the other end of the line, his patience slowly beginning to leave him given he’d spent his whole fucking day—and most of last night—trying to investigate how to kill a stupid Bunyip. 

“—and where the hell am I meant to find this magical wattle plant that’s from Australia, Stiles?! Like, mountain ash is great, thanks for the tip on that one, but unless you’ve forgotten, I can’t touch it either! So what am I supposed to do, blow it at the thing?!”

“Look man,” Stiles said, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. “I’m just the research guy. The actual disposing of the big, scary, flesh-eating monster is not my responsibility. Furthermore, I’m not there, so short of me teleporting to you, I don’t know what you expect me to do.” 

“Help me! Somehow!”

“I did all the heavy lifting, man!” Stiles let his hand drop from his forehead, annoyed. “I figured all this shit out for you. You didn’t have to do anything but complain. I’m the brains, you’re the get shit done. If you want moral support and backup, call Scott. He’s the Alpha, make him fly out to you.” 

“But what if it kills me?” Now he sounded like he was whining. 

“I’ll grieve forever,” Stiles deadpanned. 

Liam went silent for a long moment. “You haven’t been getting much sleep lately, huh?”

“Liam, I haven’t gotten much sleep since I was fourteen years old and my best friend got bitten by a Werewolf,” Stiles informed him, slamming the book he had open shut. “Some days, I feel like death would be a welcome change of pace for me, because at least I’d be unconscious for an extended period of time.” 

“I don’t think death and being unconscious are the same thing, Stiles.”

“Whatever.” He stood, pulling the book off the table he was seated at with one hand and beginning to walk towards the stacks with it. “Figure out how to get what you need, stay indoors at night, and attack it during daylight hours. It’s nocturnal, so you’ve got a better chance when the sun’s up.” 

“Right,” Liam muttered, clearly still unhappy with this plan. “I’ll see what I can do. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, and good night,” Stiles informed him, then hung up. 

He stood in front of the stacks for a second as he stared down at his phone, opening a text message with Scott to fill him in on what was happening. He only had to wait a few seconds before his friend replied saying he’d be on the road in an hour, then put his phone away. 

Much as Stiles pretended he didn’t care if Liam got hurt, he really did. He knew Liam wouldn’t bother Scott with this, since he had midterms right now, but Scott was the closest person to help him, and if Liam wasn’t going to keep their fearless leader included, then Stiles would. 

He paused halfway through the stacks, holding the book he’d taken off the shelf in both hands, dread filling him. 

“Oh my God, am I the mom friend? Oh God, I am the mom friend!” What the hell, how had that happened? 

Groaning loudly to himself, he just continued through the shelves to put the book back where he’d found it, thunking his head against the rows of books a moment later and closing his eyes. 

Today had been a long day, but admittedly much shorter than it could’ve been if not for Derek’s help. The guy was a bit weird, kind of cagey, and stared at Stiles way too much, but he was smart and he knew things Stiles hadn’t even heard of. 

Including the invaluable wisdom he’d imparted on him earlier about which widely publicized books on mythological creatures were actually real. That was helpful as fuck, and while Stiles was planning to come back and photocopy them all eventually—RIP his wallet—he had an early class in the morning so he’d just returned to the stacks after dinner to look into the Bunyip so he could notify Liam. 

Derek hadn’t come back since they’d parted ways earlier, but Stiles hadn’t really expected him to. He was on a case, he and his team had probably returned to the hotel they were staying at to discuss next steps. Still, he wished he’d had more time with him. He’d never spoken to another Werewolf, certainly not a born one. 

Sure, he’d met a few of them here and there throughout his time here at university, but most of them tended to steer clear of him. One had admitted he smelled like an Alpha, which had him assume all the ones he’d met were Betas and they did not want to fuck with another wolf’s pack. 

Stiles himself had no idea how he still smelled like Scott, given he only saw him once every four months or so, but apparently the scent lingered. Derek hadn’t said anything about it, but Stiles also didn’t know if he was an Alpha himself. Besides, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything, so the guy had probably figured he’d help out and then leave. Not like they were doing anything wrong, they were allowed to talk to each other. 

Though Stiles still found it weird he smelled like Scott after so long, it was probably a side effect of his magic or something. Maybe it was like, a self-imposed protection for himself. His magic being like, “Hey, you’re a danger magnet, let’s make you smell dangerous so scary things leave you alone!” 

Didn’t seem to be working for Liam, but then again, Liam wasn’t a—whatever the fuck Stiles was. He still wasn’t sure, honestly. 

He jumped, startled, when he heard a door shut loudly on the other side of the floor and glanced in that direction, listening for footsteps. He heard nothing. 

“Hello?” 

Silence. 

Frowning, he moved away from the shelf and headed back down the row of stacks he was in. He’d made sure the area was empty before calling Liam, and it wasn’t like the place was frequently travelled. 

Walking out of the stacks, he looked left, then right, and craned his neck to get a look at the glass door that led to the stairs. The entire wall was made of glass, and it didn’t look like anyone was walking up the stairs, meaning it wasn’t someone leaving, but he didn’t hear or see anyone either. 

Feeling a chill race up his spine, he figured he’d lingered long enough and turned to get his things. He was in the process of packing up when a loud bang sounded behind him and he whipped around, heart lodging itself in his throat. 

The book he’d been using was lying face down on the ground, some of the pages bent out of shape.

What the actual fuck. 

He didn’t want anyone to accuse him of ruining the book when he’d definitely put it back properly, so he cautiously looked around while slowly making his way along the row of shelves. He felt antsy, like someone was watching him, but was sure it was just his imagination. 

After all, he’d just been talking about Bunyips with Liam, his mind was probably just freaking itself out for nothing. It happened, he had an overactive imagination—which, really, made sense considering his life. 

Reaching the book, he bent down to grab it by the spine, flipping it over and seeing it open on a specific page about a type of Spellcaster. Before he could decide whether to read it, or get the fuck out of there, he heard a sneaker squeak behind him and whipped around. 

For a second, he wasn’t sure what happened. Something was—wrong. His chest... it hurt. A lot. And he could feel... wetness. Like water. Water? It was dripping down his front. It was... coming from the hurt. 

Stiles looked down. Wow. That was—yeah, that was a wrist and forearm. He was staring down at a wrist and forearm right now. The hand was missing though. That was weird. It was missing.

But then it wasn’t. It was suddenly there, slowly pulling out of his chest, drenched red with blood. 

Wait, that couldn’t be right. If that hand had been inside his chest, and it was covered in blood, then that meant the wetness wasn’t water. 

Oh. That hand had been inside him. That was bad. 

Stiles’ knees crumpled and he fell on his face, the hand in front of him retreating enough that he didn’t land on the person it belonged to. 

It... hurt. Like, a lot. More than any other hurt he’d ever felt. Was this what dying felt like? It kind of sucked, it couldn’t be less painful? He’d endured enough pain in his life, couldn’t his death be a bit kinder to him? 

His vision began to darken around the edges, and he heard more than saw a pair of shoes moving away from him. Was it getting dark in here? Maybe the library was closing and they’d turned off the lights. They probably didn’t know he was down there. 

That was bad, was he going to die down here? Probably. Shit, they wouldn’t find his body for ages. He hoped the old lady who manned the front wasn’t the one to find him, that would suck, he didn’t want her to have a heart attack. 

The pain was starting to fade, and his hands felt cold. Was that normal? Probably. Well, he thought so, maybe. He’d never died before, so he didn’t exactly have a baseline for what was and wasn’t normal.

“—iles! Stiles!” 

Oh God, the pain was back. Oh, it was back in a horrible way, because someone had grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back. 

“Jesu—fuck! Fuck!” 

Okay, fuck, that really hurt. He was sure it wasn’t intending to be painful, but there were hands pressing into the gaping wound in his chest, and really, he’d rather death at this point, because man did that hurt. 

“Stiles, stay with me! Stay with me, I’ve got you! Yes, this is Special Agent Hale with the FBI, I’ve got a wounded civilian at—”

Wait, was he talking to him? No, that wasn’t for him. He was the wounded civilian. Oh, that made sense. The pain and all. And the blood.

Someone put a hand through his chest. Who would do that?

Also, how? That was like, a lot of pressure. Like, he had a ribcage and someone had just sliced right through it. Like butter. 

Could Werewolves do that? Maybe. But the only Werewolf around him right now was Special Agent Derek Hale of the FBI, who was pressing down hard on Stiles’ front with both hands while speaking quickly into his phone. 

He was surprisingly calm, considering he was staining his nice suit with Stiles’ blood. It definitely wasn’t a cheap one like Rafe’s was. 

“Stiles, listen to me. Hey, listen to me, look at me.” 

Moving hurt, he didn’t want to. And everything was dark, how did Derek expect him to look at him when the lights were off? 

“Stiles!” 

He jerked unintentionally at the way his name was said, because the sound of it had been so commanding. Like an Alpha demanding obedience. 

Stiles looked at Derek. His eyes were red, he had fangs in his mouth, and he looked worried. 

“Stiles, please, just hang on. Just a bit longer. You can do it, I know you can. Just give them time to get here.” 

Time. Stiles didn’t think he had time. He’d have liked to have more time. There was still a lot in life he hadn’t done. 

Not to mention someone had stabbed through his chest with their hand. Would kind of like to know who’d done that.

And why. 

It was kind of rude. 

A lot rude. 

Man, wouldn’t time be a great thing to have? 

Stiles reached up with one bloody hand, his depth perception going with the way his eyes were losing focus. He eventually managed to find Derek’s cheek, unintentionally smearing blood along his face. 

“Time,” he breathed. 

How he’d have liked to have more time. 

His vision faded further, Derek’s voice got quieter, the pain began to lessen. 

Stiles’ chest rose, and fell.

It didn’t rise again.  

TBC...

Chapter Text

When his alarm went off at exactly four minutes past seven in the morning, the sound that escaped him could not be classified as human. He didn’t know what historians would classify the sound as, but if they heard it, they would never assume it came out of a human’s mouth. 

He could feel wetness on his face from where he’d drooled into his pillow while he slept, and reached out blindly with one hand to slap at his night stand, trying to locate the source of the noise so he could shut it off. The aggressive nature of his smacking had him, not only hurt his hand, but somehow catapult his phone off the small table into the depths of his room.

Or like, right beside the night stand, since it was plugged in and thus couldn’t go far. 

Peeling open his eyes, he let the sound that had previously escaped him start up again, the low groan of dismay filling the empty room as his eyes slowly focussed on the chair across from the bed. It was covered in clothes, since he was using it as a makeshift wardrobe, only because he was lazy and when he finished doing laundry, he just threw everything onto his chair. He always did homework in the library anyway, wasn’t like he needed his desk, really. 

His alarm continued to blare as he stared at the chair, as if doing so for long enough would magically have time reverse so he could get a few extra hours of sleep, but alas, no dice. He had class at eight, and if he didn’t want to be late, he had to get his lazy ass up right now. 

But he was so comfy. It was so freaking comfy. The bed may not have been the softest he’d ever slept in, but compared to the mattress he’d had last year, this was a definite upgrade. University beds were not designed to be comfortable, but he’d lucked out this year, and by God, he was going to appreciate it. 

No roommate, reasonably comfy mattress, and a dorm room in the dorm closest to the common’s block where the cafeteria and student-run convenience store were. Really, he was living the dream.

Aside from the whole alarm blaring thing. His neighbour would start banging on the wall soon if he didn’t shut it off, the guy was a cranky prick. He hoped he ran out of toilet paper the next time he took a shit.

Was he petty? Absolutely. The pettiest of them all. 

He was still lying there contemplating his pettiness when, as predicted, banging sounded on the wall and he buried his face in his drool-stained pillow to let out an aggravated sound. 

“I’m up,” he called, pulling his face free and forcing himself to roll over, throwing both feet over the side of the bed and snatching up his phone. “I’m up,” he said again, more loudly, when the banging continued. 

Turing the alarm off, his neighbour let out two more angry bangs before going silent. He made a face at the wall and flipped him the bird with both hands more emphatically than was strictly necessary given no one could see him. 

Tossing his phone back onto his night stand, Stiles Stilinski rubbed at his face with both hands, inhaling deeply and holding it, wondering if he could make himself pass out. It wasn’t skipping class if he passed out, right? 

The only reason he managed to force himself to drop his hands and grab his toiletries was because his dad was paying to get him a good education, and he was not letting that man down. The guy was probably going into more debt than he could afford, even with the scholarship Stiles had managed to snag for the place, and by God he was going to get his education!

Regardless of what the Supernatural community decided for him. 

Walking into the communal bathroom, he grunted a good morning to one of his dormmates, who looked just as tired as he did. Stiles couldn’t fathom why, wasn’t like this guy had stayed up all night researching Bunyip. What was a Bunyip? Who knew other than Stiles! Since he’d spent most of the night looking into them. 

But did the dude beside him looking half-asleep know what a Bunyip was? No. He probably didn’t. Because he didn’t live Stiles’ life. His stupid, stupid life. 

Finishing up before the other dude, who looked like he’d fallen asleep while brushing his teeth, Stiles headed back for his room to get some real clothes on. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but his second class today was one of his criminology courses and they had FBI agents coming in to talk to the class as a whole. Apparently the professor and the new head of one of the divisions were friends or something and he’d managed to convince them to come in and talk to the students. 

Stiles found that to be pretty cool, and he wouldn’t have skipped that class for anything—except something life or death, but seriously, for once, things that wanted to kill people could wait for fifty minutes. 

His first class was English composition, which was a complete waste of time, but mandatory for graduation. He’d already procrastinated taking it for two years, so he really had to get a move on. 

Once he was dressed and as presentable as he could get, he threw his messenger bag strap over one shoulder and headed out, being sure his door was locked despite knowing the thing auto-locked. Satisfied, he turned to push through the door leading to the back stairwell, going down two flights of stairs, and exited the dorm. He realized once outside that he should’ve gone out the front door, since it was closer to the common’s block, but he still had time. Besides, walking around the building would wake him up. 

He would’ve preferred a full breakfast, but he’d dragged his feet too much this morning and would be late if he sat down to eat, so he just grabbed a muffin, some yogurt, and a huge coffee before heading out to his first class. 

English composition was literally the stupidest thing in the world, in his opinion. Depending on the job, why did anyone need to know this shit? Stiles wasn’t planning on becoming a teacher, or a writer, or any other profession that required a proficiency in writing, so why was English composition a mandatory course anyway? 

He was going to solve crime and kick butt. Or something. He hadn’t decided yet, he just knew he wanted to be in a similar field as his dad. Maybe he’d join the FBI, if he could get in. Actually, maybe he could chat with one of the FBI agents who’d be coming by in his next class.

As tired as he was from the research, he was actually pretty stoked for his criminology course. It was interesting on a good day, but with the FBI around? It was probably going to be an absolute banger of a lesson. 

Now he was getting excited, and he spent more time watching the clock on his phone than he did paying attention to what was being said. When he was finally dismissed from the class, he hoisted his strap over one shoulder and booked it. He had ten minutes to make it halfway across campus, and he wanted to get a good seat. He usually always did, since he loved this class, but today it was especially important and he had a feeling a few of the girls would try and snag the front row in hopes of being closer to who they were guessing would be a hot FBI agent. 

Stiles also figured most of the class who usually bailed might actually show up for this one, and he didn’t want to get stuck at the back when he was usually at the front. The professor knew his name was Stiles, and everything!

He managed to make it to the large hall in record time, which was exciting for him because he snagged his usual seat in time to see a group of people he didn’t recognize walk in. He’d been right in his assumptions that the skippers would show up, so he was glad he’d hurried to class. 

Putting his bag on the seat beside his to save the spot, Stiles pulled his notebook out and opened it to the next page so he could write the date in the top corner. He was trying to keep his notes organized for once, and since his laptop was on its last leg, he didn’t have the luxury of bringing it to class and being all over the place. Copy/paste did not work with a notebook. 

The noise behind him was getting louder as more people filed in, and Stiles looked up in time to see Heather walking towards him. Pulling his bag off the seat, he nodded hello to her as she sat down, Stiles putting his bag on the floor by his feet. They weren’t exactly friends, but they’d been in three of the same courses in their first year, and had started chatting. Since then, they’d had an additional five courses together due to being in the same major, and it was nice having someone to bum notes off of if one of them missed class, for whatever reason. 

He felt like he could’ve had more of a friendship with her if he wasn’t so fucking busy trying to protect people from home, but this was his life now. He’d survive. 

Mostly. Lack of sleep might kill him, but whatever. 

“Good morning,” Heather said with a smile, taking her Macbook out of her bag and setting it on the small excuse of a desk the auditorium used. 

“Morning,” Stiles replied. “How was your night?” 

“Good.” She turned to smile at him. “Went out for pizza with my roommate, and then we watched some horror movies. What about you?” 

“I had pizza for dinner too,” he admitted, not mentioning it was a hot pocket he hadn’t even had time to heat up. He’d been too busy to go to the cafeteria and it was closed by the time he’d remembered food was a requirement and not optional. “Then I spent the rest of the night reading.” 

“You do love reading,” she said with a light nudge. 

Stiles laughed at that, because oh, if only she knew. What he wouldn’t give to watch some horror movies instead of living in one. 

They continued to chat amiably for a few minutes while the class filled up. The professor walked in a minute or so before it started, raising one hand in greeting to Stiles, Heather, and the other three regulars who sat in the front row. Heather waved back, but Stiles just nodded a greeting to him. 

It didn’t take long for the class to quiet down when the professor clapped his hands together loudly and began to speak. Stiles noticed there wasn’t anyone at the front of the room with him, and wondered if the agents cancelled. That would be kind of a bummer, but he was sure they were busy. If it came down to hanging out in a classroom with the future of the country, or going out to find some sadistic serial killer, Stiles was pretty sure he knew which one he’d rather the FBI be doing. 

The professor was still in the process of explaining their upcoming assignment, which he’d discussed at length in previous classes but was obviously recapping for the people who’d been skipping, when the door at the front opened again and he cut off mid-sentence, turning to it. 

“Ah, excellent.” He clapped his hands together once. “Welcome, welcome! Come on in.”

A man walked into the room first, heading straight for the professor and speaking to him in low tones. Another man and a woman followed him in, the latter texting on her phone while scowling. Stiles arched an eyebrow, unsure of what was going on, but the three of them looked tense. 

“Something’s up,” he said aloud, Heather humming her agreement beside him. 

“Yeah, the agent talking to the professor looks kind of... worried? Or nervous?” 

Stiles’ eyes shifted to see what she meant, and the second his eyes landed on the agent speaking to the professor, he felt his entire body sag with disappointment. 

Seriously? Of all the fucking people that could’ve shown up, it had to be him? 

“Sir,” the woman suddenly said, the agent speaking to the professor turning to her quickly, but the woman just put her phone to her ear while hurrying towards the door. “Hale, where the hell are you? We’ve been trying to reach you for two hours.” She exited the room before Stiles heard any more, and he glanced at Heather. 

She just shrugged in response, which was probably the best possible reaction to what the hell was going on right now. 

“Sorry about that, folks.” Stiles turned back to the front when the agent speaking to his professor clapped his hands once to get their attention. “Just a little bit of a scheduling conflict with one of my agents, but time is of the essence, so let’s crack on.” He glanced at the door when the woman came back into the room, nodding to him. He nodded back, then turned to look at the professor, motioning for him to go ahead. 

The professor took a few steps forward once more, so he was a bit closer to the class than the agents were, and Stiles saw the woman whispering something to the man in charge, the two of them looking confused.

Well, mostly confused. Mr. Important also seemed a little pissed off. 

“Some unexpected excitement this morning, it seems,” the professor said, forcing Stiles’ attention back to him. “But let’s go ahead and start. I’d like for you to meet Supervisory Special Agent McCall.” He motioned the agent he’d been speaking to, and Stiles tried to slouch slightly in his seat, hoping to go unnoticed. 

No dice, because SSA McCall’s gaze locked onto him the second he moved. Figured. 

“This is Special Agent Kincaid, and Dr. Romero. It seems we’ve lost one of their team members, though hopefully not to anything nefarious.” The professor turned to wink at SSA McCall.

The man laughed, patting the professor’s shoulder. “Not to worry, Garrett, Agent Hale just seems to have gotten a little lost on his way here. He should be by shortly, though I can’t promise it’ll be before class ends. But never mind that.” He clapped again, Stiles resisting the urge to groan. 

God, the guy was on such a fucking power trip right now. Calling the missing guy his agent, saying he was lost, acting like the professor was just another hopeful student looking to learn more about the FBI. He was such a dick. 

Stiles hated him. 

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly to the class, the smile on his face so fake that Stiles felt he should be tried and charged for it. “Glad you could all make it here today. We don’t usually make a habit of coming to impart our wisdom on young minds, but your professor and I go way back, and I thought it might be nice to give everyone here some idea of what might be in your future.” 

And again with the condescension. Stiles should’ve skipped this class. Hell, he would have if he’d known what was waiting for him. 

That was when SSA McCall turned to stare right at him, the next words out of his mouth intended just for him. “Not all of your futures, mind you. Some of you might not hack it in this field. Remember, we are not our parents.” 

“Thank God for that,” Stiles muttered, slouching even further in his seat and pulling his notebook closer so he could doodle in it. He was not going to learn anything in today’s class, and he could already tell half the people who were there were starting to mentally check out. No one wanted to listen to a boring old man talk down on them, least of all Stiles. 

He let the agent’s words go in one ear and out the other, not really listening to anything he said, since Stiles knew it all already. His dad was twice the man SSA McCall was, so hearing him talk about how their job tied into criminology, and explain what he and his team did on a daily basis was insulting. He was pretty sure he didn’t speak quite as softly to himself when the agent reminded everyone that being responsible in a job like this was important, because Heather glanced over at him. 

“Says the drunk who beat on his wife,” he muttered. 

“What?” she asked, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “Did you say something?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles said, and he noticed SSA McCall’s eyes on him. It was impossible he’d heard him, but even if he had, whatever. Not like it wasn’t true. 

Stiles continued to doodle in his notebook, kind of annoyed at this whole waste of a class, considering he could’ve been looking into Bunyips right now. Between listening to this pompous, alpha male bullshit and looking into a monster trying to eat his friend, he felt like his time would’ve been better spent doing the latter. 

The only reason he didn’t get up and walk out of the classroom right then and there was because he respected the professor too much. He actually liked this class, and really, it wasn’t anyone’s fault that this had happened. Not like the professor had actively sought out SSA Rafael McCall to make Stiles’ life miserable. 

Much as Stiles pretended he was the main character in life, he knew perfectly well that he wasn’t. He didn’t have main character energy, despite the universe trying to tell him otherwise with all the shit it threw his way. 

After what felt like a mind-numbingly long time of listening to SSA McCall talk, he finally passed things over to the woman who was with him, and she went about explaining her area of expertise and what she did on the team. The last guy was a bit dry, but at least he sounded interesting and not full of himself. He had to explain more than he seemed ready to discuss, but Stiles kind of picked up that he was also covering the portion that belonged to the agent who’d bailed. 

Stiles couldn’t blame the guy, if he was an agent, he’d bail on this too. Who would rather come to something like this instead of out in the world chasing criminals? 

Sadly, when the agent was done speaking, SSA McCall took it upon himself to start up again. It took a conscious effort for Stiles not to bang his head repeatedly against any available hard surface and finally, mercifully, the class was over. Their professor clapped when everything was said and done, and half the class followed suit to be polite. Stiles didn’t have that kind of respect for the asshole in charge of this team, so he didn’t bother. 

Standing quickly, Stiles started to pack away his things, the agents filing out the door and evidently off to save the world, or whatever. 

Or in SSA McCall’s case, put another poor, unsuspecting class to sleep. Stiles felt bad for the people who’d shown up just for this mess. At least that Dr. Romero had been interesting, and the other agent—Kincaid, Stiles thought his name was—had a cool skill, even if he was a bit dry. 

Finished with his things, Stiles threw the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and turned to Heather. She was carefully putting her laptop back into her bag. 

“You sticking around campus today, or you heading out?” 

“I have work today, so I’m bailing early. Should be around tomorrow though,” she said, continuing to pack away her things and glancing up at him. “Lunch?” 

“Sounds good. See you then.” He raised one hand in farewell while heading for the door. 

“Bye Stiles.” 

Exiting the classroom, Stiles hadn’t even managed to make it two steps when he came face to face with SSA McCall. 

Man of the hour himself. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Well, it is a university campus, and this is a university course, so it makes more sense for me to be here than you.” Stiles offered him the same brand of fake smile the agent had pulled on them in the class and started past him, but the older man blocked his path. 

“How’s Scott?” 

“You have his number, ask him yourself. Oh, wait.” Stiles snapped his fingers, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “He blocked you. Totally slipped my mind.”

He found satisfaction in the way the older man’s face darkened at those words. Given his best friend was not technologically savvy, he was perfectly aware of the fact that Stiles was the one who’d helped him block the guy’s number. 

“I’m his father.”

“Well, like you said yourself, thankfully we are not our parents so Scott’s got a chance in life.” 

Stiles started moving past him once again, and Rafael McCall’s hand hit him hard in the chest, pushing him back until he was against the wall right beside the classroom door, pinning him there. It hadn’t been an overly violent action, but it had been rough enough for it to hurt. Stiles was pretty sure he was going to have a nice bruise on his sternum in a few hours. 

With them so close together, Stiles could smell the alcohol on his breath, and wished he could be surprised. Didn’t stop him from being disgusted someone who was a Supervisory Special Agent, in charge of other people, was drinking on the job though. 

“One day,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “that smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble you can’t get yourself out of. Tell my son I’d like a word. He knows my number.” 

“Did it occur to you he doesn’t want a word?” Stiles asked, ignoring the hand pressing him hard into the wall. “I thought he made that pretty clear when he returned the financial support for university that you sent him. You want to be a good dad? Maybe use those so-called skills of yours and recognize you’re the problem and he wants you to leave him alone.” 

Even though he knew it was coming, it still surprised Stiles when he felt pain splash across his face, Rafe’s hand still on his chest the only thing that kept him standing after the hard blow. He’d barely turned his face back to the agent’s when there was a hand in his hair, wrenching his head back painfully. 

“Don’t test my patience, Stiles. One word from me, and Garrett will drop you from his class in a heartbeat.” 

“You might want to put that ego away before it takes over the whole building.” 

Stiles was pretty sure another hit was coming, but then the classroom door opened and the professor started at seeing them right beside the door. Rafe let him go so fast Stiles wondered if he wasn’t a Supernatural being with superspeed or something. 

“Oh. Rafe. I thought you’d left already.” 

“Just speaking to my son’s best friend here.” Stiles tensed when Rafe wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side, using that same fake, condescending smile as earlier. 

“You and Stiles know each other?” The professor perked up, and Stiles smirked internally when the guy started gushing about how wonderful he was. 

It looked like Rafe was struggling to keep his smile on his face, and Stiles so badly wished he had some insight into the dude’s thoughts right then. They were probably hilarious. 

Ducking out from under the agent’s arm after another minute, he excused himself by saying he had another class—which he didn’t for another two hours—and bid his professor goodbye. 

He didn’t say a word to Rafe and just turned his back on the guy, heading down the corridor. The halls and stairwell were empty by now, since the next hour of classes had started, and he hurried down the last flight of stairs, jumping the final two steps and almost colliding with a woman who’d just entered the building. 

He only just managed to avoid her, years of lacrosse allowing him to pivot around her at the last second and slam into the other exit door. 

“Sorry!” he called back to her, letting the door shut behind himself and pulling his strap higher onto his shoulder. 

He tongued at the corner of his mouth, feeling split skin there, and reached up to touch his cheek lightly. It hadn’t been a bad hit, all things considered, but Stiles was also used to getting hit by things with super-strength so he may have just gotten used to being injured all the time. 

Still, he wished the corridor had cameras. He’d have loved to send that clip to SSA McCall’s boss. 

Bad enough the guy drank on the job, he probably put away innocent civilians by beating confessions out of them where they’d tell him anything he wanted just to get him to stop. 

Stiles’ hand curled into a fist, and he’d just turned to head towards—he didn’t know, the library maybe?—when someone called his name. 

“Stiles! Stiles!” 

Turning to find who was calling after him, he arched an eyebrow at the guy running full speed towards him. Normally, it’d be kind of funny, because he was wearing a navy suit with an equally boring blue tie, but was running like he was trying to win a marathon. 

The only reason it wasn’t funny was because... he was barrelling right at him. And Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he would stop. 

Jerking back a few steps, and positive it wouldn’t save him, he jerked slightly when the guy did stop, right in front of him, hands on his shoulders and green eyes wide and horrified. He was inspecting every inch of Stiles’ torso, hands leaving his shoulders to run along his chest, confusion on his face. 

“Whoa, hey, hey!” Stiles slapped the guy’s hands away, moving back a few steps and raising his fists. He recognized it was a stupid thing to do, but it was an automatic reaction. “Okay, enough of that. You always randomly assault people in public?” 

“Stiles, your chest...” 

“Yes, my chest,” Stiles agreed when the guy trailed off, still looking at his chest. It made Stiles want to cross his arms over it, but he kept his fists raised instead, like it would do anything. Whatever, it made him feel better. “Mine. No touchy.”

“What the fuck is going on?” 

“You tell me!” Stiles insisted. “You’re the one groping me in public!”

“I don’t understand.”

“Join the club!” Stiles took another step back when the guy took a step forward. “Hey now, let’s uh, respect boundaries here. Let’s keep a respectable distance for the foreseeable future.” 

“Stiles, what happened?!” the guy demanded, taking another step forward. Stiles just took another step back. “How are you here? Where’s your injury? What the hell is going on?”

“Mm hm, mm hm,” Stiles said easily in response, nodding his head but keeping his fists raised. “Right, okay, all very good questions. Happy to help you uh, figure this all out, but how about we start with one of mine, because it’s probably the most important one.” He finally lowered his fists, but only so he could press his hands together, as if in prayer, and pointed them at the crazy dude in front of him. “Who are you?” 

The look that crossed the other man’s face was indecipherable. It was like ten different emotions crossed his features all in one fell swoop, each one coming and going too fast for Stiles to catch. 

“I’m Derek,” he finally said, somewhat slowly, as if he was wondering if Stiles was playing a prank on him. “We met yesterday.” 

“Pretty sure we did not meet yesterday.” 

“Pretty sure we did,” this Derek guy said, sounding frustrated now. “We had a conversation in your criminology class? You bought me coffee? I helped you with your Bunyip problem?” 

Stiles’ heart did something weird in his chest at that and he looked around urgently, making sure no one was within earshot, then moved a bit closer to the suited dude. Probably a bad idea, since he was liable to get kidnapped and thrown into the back of a van, but they were in public! 

He didn’t need Hunters materializing out of the shadows to throw them both in Supernatural jail!

“You know what a Bunyip is?” 

Derek was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and frustration. “Yes, Stiles! I know what a Bunyip is! I helped you with what book to look at so you could help your friend!” 

Stiles put his hands together again, then pressed them against his lips, inspecting the very confused, but so incredibly sexy man who was staring at him, lost and desperate. 

“Okay, I have no idea what’s going on, but I’ve got a few hours to kill so let’s pretend you’re not trying to kidnap me and go get some coffee so we can talk about this.” 

When he started to turn away, Derek grabbed his arm and tugged. It wasn’t a hard tug, more a request for him to wait, and Stiles turned back to him. 

Probably a mistake, because the other man’s free hand reached up, fingers ghosting lightly along Stiles’ injured cheek. Shit, was it starting to bruise or something? 

“What happened to your face?”

“I tried to stop a fist with it.” 

At these words, Derek’s entire face shuttered, but his eyes widened ever so slightly as he stared at Stiles’ cheek for a few seconds longer before locking eyes with him. 

“Rafe hit you.” 

Stiles’ head snapped back. “How did—?”

“Rafe hit you. I wasn’t there, I didn’t...” He looked like he stopped breathing. “What day is it?” Derek demanded. 

“What?”

“The day! What day is today?!” Derek let Stiles go, but only so he could reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He tapped at the home screen, and then went so perfectly still that Stiles was pretty sure this guy wasn’t human. No human could stand that still. 

When it was clear Derek wasn’t going to move again without some prompting, Stiles said, “It’s Wednesday.” 

“That’s impossible,” Derek whispered. 

“Not really, it comes around every seven days.” 

“This is impossible,” Derek said again, looking around himself, as if he was searching for something. “It can’t be Wednesday, that was yesterday.” 

“Pretty sure you need to learn the days of the week, my guy, because yesterday was Tues—” Stiles cut himself off with a startled shout when Derek grabbed at his shoulders again, squeezing tightly enough to hurt. 

When he looked into the other man’s face, his stomach dropped when he saw a hint of red around his irises, and figured out exactly why this guy could stand so perfectly still. 

“Werewolf,” he breathed, the word so quiet the wind might’ve whisked it away before anyone else heard. 

But Derek heard, because he was a Werewolf, and they had exceptional hearing. 

“Yes. I’m a Werewolf. And I told you that yesterday.” His face crumpled then, confusion and fear and desperation before he continued. “Only yesterday wasn’t yesterday, it was today. It was today. Because this day has happened before. And that’s how I know that in less than twelve hours, you are going to be dead.” 

Stiles so should’ve stayed in bed this morning. 

“So let me get this straight,” Stiles insisted, rubbing at his face with both hands, and wishing he’d thought to grab himself a coffee before bringing the weird, time-travelling Werewolf back to his dorm room. He was much too tired for this kind of sci-fi conversation. “You’re telling me that you’ve lived through this day before, but that you woke up this morning and the day started over?” 

“Yes,” Derek insisted, pacing grooves into Stiles’ carpet. He hoped the university didn’t notice, he kind of needed that deposit back. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, because what else could he say? “Why?” 

“I don’t know,” the Werewolf insisted, voice more a growl than anything as he rounded on Stiles. “I have no idea why this happened! I just woke up, panicked about what the fuck happened last night and how I magically ended up in my hotel room, spent much too long trying to figure out your full name, went to every hospital within a ten mile radius, and then finally answered my team when they asked where I was because I was meant to be part of a presentation for your criminology class. But I already did that! Yesterday!” 

“You mean the previous version of today,” Stiles supplied helpfully. 

Derek glowered at him, and Stiles raised both hands in surrender. Jeez, the guy was touchy. 

“Okay, but are you sure though? Because, you’ve gotta admit, this is all sounding a little far-fetched. Time travel isn’t real.” 

“Neither were Werewolves when you were a kid,” Derek shot back. 

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, and pointed a finger at his surly companion. “Touche.” 

“I just don’t get it,” he insisted, continuing to pace back and forth, back and forth. He was making Stiles feel dizzy, for some reason. “How could this even have happened? Time doesn’t just reverse itself on a whim, so how did the day reset? What caused this?”

Stiles said nothing as Derek continued to mutter to himself, clearly trying to piece together a puzzle in his brain and speaking out loud just to get his thoughts organized. 

He said nothing, but looked down at his hands. Stiles had magic, he knew this about himself. He’d never been able to control it, but what if...

It usually manifested when someone around him was going to die. Why wouldn’t it trigger when he himself was about to kick the bucket? Had he done this somehow? 

But if so, then why couldn’t he remember anything? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for him, the guy who’d been murdered, to remember the events from the previous loop of this day? How was he supposed to keep himself safe from whoever was after him if he didn’t remember who that was? 

Stiles jumped when his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket and he pulled it out, finding a text from Liam. 

Right. Bunyip. 

“Hey, you said you told me how to get rid of a Bunyip yesterday,” Stiles paused. “Or earlier. Whatever. You said you told me how to do that. How?” 

“I don’t know off the top of my head, I just know where the information can be found.” Derek was running one hand across his face, over and over again, like he was rubbing at his own stubble in thought. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, stretching out the word. “And that is... where?” 

“Library. Stacks. Satomi Ito.” 

“Great.” Stiles got to his feet. “How about I solve the problem on Liam’s side first before we try and figure this out? I can just pop over to the library, then—”

“No!” 

Stiles jumped when Derek whipped around, face inches from his and one finger poking hard into his chest. 

“You died in the library, Stiles. You are staying right here, where nothing and no one can touch you until tomorrow comes, or we figure out what’s going on.” 

“How do you even know it’s related to me?” Stiles demanded, half-flailing. Never mind he was pretty sure this was about him, he wasn’t about to tell Derek that. He didn’t know the guy from Adam. “It could’ve been anyone!” 

“Stiles my alarm went off less than a nanosecond after you died.” 

“Coincidence!” He flailed some more. “Come on, you’re telling me that it’s impossible for me to die at the same time someone else forced you to repeat the day?”

“Do you realize how unlikely that is?” Derek asked dryly. 

“But not impossible,” Stiles countered, pointing a finger at him. “Maybe this was just sheer dumb luck that I managed to get a do-over.”

Derek looked extremely sceptical, but he seemed too tired and confused to keep arguing. Stiles considered it a win. Even annoying someone into submission was a win! 

“So... what now?” Stiles asked. 

“Now,” Derek said, moving to look through the peephole in Stiles’ door when someone walked by. “We wait until midnight to make sure you get there.” 

“What about food?” 

“I’m sure you have something to eat here.” 

Okay, he had him there. Stiles had many snacks around the room, some that were even open. Probably not the best idea while living in a dorm room, but ziploc was expensive and he was poor. His textbooks cost more than his dad’s monthly mortgage payments. 

“What about the Bunyip?!” he demanded, throwing his hands in the air. 

He wasn’t about to let Liam die to save his own skin, especially since this guy could be completely off his rocker. Really, Stiles felt like he was just entertaining him because he hadn’t really known how else to react. 

But it wasn’t like the guy had proved anything. It was easy to say he was a time traveller, but aside from knowing his name, Derek had nothing on him. Maybe he was like, a crazy stalker pretending to be an FBI agent who was going to rape and kill Stiles! 

Well, probably not. For one thing, Derek’s concern felt real. For another, he was way out of his league. And for yet another, Stiles was pretty sure if Derek wanted to get into his pants, he wouldn’t find much resistence. 

It just seemed so illogical! And kind of unfair, if he was being honest. After all, Bill Murray had learned a ton of new skills repeating the same day over and over again. How was it fair Stiles’ day had repeated and Derek was the one benefiting? Especially if it stemmed from his magic. What the actual hell, how rude! 

Stiles jerked away when Derek moved towards him. The Werewolf looked a little offended at the violent reaction, but in Stiles’ defence, he was apparently dying at some point today, and he’d rather it not be by accident. Who knew! If he was slated to die, like some Final Destination bullshit, then he was going out no matter what! 

He turned when Derek brought his computer out of sleep mode, the Werewolf giving him a clear, “Get on with it,” look at the password prompt. 

Stiles turned in his chair and obediently typed in his password. Derek snatched the laptop back instantly, Stiles giving him an offended look of his own. Before he could decide what words to waste on him though, Derek turned the screen back towards him. 

“There. Bunyip.” 

It took Stiles all of two seconds to stare incredulously at Derek, then at the website open on his laptop screen. 

“You’re kidding, right? That’s like, the fakest site I’ve ever seen.” 

“Yeah, she does that on purpose.” 

Stiles frowned. “Who does?” 

“Marin Morrell. She’s Emissary to a huge pack in Nebraska that seems to get into a lot of trouble. She started digitizing their books when a dragon took out half their—”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles interrupted, holding one hand up in a ‘stop’ motion, “did you just say dragon?” 

“Yes, pay attention,” Derek snapped. 

Wow, the guy was Cranky, with a capital C. 

To be fair, Stiles would be pretty cranky too if he had to relive the same day over a second time. Did that mean he got hit by Rafe yesterday too? Well, at least he didn’t remember it. He supposed that was one advantage of not remembering all this happening. 

“Marin started digitizing things when the fire took out half their library, and she eventually just put it online. Figured it’d help other Supernaturals who were being targeted.”

“So this site is legit,” Stiles said, pulling the laptop closer. “And she makes it look like this to, what, make people think it’s not real?” 

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” 

Stiles had to concede that, because it was true. This didn’t at all look like a site he’d ever have trusted. Hell, he might’ve even clicked on it once or twice in the past, but probably wrote it off as nonsense and moved along. 

He knew some sites disguised themselves as game sites, but most of the legitimate ones still looked a bit more professional. This one was all garish colours and horrendous image quality. Hiding in plain sight, he supposed. 

He was scrolling through all the creatures available for lookup—holy shit, there were a ton—when Derek’s phone rang. Stiles heard him more than saw him pull it from his pocket and he let out a quiet curse. 

Moving to the other side of the room, he answered the call quietly, Stiles only hearing him say the word, “Hale.” 

He didn’t listen in, because he had more important things to worry about. Like stopping Liam from having his insides eaten, or whatever. 

Bookmarking the page, Stiles started scrolling through everything present about Bunyips, pulling his phone out so he could text parts of it to Liam whenever something useful came up. He kept getting whines and wails back, Liam not wanting to have to deal with this on his own, but it wasn’t like Stiles could jump on a plane across the country!

Besides, he was pretty sure Derek would spontaneously combust if Stiles even went to the bathroom, with the way he was acting. 

Honestly, Stiles had to wonder if it would be this easy. Just keep him trapped in his room all night, and nothing would happen to him. But if this was some Final Destination bullshit, Stiles was pretty toast. Death always found a way, after all. 

But what if it’s not, a quiet voice said at the back of his mind, his eyes going unfocussed as he stared at the screen, mind racing. 

What if Derek was telling the truth? What then? If it was about Stiles, would the loop stop if he made it to tomorrow? Or would it restart again on a new day if Stiles were to die once more? And who was out to murder him anyway? It couldn’t be Derek, because for one thing, he’d have done it already, and for another, it wouldn’t explain why he was in the loop. 

Stiles was positive this had to do with his weird brand of magic, but why was Derek involved? What had happened for the spell he’d unknowingly cast to latch onto Derek? He didn’t even know the guy! 

Well, literally today, since he’d met him not even an hour ago. But even so, if this was a repeat of the day for Derek, it meant they’d only just met that day. So why the hell would his magic choose Derek for the loop? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to choose Scott, or Lydia? 

Hell, the most sense would’ve been for it to be Stiles himself. Wasn’t that how it worked in the movies? Groundhog Day, Palm Springs, 12:01, Happy Death Day... 

The last movie gave him pause, and Stiles had a brief stab of fear at the thought that... maybe his resets were limited? The other three movies didn’t involve the protagonist dying, but Happy Death Day revolved around a girl being killed over and over again and having to solve her own murder. But every time she died, she got weaker and weaker. 

What if that happened to Stiles?

Or worse, what if it happened to Derek? 

What if the loop kept resetting, and every reset, Derek got weaker and weaker until eventually he just... died? Then what? Would the same day loop for all eternity, Stiles constantly being killed over and over again, without knowing it was happening on repeat? And what about Derek himself? If he died in the loop, whether from too many resets or not, how did that impact him? Stiles didn’t want to be the cause of someone else’s death, he had enough death on his conscience from all the Supernatural things that had attacked his pack over the years. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Stiles leapt a mile high at the hand that lightly touched his shoulder and whipped around. Derek looked crossed between confused and concerned. 

It was kind of a good look on him. 

“Didn’t realize your call ended. Everything okay?” 

“It’s fine, they’re dealing with our case.” 

“Uh, shouldn’t you be helping them?” 

“If I do that, who’ll watch you?” Derek asked dryly. 

Stiles made a big show of looking around his room, then gave Derek a pointed look. That just earned him a scowl and Derek crossing his arms over his chest. 

The guy had to be hot. He’d been wearing a suit jacket since he’d met up with Stiles and followed him back to the dorm. Sure, his room wasn’t sweltering hot or anything, but it wasn’t like it was exactly cool. 

And on top of that, Derek was a Werewolf. Stiles knew they always ran hot.

Probably why he also looked hot. Because damn, he would be lying if he didn’t admit he kept getting distracted by how hot Derek was. The guy was like a walking model. 

To be fair, most models walked, he didn’t know why that was an expression. Like, wasn’t walking basically what models did? Catwalks and all? Why was that an expression? Who’d thought of that expression? 

Had he made up that expression? Wait, now he didn’t know, was it an expression? 

Stiles turned back to his computer to Google it, Derek having returned to his pacing. Stiles didn’t know what he was hoping to achieve right now with all the pacing, or sticking around in the room with him, but he was going to get cranky if he didn’t get food eventually. 

But, as Derek had already said, Stiles had food, it just wasn’t the food he wanted. 

Maybe he could con Derek into ordering pizza. Then again, he’d had pizza last night. Well, a hot pocket, but it still technically counted. 

And Derek had more money than him, presumably. He had a job. Stiles was a university student who was barely managing to make it to class on time every day because things were constantly trying to kill his friends. 

Also him, apparently. If Derek was to be believed. 

Which—Stiles still wasn’t sure he did believe. What possible reason could anyone have to want to kill him? He was literally boring!

Like, okay yes, he had the whole magic thing, but people didn’t know that! He didn’t tell people about it! And it didn’t even work half the time! Or most of the time! Or at all! Literally, it never worked when he wanted it to. 

Unless it had, but again, no proof. No baseline, either. He had zero idea what was going on. 

When Google failed to answer his question, he gave up on it and went back to the website Derek had pulled up so he could finish reading up on what he needed to share with Liam. While the answers weren’t what Liam wanted to hear, at least he had some information on what next steps to take. 

Liam texted back numerous times asking questions Stiles had already answered so he eventually just sent the link along—people could do their own research once in a while!—and then texted Scott. He lived close enough he could make it to Liam relatively easily by car, and he was sure Liam would appreciate the backup. 

Once he was done, he tossed his phone down on his desk and slouched in his chair. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Derek was still pacing, hand rubbing at his stubbled face and eyebrows down in a frown. He looked worried. Stiles didn’t know why, they didn’t know each other. Why did Derek even care? 

Then again, maybe he just didn’t want to re-live the day over and over again. Maybe his day started horribly, like—he didn’t even know, Derek woke up to someone dumping a bucket of ice water on his head. Wasn’t there an episode of Stargate with a time loop where the loop started for someone by them getting hit in the face with a door? 

Stiles turned back to his computer to look it up, just because he was curious whether or not he was right. Turned out he was, and now he wondered if Derek’s day started off with someone hitting him in the face with a door.

Though he’d said that his alarm had gone off right after Stiles had died, so it was unlikely. 

Since the Bunyip problem was mostly covered, Derek was terrible company given the general silence, and Stiles was bored, he figured he’d keep watching the video he’d pulled up. He’d only been intending to check the one scene to see if he was right, but it was a twenty minute video of all the laugh-worthy moments in Stargate so he figured, why not? 

Reaching blindly towards his dresser on the left, his hand closed around a bag of something or another and he pulled it over, eyes still on his screen while he dug a hand into what he’d grabbed. It wasn’t until he’d shoved a handful into his mouth that he realized it was popcorn. 

Stale popcorn. Well, at least it was cheddar flavoured, so he had that going for him. 

After losing much too many braincells on YouTube, going down a random rabbit hole that had started at Stargate and somehow ended on a commentary channel talking about the economic crisis in Malaysia, he finally managed to rein in his ADHD and turned fully to face Derek, the guy still pacing. Man, he must be trying to reach some kind of step quota for the day. 

“So are we gonna like, look into anything at all, or just... wait it out?” 

“Wait it out,” Derek said, turning his back on Stiles to continue walking. 

Seriously, he had to have a quota. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, stretching the word out and twisting the chair he was sitting in from side to side. He watched Derek do another full back and forth while shoving more popcorn into his mouth before speaking. “And what happens if I don’t make it to midnight?” 

“Why wouldn’t you make it to midnight?” Derek demanded, rounding on him. 

Oh good, the pacing had stopped. 

“I don’t know, what if I like, choke on popcorn or something?” 

Derek was in front of him so fast, Stiles blinked and the guy had practically teleported. He slapped the bag out of his hand so violently it actually hurt, and popcorn littered the ground beside his bed, some of it landing on his actual bed. 

Stiles gave him a look, hands still out like he was holding the bag in them. 

“What the fuck, dude?” Stiles demanded. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

“So you don’t choke and die.” 

“What, you don’t know the Heimlich?!” Stiles threw his hands in the air, but Derek was unrepentant and, surprise, went back to his pacing. 

At least he didn’t step on any of the popcorn. 

Grumbling to himself, despite knowing Derek could hear him, he got up from his chair and began picking up all the popcorn, grabbing the mostly empty bag to put the littered pieces back into it. It didn’t take him long, but he hoped he hadn’t missed any. Waking up with popcorn in his ass crack would suck. 

He contemplated throwing the bag out now that he’d cleaned up, but paused for a long moment while staring at it, then shrugged and closed it up before tossing it back onto his dresser. 

His floor was clean. Mostly. It wasn’t a big deal. 

“You are a very grouchy old man.”

“I’m not old,” Derek said, sounding annoyed. 

“Noticed you didn’t correct me on the grouchy part.” 

That earned him a look and Stiles beamed at him. Derek rolled his eyes, turning his back on Stiles as he continued to pace. Stiles just watched him, mostly admiring the way his pants made his ass look really nice. He probably shouldn’t be objectifying someone he’d just met who was apparently trying to save his life, but it was hard being a good person sometimes. 

“Did you really look for me this morning?” 

“What?” Derek asked, confused. 

“You said you’d scoured hospitals within a ten mile radius this morning. Did you actually do that?” 

Derek seemed confused about why he was asking. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?” 

Stiles shrugged. “We’d just met. I guess I figured you wouldn’t have cared enough.”

“Why wouldn’t I have cared?” Derek stopped his pacing, facing Stiles now. “Stiles, I was holding your dying body in my arms. I wasn’t going to just shrug and go about my day when I woke up from what I thought was me passing out on you.” 

“You didn’t think to call morgues?” 

“I was going to eventually, but I was hoping you’d be okay first. I didn’t get around to the morgues.” He went back to pacing. “It took me a long time with the hospitals, too. Your name is kind of hard to pronounce, I just ended up asking for an M. Stilinski.” 

“I’m named after my grandfather. He was Polish.” 

Derek just grunted, turning at the door to walk back across the room. “How do you pronounce it?” 

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Your name,” Derek said, giving him another look. Jesus, he was cranky. “How do you pronounce it?” 

“Why does that matter?” That felt kind of personal to Stiles. He didn’t really give out his real name to people, and Derek only knew it because he’d obviously snooped. Sure the professors had it because he was enrolled under his legal name, but none of them called him that. 

He always told them the first day to call him Stiles, and he wrote ‘Stiles’ in brackets on every single exam paper he was given, especially when they were essays, just so the professors would know it was him. He was sure some of them would’ve figured it out on their own, given Stilinski, but he didn’t want to risk it. 

Professors absolutely had favourites, and seeing as Stiles was known by most of them as Stiles, he wanted that extra boost to his grade. 

“It might come in handy,” Derek said easily in response to his question. “My mother says that names hold power, so maybe having that might be helpful in the future.” 

Stiles had never heard of names holding power, but he didn’t comment on that. He wasn’t really comfortable talking to Derek about his name considering the circumstances, but before he could really make up his mind, or even have Derek start pushing, the agent’s phone rang. 

“Hale,” he said. Stiles assumed it was his last name, he felt like he’d heard it a few times today.

Derek Hale.

It was a good name. Had a nice ring to it. Better than Stiles’ name, but well, at least he was keeping some part of his mother alive. 

He also found it somewhat funny he and Derek were just talking about his name when Stiles figured out what Derek’s was. 

“What?!” 

Stiles turned back to Derek, and saw a mix of anger and concern on his face. The guy was really good with emoting for someone who looked so stoic most of the time. 

“Shit. Thanks Isaac.” 

Derek hung up and turned to Stiles. He pointing his finger at him with the same hand that was clenched around his phone. “You stay here. Right here. Do not leave this room. Don’t go to the bathroom, don’t run out for a bite, don’t go visit a neighbour. Stay. Here. I’ll be right back.” 

Stiles offered him a salute before Derek turned his back on him and opened his dorm room door. He heard him muttering about invasion of privacy as he stepped out and shut the door behind him. 

It sounded like someone—probably Rafe—had tracked Derek’s location. Maybe the guy who’d called was giving him a heads up. That was nice. Stiles could only assume everyone hated Rafe, which made sense, because the guy absolutely sucked. 

Turning back to his computer, Stiles had lost track of what the video he’d been watching was about, but he stuck it out anyway. He’d only made it another eight minutes before there was an insistent knock at the door. 

“Coming,” he called, getting to his feet. 

The knocking got more urgent. 

“Christ, I am coming! Dude, I’m right fucking here,” he insisted as he pulled the door open. “What did you th—”

The words stuck in his throat when he felt pressure in his stomach and looked down. 

So that right there was a knife. And not even like, a steak knife, an honest to God blade out of some Assassin’s Creed kind of game. Intricate, ornate, almost decorative in nature, except not decorative, because clearly it was sharp enough to cut through layers of skin and muscle and wow, that was so much blood, was that normal? Probably, Stiles hadn’t ever been stabbed before, and considering the knife had been pulled out, that made sense. 

Scott’s mother, and Stiles’ own father, had always told him if something entered his body in a way it was not supposed to, it should not be pulled out. That would make it worse. And they were right, because there’d been blood before, but now there was more blood since the knife had slid back out of his abdomen. 

He was too busy staring down at the stain on his shirt to notice more than the shadow of a person leaving, the door to the stairwell opening, and then closing very slowly. 

Stiles needed to do something. What that was, he had no clue, but something. Should he call for help? No, he probably wouldn’t manage it. Could he move?

Maybe he should try and stop the bloodflow. That was an idea. 

The second he moved his arms to reach up towards his middle, he lost his balance and stumbled sideways into the doorframe, slowly sliding down it to the floor, both hands clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach. 

Oh man, that was a lot of blood. The knife must’ve gone somewhere really bad for it to be bleeding this much. Stiles knew that there were parts of the torso where someone could be stabbed and there would be literally no damage. 

Well, no, obviously there’d be damage, but like, only to the skin and muscle. Nothing would hit the organs, which was usually the bad place to get hit. 

But also this felt like more blood than was normal. Had there been something on the blade maybe? Some kind of... he had no idea, his brain wasn’t working properly. But maybe a chemical? Like, would coating a blade in blood thinners and then stabbing someone make them bleed out faster? He should Google that later. 

“Are you fucking incapable of listening to the simplest of orders?!” Derek’s voice demanded angrily from down the corridor. “What part of stay in your room was uncl—”

Oh good, he’d noticed Stiles wasn’t just chilling on the floor for fun. 

Pounding footsteps raced down the corridor so fast, Stiles was positive Derek had partially wolfed out. And he was right, because when the agent bent down in front of him, his eyes were red and Stiles could see fangs beginning to drop. 

“Stiles! Shit!” 

Oh God, that hurt. Yeah, he didn’t like that. He’d have slapped Derek’s hands away from his injury if he wasn’t crushing Stiles’ own hands against it, clearly attempting to add more pressure. 

“Hey!” Derek shouted, turning his head slightly so his voice carried. “Hey! FBI! Get out here now!” 

Stiles didn’t know why Derek thought that was actually going to work in a university dorm, but apparently at least one person was scared enough to open their door, because Stiles saw Derek’s head whip in the opposite direction a half second later. 

“Call an ambulance!” 

“Wha—”

“Call an ambulance now!” 

Okay, Derek needed to tone down the Werewolf side of himself because he was being pretty obvious right now and the last thing they wanted was Hunters on top of everything else. 

Stiles felt lighter. Was that normal? That probably wasn’t normal. Did dying make people feel lighter? That seemed like a weird side-effect. He felt like he was about to just... float away. Maybe that was his soul leaving his body or something.

“Stiles. Stiles, look at me. Look at me!” 

Stiles’ gaze shifted to Derek’s face. His vision was super blurry, and the edges were going all dark. He was definitely losing too much blood way too quickly for this to be normal. 

“Stiles, I’m gonna figure this out,” Derek said urgently, looking half-panicked. “I’m gonna—I will figure it out! I promise! I promise! You’re gonna be okay! You’re not gonna die, I won’t let it happen again, I promise!” 

Oh. He was scared. 

Derek wasn’t sure the day would repeat. That made sense, they didn’t know how it had happened the first time, so it made sense he’d be afraid of this being the end for Stiles this time. 

Imagine a loop of just one day? How lame. Would make for a boring movie. 

“Stiles, I promise I’m gonna figure this out!” 

“Ambulance is on the way,” a voice Stiles didn’t recognize said. “Oh my—is that blood?!” 

“Stiles! I’ve got you. I’ve got you! I won’t let this happen again, I’ll be back, and I’ll stop it. I’ll stop it!” 

Stiles could see Derek’s lips moving, could see the panic on his face, but his vision was dimming further and he was pretty sure sound had gotten sucked out of the room because Derek’s voice was getting fainter and fainter. 

He was so tired. He didn’t want to be here anymore. 

Stiles let his head slowly lower, and his hands loosen, and stared unseeingly down at his bloodied shirt as he floated away. 

TBC...

Chapter Text

Stiles was used to waking up unexpectedly. It came with years of doing research all night and being startled awake by his father with his ass in the air and half his body off the bed. 

He was also used to his alarm clock, because that thing went off all the time, and after two years of school away from home, it was kind of an expected wake up call. 

Unpleasant every single time, but expected. 

What wasn’t expected after two years of his alarm clock was Stiles’ head jerking up off his drool-damp pillow to the sound of someone banging loudly on a door. 

“What the actual fuck?” he whined miserably, burying his face in his pillow and—sadly—awake enough to wince at all the drool he now had across his skin. 

Gross. 

The pounding continued, getting louder somehow. It was so persistent, Stiles wanted whoever the fuck the pounding was for to get the fuck up and answer their God damn door so the rest of the floor could sleep! 

He had to have like, an hour left, at least! 

Groaning loudly, he reached blindly for his phone until his hand closed around it, and then dragged it closer before turning his face so he could look at the time. 

It was six forty-one in the fucking morning, why was someone making such a racket?! 

If the person whose door was being pounded on didn’t get up in the next ten seconds, Stiles was going to get arrested for murder. 

Tossing his phone back onto his night stand, he started to roll over when he paused, his neighbour banging loudly on the wall and doing that weird sleep-shout thing people did when they were still half-asleep and thus too tired to put actual bite into their threats of bodily harm. 

That was when Stiles realized the door being pounded on was his. 

Who the fuck was pounding on his door at twenty-to-seven? Stiles had literally gotten like, two hours of sleep, those extra twenty-three minutes were precious. 

When the pounding continued on his door, and against his wall, he let out an angry growl and threw his blankets off himself. 

“All right. All right,” he shouted, directing this mostly to the wall because seriously, fuck his neighbour! “God fucking dammit.” Stiles stumbled to his door and wrenched it open. “What?” 

“So, that clearly didn’t work,” a man he had never seen before in his life informed him, muscling his way into Stiles’ room and shutting the door behind himself. Stiles was still too close to unconsciousness to understand what the fuck was going on, and he turned to watch the guy stride across Stiles’ room to bring his computer out of sleep mode. 

“Wha—Hello?” Stiles demanded, completely confused. “Excuse me?” 

The guy turned to look at him, seeming to pause slightly at the sight of him. Maybe he’d gotten the wrong room? That would definitely explain a lot. 

But nope. Because all the guy did was straighten, turn to grab a random shirt off Stiles’ desk chair, and then tossed it to him. It hit Stiles in the chest before falling to the ground, his hands coming up a second later, as if to catch it. 

He was still half-asleep, why was this random dude breaking into his room to throw clothing at him? 

“Get some clothes on, we’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

“What the fuck is going on?” Stiles demanded, rubbing at his face with one hand and trying to wake himself up more. “It is like, six-forty in the morning. What are you doing here, why are you in my room, do you have any idea how early it is, and most importantly, who the fuck are you?”

“Saving your life, keeping you safe, yes, and my name is Derek Hale.” He turned to look over his shoulder, still bent down over Stiles’ laptop, as if he could do anything with the password lock on it. “Any more stupid questions?” 

Stiles stared at him for an exceptionally long time. “I’m sorry, which question was stupid? You are a random dude,” Stiles said, motioning him emphatically, “who broke into my room.”

“You opened your door.” 

“You were pounding on it!” 

“We’re going to need to condition you not to open doors without checking who’s there, because that is absolutely how you just died.”

It was too early for this shit. Stiles needed coffee. “I’m sorry, what?” 

The guy had turned away from Stiles again, but he lifted his face skyward as if asking for the patience to deal with Stiles’ stupidity before turning to face him again, one hand on the mouse and the other on Stiles’ desk. 

“You got killed because you threw open your door, pay attention. We don’t have a lot of time, I want to try and get ahead of the whole thing this time.” 

“Is Punk’d still a thing? Like, is Ashton Kutcher gonna jump out of my closet or something?” Stiles strode forward a few steps. “You need to start making sense befo—what the fuck?!” 

Stiles raced forward and slammed the lid down on his laptop, effectively cutting off whatever this Derek Hale guy was doing. That earned him an irritated look that Stiles returned ten-fold. 

“How the hell do you know my password?!” 

“I saw you type it out yesterday.” Derek frowned. “Today. Later? Whatever.” He used one arm to sweep Stiles back, making him lose his balance and fall onto his bed. Then the jerk just re-opened the laptop and typed his password in again before going back to what he was doing, standing hunched over Stiles’ desk as he worked. 

“Did you seriously break into my room to use my laptop?” Okay, but for real, what the fuck was going on right now?

“I only have my phone with me, and this stuff is easier to look into with a computer,” Derek said. He paused for a second, Stiles arching an eyebrow, but he realized it was because the dude’s phone was ringing since he pulled it from his pocket and put it to his ear. “Hey, what did you find?” 

Stiles heard the buzzing voice on the other end, but nothing else. The voice was too quiet for him to actually decipher what was being said. 

“You’re sure? Nothing?” Derek demanded, sounding annoyed. “You looked at everything?” 

More buzzing, and then Derek turned to scowl at Stiles. He just flail-shrugged at him in response because, what was he glaring at him for? Stiles hadn’t done anything! 

“Fine. Thanks Isaac,” he muttered, then hung up his phone.

He didn’t put it away though, instead hitting a few buttons before putting it back to his ear. Stiles could hear it ringing for a few seconds before the call was answered. 

“It’s me. He said he didn’t find anything. Are you sure you’ve never heard of anything like this before?” A brief pause, then Derek let out an aggrieved sigh, bringing his free hand up to rub at his face. “No, mom, I’m not overworked.”

Why was crazy breaking-and-entering dude calling his mother? 

Derek eventually let his hand drop, turning to glance at Stiles. He only responded in the affirmative or the negative after that until he finally thanked his mother and hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He kept his eyes on Stiles for a few more seconds, then turned back to the computer, hunching slightly to start typing again. 

Stiles jumped and Derek tensed when, two minutes later, Stiles’ phone began to blare his alarm. He almost kept it going to piss off his new roommate, but Derek looked like the kind of guy who’d throw it out the window before long, so Stiles just reached out to shut it off. 

Derek went back to typing. 

It was while Stiles sat on his bed watching him that he realized—what the fuck was he actually doing? Why was he allowing this? What the hell was wrong with him?! 

“Okay!” he said loudly, getting to his feet and clapping his hands together. “This has been fun and all, but uh, time for you to go.” 

Derek didn’t even look away from the screen. 

“I mean it. Get out. You are not welcome here. And I have class.” 

“You’re not going to class,” Derek informed him and Stiles bristled. 

“Uh, yes I fucking am, do you know how hard I worked to get into university on a scholarship? I have not missed a single class since I started, and I’m not about to start now!” 

“Rafael McCall is gonna be in your criminology class.” 

That gave Stiles pause, and he stared at Derek, horrendously confused. “How do you know that?” 

“He’s my boss.” 

Stiles felt like one of those anime characters who just fell flat on the ground in shock, but he most definitely hadn’t moved, jaw dropping. 

Wait, so did that mean this random dude who’d broken into his room was a—

“You’re FBI?!” 

“And a Werewolf, and you can look up Marin Morrell’s website yourself on your phone to tell your one friend how to defeat a Bunyip.” 

Okay, what was going on?! 

Stiles moved forward and slammed the laptop lid closed once more, probably harder than he should have considering he could accidentally damage it. He almost caught Derek’s fingers this time, but that just earned him an annoyed scowl. 

“What are you doing?” Derek demanded. 

“What am I doing?!” Stiles repeated incredulously, motioning himself before throwing both hands out towards Derek. “What are you doing?! I need a fucking explanation for what’s going on right now! You walk in here like you own the place, you’re talking to me like we know each other and I’m an idiot for being all confused, you’re sprouting off shit you definitely shouldn’t know about, so explain what the hell is going on or so help me, I will annoy you so badly that if anyone kills me today, it’ll be you!” He finished his tirade by poking Derek, hard, in the chest. 

It made his finger ache.

Definitely a Werewolf. 

Derek glared at him, as if Stiles was being the unreasonable one in all this when he’d been nothing but patient. And Stiles wasn’t a patient person so he wanted to know what the fuck was going on, or he was going to do something crazy. 

Like pull the fire alarm. 

Wow, was that the craziest thing he could think of? Clearly he hadn’t had enough life-threatening events since moving out of Beacon Hills if that was the first thing his brain came up with. 

It seemed to take Derek a while to make up his mind, but eventually, he deflated slightly and raked one hand through his hair before heading for the door. Stiles was about to lose his mind, thinking he was leaving, but instead Derek just bent down to grab the shirt Stiles’ sleep-addled brain hadn’t managed to catch, and turned to toss it at him. 

This time, Stiles caught it. 

“Put some clothes on,” he muttered again. “I’ll go get us some coffee.” He started to reach for the door, then turned to Stiles again. “Don’t leave the room.” 

“You’re coming back to explain, right?” Stiles demanded, tugging the shirt on over his head. 

“Yes.” He checked the peephole before opening the door, and paused on his way out. “Check the peephole before you open the door. If it’s not me, keep it locked.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said, stretching the word out slightly. 

Derek left, shutting the door behind him. 

Stiles stared at his closed door for a few seconds before rubbing at his face with both hands and turning to fall into his clothes-covered desk chair. 

“I’m getting way too old for this shit.” 

The sad thing was, he was only twenty-one.

Stiles ended up re-opening his laptop so he could look up that Marin Morrell person Derek had mentioned, but ended up getting distracted by trying to figure out what Derek had been looking at. 

It mostly looked like he’d been Googling movies, and Stiles couldn’t for the life of him understand why. 

One of them was Happy Death Day, which Stiles had seen, and very much enjoyed. Time loop movies were the best, they were always so entertaining to watch because the protagonist usually got more and more unhinged the longer the loop went on. Eventually they just did crazy shit because they knew the day would reset.

Stiles had no idea why Derek had broken into his room to pull up articles about movies, but the guy was clearly weird. Maybe he was having a nervous breakdown from working with Rafe.

If he even worked with Rafe. 

Damn, Stiles really would’ve had a shitty day if it was true that Rafe was one of the FBI agents that was meant to be in his criminology class. He’d so been looking forward to that lesson too, it had the potential to be so interesting. 

But, if it was being headed by Agent McDoucheface, then not so much. 

Figured he’d leave Beacon Hills and yet still somehow end up with one of the shittiest things about his life following him all the way out here. And it didn’t even have the decency to be Supernatural! How rude.

And kind of boring. Rafe was so vanilla compared to the other shit Stiles dealt with in his life. 

He jumped a mile high when there was a loud, imperious knock at his door. He jumped to his feet, moving to it quickly, and pulled the door open. 

The glower that met him made him pause in what he was about to say.

“I told you to check the peephole before opening the door,” Derek snapped, moving past Stiles into the room and shutting it behind himself, forcing Stiles back a few steps. 

“I forgot.” 

“Don’t forget again,” Derek said heatedly. “That’s how you died last time.” 

Stiles really hoped Derek started explaining things soon, because he was pretty sure he’d have remembered dying. As it stood, he was still very much alive. 

And soon to be caffeinated, which was amazing. 

Derek set the tray of coffees he’d brought down on Stiles’ desk, and then held a pastry bag out to him. He took it with a nod of thanks and peeked into it, perking up instantly. 

Double chocolate muffin. Score. 

“Hey, thanks! This is the best flavour,” he said, reaching into the bag and tearing a piece off the muffin’s top before shoving it into his mouth. 

“I know,” Derek said, and turned to hand Stiles one of the two coffees. He took that as well, and paused when he noticed the side of the takeaway cup. 

It was the usual order he placed at the small coffee shop that was between the dorms and his classes. It wasn’t a complicated order or anything, but it wasn’t like it was something this guy he’d literally never met should’ve known. 

“How do you know my coffee order?” he asked slowly, feeling a chill race up his spine. Holy shit, was he being stalked or something? What was happening?! 

“Sit down,” Derek said, motioning Stiles’ bed with the same hand he was holding his own coffee in. 

Derek turned to look at Stiles’ clothes-covered chair, frowned slightly, then just turned and sat down on it anyway. Most of the clothing was on the back of the chair so it didn’t really hinder anyone’s ability to sit down. 

Stiles moved to the bed obediently with his drink and muffin. Climbing back onto it, he sat down cross-legged facing Derek and took a sip of his coffee before putting the cup down on the night stand so he had both hands free for the muffin. 

“You gonna start explaining things now?” 

“I’m in a time loop.” 

Stiles stared at him, one hand half-buried in the brown paper bag, ready to tear off another piece of muffin. 

“Excuse me?” 

Derek gave him a look, clearly annoyed that Stiles was making him repeat himself. “I’m in a time loop.” 

Nope, he hadn’t misheard him. 

“You are clearly watching too many movies,” Stiles argued, motioning the computer. 

“Then how do I know your order?” Derek demanded, leaning back in the chair and giving him an unimpressed look. “How do I know your password? That you have a friend across the country dealing with a Bunyip? That you know who Rafael McCall is?” 

Stiles motioned him with his free hand, the other still buried in the muffin’s bag, which was now resting in his lap. “You’re an FBI agent and a Werewolf! You can absolutely know all these things very easily!” 

Derek sighed so hard his whole body sagged from it. “I don’t care whether or not you believe me, Stiles. I promised you the last time you died I was going to figure this out and save you, so even if you spend the whole day avoiding me or trying to escape from me, I am going to actively follow you around to make sure you make it to midnight this time.” 

Wow, either he was an amazing actor Rafe had hired to completely fuck with him, or Derek was actually telling the truth and stuck in a time loop. 

“You realize this is absolutely crazy, right? Why would you assume saying that would have me believe you without a second’s hesitation?” 

“Because I’m sure when evidence was staring you in the face about Werewolves, you didn’t even hesitate to consider it was real.” 

Stiles stared at him at those words because he—wasn’t wrong. When Scott had been bitten, even though Stiles hadn’t known at the time that the weird behaviour was associated with him being bitten, he’d analysed everything that was going on, and despite the absurdity of everything his brain had come up with, he knew Scott was a newly turned Werewolf. 

And to be fair to Derek, he had shown up at his door and immediately berated Stiles for opening it so easily since that was ‘how he’d been killed last time.’ And he was looking up all those movies, like he was trying to figure out some kind of... what, pattern maybe? 

Stiles still didn’t know if he actually believed him, but well, he didn’t have any reason not to believe him, either. Derek had seemed concerned for him when he’d left to get their coffees, and angry when Stiles had just opened his door without checking who was there. 

Sighing loudly, Stiles finally pulled his hand out of his muffin bag and put the bag down on the night stand. “Okay, I need a second to digest this, and like way more coffee.” He paused. “And I also need to pee so I am going to go do that and hopefully know how to respond to you by the time I get back.” 

He got to his feet, and almost fell back onto the bed when Derek stood from the chair as well. His room was not massive, two grown ass adults—even if Stiles still acted like a child—in a small space like this made for hard manoeuvring.  

“Uh, can I help you?” Stiles asked as Derek set his coffee down. “I’m literally coming back in like, two seconds.” 

“The last time I let you out of my sight, you got killed,” Derek said, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. “I’m not making that mistake again.” 

“You literally just left to get us coffee,” Stiles countered. “I can walk down the corridor and back safely, I am sure.” 

“I knew you wouldn’t run off because I’d promised you answers, and you seem like the kind of person who wants to be in the know.” 

Stiles scowled at him. “Did you seriously just say ‘be in the know’? Who even says that anymore?”

“Don’t get defensive because you need to use the bathroom, just go.” Derek motioned for him to head out of the room. 

“I don’t want you following me to the bathroom, dude, that’s fucking weird.”

“I’m not following you into the stall,” Derek said dryly. 

“Still.” 

“Are you gonna go piss or not?” 

They had a short glaring contest before Stiles conceded defeat. He’d been awake for half an hour, at least, and he was going to pee his pants before long. People usually used the bathroom first thing, and Stiles’ bladder was not happy. 

“Fine,” he said, irritated. He turned to grab his keys and then went to open his door when Derek moved quickly around him, giving him a look. 

This was going to get really annoying really fast. 

“You need to check if the coast is clear?” Stiles asked dryly. “You gonna make sure no assassins are waiting for me in the bathroom stalls with a garrote?” 

That earned him a scowl. “Why aren’t you taking this more seriously?” he demanded, clearly annoyed at Stiles’ lack of survival instincts. 

When Stiles flailed, he was so close to Derek he almost hit him in the face. “Because, dude!” 

It looked like Derek was going to snap at him to stop calling him ‘dude,’ but Stiles bulled on before he could manage it. 

“I do not know what is happening! I don’t understand!” Stiles motioned himself emphatically. “Like, you broke into my room, started acting like I should know what was going on, then told me I was going to die at some point today and that you’re stuck in a time loop! It’s a lot to unpack, how am I supposed to react to this kind of news?!” 

“I’m doing the best I can here,” Derek snapped. 

“Well no offense, but your delivery could use some fucking work!” Stiles reached past him and wrenched open the door before Derek could stop him.

Surprise! No one was lurking outside his door to murder him! 

“If you really are in a time loop, at least you have another chance to explain this better.” 

Stiles shoved past him, Derek following quickly. He was at least polite enough to shut Stiles’ door, so that was something. 

“You realize if I have another chance to explain, it means you died, right?” Derek demanded, following him down the corridor. They walked past someone’s open door, and Stiles saw the person inside turn towards them, obviously confused by Derek’s statement. 

For a Werewolf, he wasn’t being subtle. 

Though maybe that was another indicator that he was telling the truth. What did he have to worry about if the day was going to reset? Then again, wasn’t the point for it not to reset? 

“We should still figure out how to make you a better speaker,” Stiles muttered, turning into the communal bathroom. Thankfully, Derek did not come in to inspect the stalls, and at least stayed out in the corridor. 

He was so incredibly out of place here, considering the suit he was wearing and the fact that he was like, old. 

Okay, not old, probably only a few years older than Stiles was, but still. Old. 

Stiles acknowledged he was being a dick about Derek in his head because he was still kind of feeling out of sorts about all this, but he tried to see it from Derek’s perspective. If he was telling the truth, Stiles could imagine that would be kind of traumatizing. 

Sure, Bill Murray’s character in Groundhog Day actually did some good by the end of his loop, so the movie was seen mostly as a comedy or a feel-good movie, but a lot of the other time loop movies were a lot sadder.

Stiles couldn’t imagine how it must feel to Derek, to have looped through this day multiple times, watching Stiles die multiple times. If he was telling the truth, at any rate. 

He wondered how many loops he’d done. How long had Derek been trying to save him? And why did he even need saving? Derek’s reactions made it clear Stiles was murdered, and his death was not an accident, but Stiles couldn’t for the life of him figure out who’d want to kill him. 

Of those still alive, anyway. 

And, more importantly, why. What was there to gain by killing Stiles? He was a nobody from nowhere. It didn’t make any sense. 

“Did you fall in?” 

Stiles jumped, having lost track of time as he thought, and he quickly finished up before Derek got all weird and tried to check on him over the top of the stall. No thank you. 

Flushing and exiting the stall, Stiles saw that one of his dormmates was hovering awkwardly by the door, not coming in, like he was scared of Derek standing guard. Rolling his eyes, Stiles hastened to wash his hands, and then dried them on his sweats before exiting the bathroom. The second he walked past Derek to head for his room, the agent followed him. 

His own personal bodyguard. Or pet? Derek probably wouldn’t appreciate that comparison, which probably explained why Stiles decided that pet was exactly what he was. 

This day was going to be so long, he could feel it now. Sighing and raking one hand through his hair, he side-stepped a woman who was coming their way from the other end of the corridor. He found it annoying she didn’t bother trying to move too, but knew some people were just entitled. 

Unlocking his door, he shoved his keys back into the pocket of his sweats, leaving it open for Derek to follow him back into the room. It was shut as soon as Derek cleared it, and he locked it for good measure. 

Well, double-locked it, since the doors automatically locked when the room was left, but there was an additional deadbolt included for extra security. Stiles usually locked that when he went to bed at night, mostly so that he’d wake up if someone tried to break in and steal his shit, not so much for security. 

He supposed living with a sheriff for a father his whole life had kind of made him a bit complacent. Nobody would ever break into the sheriff’s house, so Stiles had never had to worry growing up. But he was very far from home, and apparently someone was trying to kill him, so... 

Falling back onto his bed, Stiles reached over for the coffee and drained half of it in one go. It was tepid, at best, but still delicious. He set the cup back down, then grabbed for his muffin, Derek making his way back to the desk chair and sitting once more. 

Stiles watched him for a moment as he chewed the piece of muffin in his mouth. Derek didn’t look at him at all, grabbing his coffee to take a sip, and then turning Stiles’ computer slightly so he could go back to his sad attempt at research. 

Was this what it was like not to be Stiles? No wonder the rest of the pack was so helpless. 

“So say I believe you,” Stiles finally said, making Derek pause in his typing to look over at him. “About this whole...” he motioned Derek vaguely, “time loop thing. And that someone is trying to kill me. Say I believe you. What now?” 

“We figure out how to keep you safe,” Derek said, looking back at the screen. Stiles almost wanted to ask him to open Netflix to see if any of the movies he was obsessing over were there. Maybe he could just watch them. What was he hoping to gain from them anyway? It wasn’t like they all had the same outcome when it came to breaking the loop. 

Also, if Stiles was going to die, he’d prefer they break the loop after he survived the night. 

“Okay,” Stiles said in answer to Derek’s comment. “Good plan, ten out of ten, let’s do that. So uh, who’s trying to kill me?” 

“No idea,” Derek said, eyes moving along the screen. Stiles figured he was reading something. 

“Okay.” Stiles stretched the word out, licking chocolate off his thumb and balling the pastry bag up before tossing it towards his trash can. It bounced off the edge and fell out. Annoying. “Well, why are they trying to kill me, then?” 

“No idea,” the agent repeated, frowning, like he wasn’t happy with what he was reading. 

“Right.” Stiles tried not to be annoyed by the response. “So how do we stop them from killing me?” 

“No idea.” 

Stiles stared at Derek for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes and fell back onto his bed. “I’m doomed.” 

“You could help me, you know.”

“Help you do what?” Stiles demanded, tilting his head slightly so he could see Derek. “You’re looking up articles about time loop movies which, by the way, is a stupid thing to be doing.” 

“Oh really?” Derek straightened in the chair slightly, turning it to face Stiles on the bed and crossing his arms, scowl on his face. “Well then, if you’re so practised at this whole time loop thing, what is your expert opinion of how we break the loop?” 

“Didn’t you say I just had to survive to midnight?” Stiles asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“I’m just guessing that.” He didn’t seem happy to be admitting that, but Stiles felt it was more the uncertainty of the task ahead rather than the loop. 

Like, what if he saved Stiles, and then midnight hit and the loop restarted anyway? Would Derek just have to keep saving Stiles over and over again while researching how to break the loop? And what would happen if Derek figured it out on a day where Stiles died, and the day didn’t reset because he’d figured it out? 

Man, time loops were hard. They made no sense. 

“Well, even if my survival doesn’t reset the loop, I don’t know what you’re hoping to gain with all that.” Stiles motioned his computer vaguely with one hand before settling more comfortably once more and staring at his ceiling. “They didn’t all break the loop the same way. Some of them waited things out or needed an event to happen, some of them were scientific calculations, pretty sure one of them involved the protagonist having to just let the bad thing happen.” 

Stiles paused at this, then slowly sat back up, crossing his legs once more and gripping his ankles with both hands. 

“What if you’re not meant to save me?” he asked quietly. “What if I’m meant to die?”

“If that were true, the day wouldn’t have reset again.” 

Right. Of course. What had he been thinking? 

“How many times have you relived today?” 

“This is the third.” 

“Oh, so the loop is new,” Stiles said, surprised. He’d been under the assumption Derek had gone through this day over and over again. Having it only be the third day, which equated to the second loop, wasn’t bad. Could be worse, at any rate. 

That reminded him he needed to help Derek figure out the best way to deliver this news for next time. If there was a next time. Stiles supposed if he stayed trapped in his room all day, it’d make it hard for someone to kill him. 

“How did it happen, anyway?” 

Derek, who’d turned back to the screen while Stiles’ mind had been wandering, slowly turned back to face him, eyebrows rising. “You want me to tell you how you died?” 

What? 

“What?” he echoed aloud, then realized what he’d said and waved one hand. “Oh, no. No, that’s not—I meant the loop. Like, how did you get stuck in the loop? What did you do?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Derek insisted, sounding offended, like he thought Stiles was blaming him for all of this. He wasn’t, he was just asking a question! 

“Well, what happened leading up to the loop?” 

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Derek said, turning to face him fully once more and crossing his arms. 

Again. 

Stiles almost blurted out that people who crossed their arms a lot were seen as an easy target because it meant they were often defensive about everything. He managed to refrain, but only just. 

“The only unexpected part of my day was going to meet you in the stacks and finding you bleeding out on the floor.” 

Wow, that wasn’t traumatizing at all. 

“Why were we in the stacks?” 

“You were researching the Bunyip,” Derek explained. “I showed you what books were legit that first day, and then had to go, but said I’d come back around later in the day. When I got there, you were already dying.” 

“Hm.” Stiles leaned back slightly, almost falling over since he wasn’t against the wall, and shifted to scoot backwards so he could lean back against the wall. “But you said I died here the second time, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Hm,” Stiles said again, thinking. 

If the day was looping over and over again, it meant everything was happening exactly as it should be. In another universe, where the loop didn’t happen, Stiles died in the library repeatedly, for all time. 

But there was a disruptive factor here now. Because while Stiles had died in the library that first day, clearly he was here in his room with Derek on the second day. It differed from the original flow of the day, so whoever the killer was would’ve had to be someone who was watching him. That would be the only way for them to have changed the venue from the library to the dorm. 

It made sense. It was kind of like time travel, except—not? Because it was a loop for Derek. That meant every single thing he did that differed from that first day pre-loop was causing a chain reaction down the line. 

The first day, Stiles and Derek went to the library, the killer presumably knew this, maybe overheard their conversation, and knew Stiles would be back alone in the library later. The second loop—he didn’t know. Maybe the killer had seen Stiles and Derek enter the dorm and had waited until the opportunity to kill Stiles had presented itself. 

“How did it happen the last time?” Stiles asked, not even having realized Derek was back to reading articles. 

Derek turned to arch an eyebrow at him. “Now are you asking me how you died?”

“No, no.” Stiles flapped one hand at him impatiently. “I mean, if this is the second loop, that means you knew about the murder.” It also occurred to him Derek had literally said something hadn’t worked when he’d opened his door that morning. “So if you knew about it, how did I end up getting killed anyway?” 

“I left the room,” Derek muttered, and while he looked more scowly than anything else, there was a hint of shame in his tone, as if he felt responsible for Stiles’ death. 

Stiles was pretty sure he was responsible for his own death, but it was cute Derek wanted to play the guilt game. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, his theory making a lot of sense now. After all, wasn’t that what had happened in Happy Death Day? The one girl kept dying over and over again because even though she was in the loop, the killer just reacted to how she was acting in the moment, because the people not in the loop would be reacting to the situation as it unfolded. It would be like the first day for them. 

Though, again, ridiculously unfair that Derek was the one in the loop. Stiles could’ve learned Latin! He’d been wanting to learn Latin for ages, imagine all the languages he could speak if he had an infinite loop of time! 

Not to mention the sleep. God, he would catch up on years worth of sleep in a time loop. He wouldn’t even care if he died at the end of each day, it just meant he could wake up again after the reset and go back to sleep. 

“Please stop thinking about how great being in a loop would be,” Derek said dryly, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts. 

“I wasn’t thinking that,” he lied. 

Derek just gave him a pointed look and Stiles sighed explosively, leaning back against the wall again. He figured it may be best to keep the conversation going, not only because Stiles would lose his mind if he obsessed over this too much, but also because brainstorming things would help Derek, not only keep Stiles alive until midnight, but also maybe get some brain juices flowing so Derek could figure out what the fuck he had to do. 

“Why did you leave?” Stiles asked. “Was it urgent?” 

“Kind of. Rafe had my phone traced because I’d been dodging my colleagues basically all day. He wanted to know where I was, and one of my friends who works in the Technology department at head office called to give me a heads up. I went down to the entrance to stop him from going any further, and by the time our conversation was done and I came back upstairs, you were already attacked.” 

“Why did he trace your phone?” Stiles asked, confused. “What did you tell them about why you went AWOL?” 

“I didn’t.” 

Stiles was amazed this man was an FBI agent. Could he not think on his feet? First he botched the whole time loop explanation with Stiles, and now he was admitting to having disappeared on Rafe and the rest of the team without a word? They probably thought he’d died! 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Stiles muttered, rubbing at his face with both hands before dragging them down his cheeks. “Are you serious? You ghosted them and thought, what, they wouldn’t think twice about it?” 

“I was a little distracted,” he said dryly. 

“Yeah, and not dealing with one problem led to another,” Stiles insisted, not wanting to call him out for getting him killed. 

To be fair, it sounded like Stiles had gotten himself killed. He’d have to remember not to throw his door open without checking who was there first, but realistically, that would only work for this loop. He’d be back to a blank slate if the day restarted. 

That would probably get annoying for Derek. 

“So what did you tell them today?” Stiles asked curiously. 

“Nothing,” Derek admitted, making Stiles want to bang his head repeatedly against a hard surface. “I told Isaac not to trace my phone if Rafe calls. He’s the only one working today with approval to do that, so he’ll come up with something to avoid having to do it.” 

“That seems like a lot of work,” Stiles said, hoping this Isaac guy was a good liar, because Derek clearly wasn’t. Still, he asked, “Why didn’t you just tell everyone you were sick?” 

Derek stared at him for an exceptionally long time, and Stiles realized it was because the thought had never occurred to him. It made sense, he was a Werewolf, and they never got sick, so the idea probably hadn’t ever occurred to him. 

“I’ll have to use that excuse next time.” 

“You mean, if I die again. Which I won’t. Because we’re working on keeping me alive.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed, as if realizing what he’d just said. “You are staying alive tonight.”

Stiles nodded his agreement, like the two of them were making a declaration and not hiding away in a dorm room like a bunch of cowards. 

To be fair, if being cowardly stopped him from dying, Stiles was pretty okay with that idea. 

“So what if this doesn’t work?” Stiles asked, lying on his back on his bed and playing a puzzle game on his phone. He’d have rather been looking into time travel or time loops, but Derek had commandeered his computer and the guy was grumpy when he was told to do basically anything. 

Sure, he could’ve used his phone, but Stiles had a method to his madness, and that method required a computer. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if you keep me alive until midnight, but the day resets anyway? Like, what if me dying isn’t the trigger?” 

He saw Derek turn to glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t take his own off the game in front of him. He wished he’d brought his console to school, but he’d specifically left it back home to avoid too many distractions. He was kind of regretting that now. 

“The day resets when you die, Stiles.” 

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Stiles insisted, scowling slightly as he thought. “But what if like, my death causes the reset, but that’s not why you’re looping to begin with?” 

Derek was quiet for a long moment. “You think your death isn’t why the loop is happening?” 

“I mean, I have no idea why the loop is happening. You said it’s about my death, but like I said, what if that’s just the reset button? What if there’s something else you’re missing because you’re trying to protect me?”

“Like what?” 

“You tell me, you’re the one repeating the day,” Stiles argued, sighing when he ran out of spaces and the game prompted him with a ‘no moves left’ screen. Basically a game over. Annoying. 

He let his phone drop onto his chest and turned his head to look at Derek, who was still staring back at him like he was expecting Stiles to have all the answers. 

“I’m obviously getting killed for a reason, right? So we just need to figure out what that reason is. Maybe you’re getting a do-over every time I die because you’re meant to find something out. Like, stop the person who’s trying to kill me from taking over the world, or something.”

Derek’s gaze shunted to the side in thought before he said, “Find out why they’re trying to kill you, as opposed to focussing on the fact that you are going to die.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “Not to say I want you to stop trying to save me because I am not looking to be dead before I graduate, but I’m sure there’s a reason whoever this is wants me dead, right?” Stiles shrugged. “So in theory, if we can find out what they want, and why they’re targeting me to begin with, then we kind of have a better chance of stopping them from killing me.”

“But that still makes your death the end goal,” Derek argued. 

“Not necessarily.” Stiles shrugged. “It really does depend on why I’m being killed. Like, do I find something out I shouldn’t have? Do I stumble upon some evil plan for world domination? Hell, is it Rafe coming after me to punish my dad for helping to get him kicked out?” Stiles shrugged again and got a look for that from Derek. 

Like he’d said earlier, he had no idea how he should be reacting right now, this whole situation was surreal, he was doing his best. 

“I think we need to find out the why of my death before we can figure anything else out. Until then, you’re probably not going to have much luck solving the mystery.” 

“Maybe, but I still think if we can protect you until midnight so we can move into tomorrow, we’d have a better chance. Having your memory wiped every time is already getting old, and I’m only two loops in.” 

“Yeah, it’s not ideal,” Stiles agreed with a frown, turning to stare up at his ceiling. He started trying to think of ways he could keep track of things to help make it easier for Derek, but then realized the day reset for him so that was impossible. Writing something down would just rewind and disappear. 

He got distracted from his thoughts watching a spider’s progress from one side of his room to the other, crawling along the ceiling towards its web. He hadn’t noticed it there before, but he didn’t worry about it. The spider wasn’t hurting him, it was just doing its own thing, no need for him to kill it or anything.

Besides, probably wouldn’t matter anyway if he got killed again. 

“I need to take a leak,” Derek said, making Stiles turn to look at him as the man stood. He stretched, cracking his spine loudly, and Stiles watched him head for the door before sitting up. 

“Wait up, I might as well go too. Saves us the constant trips together.” 

Derek motioned for him to get up, and then checked the peephole before opening the door, looking both ways. Stiles followed him out when he motioned for him to do so, and turned to shut his door. It wasn’t until it was firmly closed that he realized he’d forgotten to grab his key. 

“Shit,” he said, Derek turning to him. “My key.” 

Derek moved back over to the door and tried the handle. He cursed, turning to glare at Stiles, like he’d done it on purpose. Stiles just threw both hands in the air in defeat. 

“What?! I lock myself out all the time! Let’s just go take a leak, and head to the common’s block so I can grab the spare.”

Derek was not happy, but he just grabbed at Stiles’ arm to drag him down the corridor—ow, Derek! Werewolf strength!—and into the bathroom. 

There were two guys brushing their teeth at the sinks, but neither paid them any mind. Stiles wrenched his arm free, throwing Derek an annoyed look, then disappeared into one of the stalls. Derek did the same beside him, the two of them doing their business quickly. The two guys were still brushing their teeth by the time Stiles was done so he had to move to the sinks across from the showers to wash his hands. 

Derek almost had a heart attack when he opened the door and saw him gone, based on the look on his face when he finally turned his head and spotted him. The man hurried over to him, eyes raking over every inch of him and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Why doesn’t this stupid place have urinals?” Derek muttered, washing his hands beside Stiles. When he was done, he grabbed some paper towels to dry them off, unlike Stiles who just used his pants. 

“Who knows?” Stiles shrugged, motioning for Derek to follow so they could head to the common’s block. He didn’t know why he motioned for him to follow since Derek practically pushed him out of the way to exit first. 

Stiles tried not to be annoyed about it and almost succeeded. 

“I heard a few different explanations. One was that it was cheaper to just install the stalls rather than both urinals and stalls. Someone else said it was because of the design for all the floors, and having both would mean expanding the bathroom. Someone else said this used to be a communal bathroom so it made more sense to have stalls. I couldn’t tell you.” He shrugged expansively, walking down the stairs behind Derek so they could head out of the building. 

He didn’t have the heart to tell the guy that being in front did not mean no one would come up behind Stiles to shank him.

“So what do you think would happen if it was you?” Stiles asked, following Derek through the front door and out onto the path that would lead to the common’s block. He was only wearing socks, since he hadn’t put on shoes for the trek down the corridor, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. The pavement was cold, seeping through the material, but it wasn’t a long walk so he tried not to worry about it. 

“If I was the one killing you?” Derek asked, looking both shocked and offended Stiles would ask that. 

“What? No.” Stiles flapped his hand at him. “If it was you who died instead of me. Like, if you jumped in front of a bullet to save my life, and ended up dying yourself, then what? Would the day reset so long as I died anyway, or if I lived would it just... continue on?” 

“Why are you asking me that as if you think I know the answer?” Derek asked, sounding irritated. “I’m as in the dark about this whole thing as you are.” 

Stiles just sighed, because clearly being out in the open was making Derek cranky again. He let the topic drop, but still thought about it as they walked. It wasn’t a long way to the common’s block, but they had to pass the entirety of his dorm building to reach it. 

It was while they were just past the halfway point that someone shouted Derek’s name, and he turned his head.

“Shit.” 

Stiles followed his line of sight and felt his entire body tense for a fight. 

Rafael McCall was stalking across the green from the other side of the little collection of dorms, looking livid. 

The two of them had no choice but to stop, Derek shifting slightly to put himself between Rafe and Stiles. That made Stiles arch an eyebrow at his back, wondering what Derek thought was going to happen. 

Then again, Rafe had hit him before. More than once, even. Stiles wondered if Derek had seen Rafe hit him in one of the previous loops. 

“Sir,” Derek said politely. 

“Where the fuck have you been all day?” Rafe demanded angrily, having joined them on the path. His eyes skirted to Stiles briefly, then away, and then right back over. “What are you doing here?”

“Studying,” Stiles said, offering him a mocking smile. “You here for a university education too?” 

Rafe bristled and Derek shifted a bit further to block them both from sight of each other. 

“I had a situation,” Derek said vaguely. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it.” 

“Can’t talk about it? I’m your supervisor, Hale!” Rafe shouted. “What are you doing wandering around with this moron at this hour? And what about helping Romero and Kincaid with the case, huh? We didn’t come down here for you to fuck as many university students as your dick can handle!” 

“Yikes,” Stiles hissed under his breath. Derek turned to scowl at him out of the corner of his eye. Stiles just shrugged, because much as Derek might not like it, it wasn’t like Rafe’s words were necessarily wrong. If not for the whole time loop thing, it was entirely possible Derek was just getting his dick wet this whole time. The guy was hot, and he was only a few years older than Stiles was. 

He wouldn’t mind a hard fuck, if he was honest, and he was sure a majority of the student body would agree with him. 

Stiles lost track of the conversation for a second by thinking about Derek screwing half his dorm, and finding it wasn’t as much of a stretch as it seemed. 

“We’re going,” Rafe suddenly said, snapping Stiles back to the present. 

“I can’t,” Derek informed him. 

“Why the hell not?!” 

“I’m following a lead.”

“A lead?! How is this a lead? You’re fucking an idiot!” 

“Hey!” Stiles shifted to poke his head around Derek’s protective body. “I got in on a scholarship!” 

“Stiles,” Derek snapped, clearly wanting him to stay out of it. Stiles just motioned past him at Rafe, annoyed. 

Derek seemed to recognize he wouldn’t be getting rid of Rafe easily, and his hackles seemed to rise the more time they spent out in the open. It looked like Derek was warring with himself, trying to figure out what to do, because the longer they stood there, the riskier things were. 

Eventually, Stiles saw him looking between Rafe, and the door to the common’s block. It wasn’t that far, so Derek interrupted Rafe to say they should take the conversation inside. 

“No,” Rafe said angrily, like the mature adult he was. “We’re having this conversation here and now! And without eavesdroppers.” 

“I was here first,” Stiles informed him. “Also, you’re loud. Pretty sure all these dorms can hear you.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, turning to give him an annoyed look. Stiles just shrugged and crossed his arms. 

They all went silent for a moment, Rafe practically trying to set Stiles on fire with his eyes, and Derek struggling to figure out how to salvage this whole situation. Eventually, it looked like he did a full body sag and he turned to Stiles. 

“Go to the common’s block. Stay in sight. Stay where other people can see you.” 

Stiles gave him a mock salute and started for the common’s block. Rafe glared as he walked by and Stiles barely resisted flipping him off, but only because he didn’t want Derek to spontaneously combust or something. 

He walked quickly, making it to the brightly lit doors in under thirty seconds. When he was through them, he turned to look out and saw Derek’s eyes locked on him, but his lips were moving, so he was obviously talking to Rafe. 

Stiles wanted to head to the front desk to get his spare key, but Derek might wolf out and barrel down the walkway if he was out of sight, so he just stood there awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking around. 

He frowned when he noticed how empty the common’s block was right then. The gym was empty, he knew for sure the cafeteria was closed, nobody would be checking mail this late, and even the small student-run convenience store was shut down for the night. The only person around was the woman behind the front counter. She looked to be on her phone. 

Leaning back slightly to catch a glimpse of the clock above the mailboxes, he saw it was just past ten, which explained why the convenience store was closed. In the grand scheme of things, not a bad outcome, it meant he only had two more hours to stay alive before Derek found out if the day reset regardless or not. 

Stiles hoped it didn’t. Much as he was okay with Derek in general, the guy was kind of a lot. He ramped everything up to one-hundred and ten percent, and while Stiles could understand it—the guy was in a time loop, anyone would be hyper-focussed—it was also a bit exhausting even looking at him. 

He did it anyway though, turning back to look out the glass doors and seeing Rafe and Derek arguing. He knew they were arguing because Rafe was making huge hand gestures. What a dick. Stiles idly wondered if he was drunk. Or tipsy, even. The guy couldn’t go a full day without a drink, of that, Stiles was certain. 

Standing there watching them for a few seconds, he turned his head towards the front, still contemplating getting his key, when he paused. 

The lady who’d been there was gone. 

Normally Stiles wouldn’t care, or even noticed. Maybe she’d gone into the back room, or maybe she’d headed out to use the washroom, or like, he didn’t know, ducked under the desk so she could avoid working. 

Considering someone was out to get him though—allegedly—he felt more inclined to question the disappearance. 

Making sure to stay in full sight of the doors, Stiles walked backwards, craning his neck to try and see where the woman had gone. There didn’t seem to be a back room, and the bathroom in this area was past Stiles over by the gym. While it was possible she’d ducked to pick something up, or do something, he doubted she should’ve stayed ducked this long. 

Glancing at the door and seeing Derek wasn’t even looking at him, he looked back over at the front desk before walking over to it quickly, not wanting to incur Derek’s wrath if he happened to turn his head now and notice Stiles gone. 

“Hello?” he asked, approaching the desk. He’d only made it a few steps closer when the smell hit him. 

It was coppery, and familiar. 

Closing the distance quickly, he looked over the counter and saw the woman who’d been manning the front was slumped forward in her chair, blood staining the entire desk she was sitting in front of. 

Stiles’ breath froze in his lungs and he whipped around. 

“De—!” 

The rest of the name didn’t come out. Instead, a gurgling sound escaped him, and he had no idea why until the wetness. He reached up with one hand, clutching at his throat, and felt it slick with blood. 

How—had that happened so quickly? He’d barely turned, and someone had sliced right through his throat. What could they even have used to slice into it so deep and fast? Sure, a knife could do this kind of damage, but at this speed? What, did the person have a cleaver? 

Stiles’ knees hit the ground at the same instant the double-doors exploded into shards of glass, Derek half-wolfed out as his eyes scanned the area before racing to Stiles. 

“Stiles!” His hand came up to cover Stiles’ own over the wound in his throat. “Shit! Shit!” 

“What is going on in he—” Rafe cut off, but if he said anything else, Stiles didn’t hear him. 

His mind was racing, wondering if Derek was telling the truth, or if he was just a really bad psychic. What if... this was it? What if the day didn’t actually reset? What if he just died here? 

The thought made panic fill him, and he clutched at Derek’s suit jacket with his free hand, struggling to speak even as only gurgling sounds escaped him. There was blood in his mouth, and he couldn’t breathe and this was bad, it was so bad.

He was actually going to fucking die! 

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek promised, one hand still pressed hard to his throat and the other buried in his hair, pulling him closer into his chest and holding him tightly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let it end like this, I’m going to figure it out. Please just let the day reset again. I can do this, I can save you. You’re gonna be okay, you will. You will!” 

Stiles could barely hear Rafe speaking into his phone. Was he actually calling for help? How out of character for him. 

Well, if nothing else, Derek knew Rafe wasn’t the murderer. That had to be something, right? 

Stiles felt sluggish, his eyelids flagging as his vision began to dim. Derek was still speaking to him, probably promising he’d be fine, and maybe he would be.

Another version of him, anyway. This version? Not so much. 

His muscles began to relax and the grip he had around the wound in his neck loosened. Derek’s was still firm, and he was still speaking to him, but Stiles didn’t hear him anymore. 

He didn’t hear anything anymore. 

TBC...

Chapter Text

When his alarm went off at exactly four minutes past seven in the morning, the sound that escaped him could not be classified as human. He didn’t know what historians would classify the sound as, but if they heard it, they would never assume it came out of a human’s mouth. 

He could feel wetness on his face from where he’d drooled into his pillow while he slept, and reached out blindly with one hand to slap at his night stand, trying to locate the source of the noise so he could shut it off. The aggressive nature of his smacking had him, not only hurt his hand, but somehow catapult his phone off the small table into the depths of his room.

Or like, right beside the night stand, since it was plugged in and thus couldn’t go far. 

Peeling open his eyes, he let the sound that had previously escaped him start up again, the low groan of dismay filling the empty room as his eyes slowly focussed on the chair across from the bed. It was covered in clothes, since he was using it as a makeshift wardrobe, only because he was lazy and when he finished doing laundry, he just threw everything onto his chair. He always did homework in the library anyway, wasn’t like he needed his desk, really. 

His alarm continued to blare as he stared at the chair, as if doing so for long enough would magically have time reverse so he could get a few extra hours of sleep, but alas, no dice. He had class at eight, and if he didn’t want to be late, he had to get his lazy ass up right now. 

But he was so comfy. It was so freaking comfy. The bed may not have been the softest he’d ever slept in, but compared to the mattress he’d had last year, this was a definite upgrade. University beds were not designed to be comfortable, but he’d lucked out this year, and by God, he was going to appreciate it. 

No roommate, reasonably comfy mattress, and a dorm room in the dorm closest to the common’s block where the cafeteria and student-run convenience store were. Really, he was living the dream.

Aside from the whole alarm blaring thing. His neighbour would start banging on the wall soon if he didn’t shut it off, the guy was a cranky prick. He hoped he ran out of toilet paper the next time he took a shit.

Was he petty? Absolutely. The pettiest of them all. 

He was still lying there contemplating his pettiness when, as predicted, banging sounded loudly from—his door. 

Okay, not so much banging, but someone who was knocking rather loudly to be let in. 

Stiles lifted his head again, arching his back and squinting blearily towards his bedroom door. Who the hell was knocking at this hour? 

Before he could think on it too much, the banging from his neighbour started up, and he turned to glare towards the wall. 

Seriously, his neighbour was such a dick. 

“I’m up,” he called grumpily, rolling over and almost falling off the bed. He managed to get one foot over the side to catch himself and then sat up properly, rubbing at his face with both hands in an attempt to wake up more. 

The knocking, which had paused briefly, started up again insistently. 

Dragging his hands down his face while letting out a loud sound of annoyance mixed with dismay, Stiles bent down to snatch his phone up and turned the alarm off. 

Tossing it back onto the night stand, he got to his feet, stumbling slightly over literally nothing, but managing to keep his footing. He walked to the door, still trying to rub sleep from his left eye, and pulled it open. 

He was greeted by someone pushing a pastry bag into his hand and moving past him into his room. 

“I have learned that you are less cranky when I let your alarm ring, but it is a big time loss every time I do. And I keep forgetting to ask you to tell me what the best way to deliver this news is, so I’m gonna have to wing it like I did the last six times, but maybe tell me how to break this news to you this time around so it’s less frustrating next time.” 

Stiles stood in his empty doorway for a few seconds, holding the bag that had been shoved into his free hand, the other still closed around the knob. It took entirely too long for the words to register, but when they did, he turned to look at the guy who’d walked into his room, having set a tray with two drinks down on the desk, and another pastry bag. He was now proceeding to remove all of Stiles’ laundry from the chair, tossing it onto the end of the bed. 

“What?” Stiles asked, confused. 

“Coffee first,” the guy said, motioning the drink with a jerk of his chin as he continued to move laundry over. “Talk after. I need you coherent, and that always seems to take at least two sips of coffee.” 

Okay, not that Stiles was necessarily complaining about having a hot guy in a suit enter his room unexpectedly while brandishing coffee and some kind of breakfast—a quick peek into the bag showed it was a muffin, score!—but he had class soon and no idea what was going on.

“Look man, I don’t know what’s going on, but I—”

“Please just sit, drink your coffee, eat your muffin, and I’ll explain.” The man motioned Stiles’ bed—the part not covered in clothes, at any rate—and then took a seat himself in the now clean desk chair. Stiles arched an eyebrow at him, but sighed and obediently shut his door to do as he asked. 

He still had some time before class, and he was getting a free meal out of it, so he just reached into the bag to rip off a piece of muffin, shoved it into his mouth, and then walked the few short steps to his bed so he could take a seat. Once he was settled, and handed the coffee that was evidently his, he took a few swallows of it to appease his mystery man, then raised his eyebrows in a clear, “I’m waiting,” sort of way. 

The man didn’t beat around the bush, at least. The most he did to procrastinate was take a sip of his own coffee, lick his lips while setting it back down, and then turned to Stiles, clasping his hands together and putting them between his parted knees. 

“My name is Derek Hale. I work for the FBI, with Rafael McCall.” 

Stiles felt his head jerk slightly in surprise at that fact, but before he could say anything, this Derek dude continued. 

“I am also a Werewolf, and I know you know about the Supernatural, because we’ve met before, you and I. Multiple times. I am stuck in a time loop, this one being the seventh, and every day, you die, and the loop restarts. I’ve been trying to figure out how to keep you safe, but haven’t really managed it so far.” 

Stiles stared at him for a long while. 

“What?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. 

“I know it sounds absolutely crazy, but—”

“You are one-hundred percent right,” Stiles informed him. “That sounds absolutely out of this world bonkers.”

“I know,” Derek said. “But it’s true.” 

“Oh, it’s true,” Stiles said with a snort. “Some dude shows up with a muffin and a coffee and tells me we’re stuck in a time loop, sure. Okay. Then tell me this, Mr. Time Loop man, tell me the lottery numbers for the day.” 

Derek blinked at him. “What?” 

“Tell me the lottery numbers. Or the weather across the country. Or something obscure that is going to happen on campus today.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, pastry bag still held in one of them. “If you’re reliving the day over and over, then clearly things are going to play out the same way, right? So prove it.”

“I didn’t exactly have time to watch TV,” Derek said, sounding offended. “I was too busy trying to save your life!” 

“Well if you’re telling the truth, which you’re not and need to be committed, then you’re obviously doing a shitty job of it!” 

“Listen to me!” Derek insisted, eyes beginning to go red around the edges.

Oh great, an Alpha. Just what Stiles needed. At least he hadn’t lied about the Werewolf part. 

“You are going to die today unless we do something about it!”

“For all I know, you’re the one who kills me!” 

“What?!” Derek demanded, sounding both horrendously confused and extremely pissed off all at once. It was kind of impressive, honestly. “Why the hell would I want to kill you?!” 

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

“Stiles, I’m not trying to kill you!” 

Before Stiles could say anything else, there was a loud bang behind him and he jumped a mile high, looking over his shoulder so he could scowl at the wall his neighbour was banging on. He could hear his muffled voice shouting for him to keep it down. 

“You keep it down, someone is apparently trying to kill me!” 

“Good!” his neighbour’s voice said clearly through the wall. “Then maybe I’ll get some fucking sleep!” 

“You know what?” Stiles demanded, banging once on the wall. “I do hope I die, so you can feel really shitty about what you just said!” 

“Stiles!” 

He turned back to Derek, who looked crossed between horrified and angry. 

“Are you still here?” 

“This is not a joke,” Derek snapped. “You are legitimately going to die today unless we find a way to stop it from happening.” 

“Look man,” Stiles said with a sigh, moving back across the bed and giving Derek a pitying look. “I don’t know what your deal is, whether you’re a packless Alpha who’s trying to capitalize on the fact that I know about the Supernatural to pull me into your pack so you feel less alone, but I’m good.” Derek was back to looking offended and angry. “I’ve got my own pack. I’ve got my own Alpha. I don’t need to be involved in whatever is going on with you.” 

“Are you joking?” Derek asked. “I’m asking you this question seriously. Are you joking?”

Stiles pressed his hands together, and pointed his fingers towards Derek. “Thanks for the coffee, and the muffin. Now get out of my room.” 

“Stiles, we need to stick together so I can figure out how to save your life!” 

“And again, I think you need to be committed.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer. “Werewolves can go crazy too, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

“What is happening right now?” Derek demanded, seeming to be speaking mostly to himself. “This has never happened before. You’ve never not believed me.” 

“Sure dude.” Stiles motioned the door with both hands. “Please get out. I will scream, and then my neighbour will come in and kill me, and maybe you. I think he’s here on a sports scholarship, so he’s probably big enough to try and take you. And I know you’re a Werewolf and all, but you have to keep up appearances so the Hunters don’t come knocking on your door, because nobody wants that. So...” He motioned his door once again with both hands. 

Derek looked completely lost, like he had no idea what to do. Which, really, should’ve been simple. All he had to do was get his very nice ass out of Stiles’ chair, and head for the door to exit his room.

It was a shame, really. The guy was hot, but looks weren’t everything. Stiles wasn’t interested in whatever this weirdo was selling.

Time loops? Murder? Really? Who’d want to murder Stiles? He was like, the least interesting person in the pack. Mostly human, magic that never worked, and no muscles that had appeared overnight. Derek could go find new members of his pack somewhere else. 

Though it clearly wasn’t what Derek wanted to do, the man finally stood, still looking a bit lost, and headed for the door with his coffee and pastry bag held in one hand. He opened the door, paused, and then turned to Stiles. 

“I’m gonna save you whether you want me to or not.”

“You can tell me a big fat ‘I told you so’ if I end up with a knife in my chest,” Stiles promised, offering him a mocking smile, and then waving. 

Derek exited the room and shut the door. 

The fake smile fell off Stiles’ face. Holy crap, what a fucking morning. 

Leaning over to check the time on his phone, he cursed before leaping out of bed to get dressed. He’d chew some gum on the way to class to get rid of his morning breath and use the bathroom outside his English composition class. At least the weirdo had gotten him breakfast. 

He’d have hesitated actually consuming it, but since he’d already downed half the coffee and one bite of his muffin, it was kind of a lost cause if it was roofied or something so he wasn’t going to let good coffee or good food go to waste. 

When he exited his dorm room, the crazy Alpha was nowhere in sight, so Stiles just hurried to the stairwell door leading to the back exit with his messenger bag, coffee in one hand, and went down the stairs. As soon as he left the dorm, he spotted Derek a little ways down, closer to the road. He was on the phone, one hand in his hair as he paced back and forth, obviously having a heated conversation with someone. 

As long as he didn’t see Stiles leaving. Hopefully he didn’t have his schedule or anything. Stiles took another sip of coffee while watching the guy, then turned to hurry towards his first class. He needed to get there in enough time to take a leak or it was going to be a really uncomfortable fifty minutes for him. 

English composition was the most useless course he would ever take in his four years at university, but he had required credits and sadly, this was one of them so he had no choice. He was looking forward to his criminology class next a lot more, and it wasn’t until he sat down that he realized the FBI was meant to come in for it. 

He figured that was why that Derek guy had said he was FBI, because they were on campus and it meant he would have more credibility. Well, Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to take him at his word! And he would definitely be advising the agents in his class that some crazy guy was running around campus pretending to impersonate the FBI. 

Stiles hadn’t honestly considered it until much later, but that Werewolf could’ve done some serious damage. He probably shouldn’t have just thrown his door open like he had, there was a peephole for a reason. It would likely be a good idea for him to start using it. 

He was checking the time on his phone for what felt like the millionth time to see when class would be over when there was a knock at the door. The professor paused in their lecture, everyone turning to it, and when it opened, an official-looking elderly woman walked into the room. 

“Apologies for the interruption. I’m here for...” She looked down at the tablet she was holding, and then went quiet. For a long time. Someone beside Stiles coughed. Someone else cleared their throat. Eventually, she seemed to give up and looked at the professor once more, saying, “I’m looking for an M. Stilinski.” 

What?

“Uh, present,” Stiles said, confused. 

She turned to him immediately and motioned him up. “If you’ll come with me please.” 

Stiles’ first, horrible thought was that something had happened to his dad. He was in the hospital, or worse. The only reason he didn’t flat-out panic was because the cops at the precinct knew better than to let some stranger drop a bomb on him like this. Parrish alone wouldn’t flown out there himself to tell Stiles in person and bring him home. There was no way this was about his dad, it couldn’t be. 

Still, the fear was real, and he hurried to pack his things before exiting the classroom, following behind the woman. 

“Is everything okay? Is it my dad?” he asked urgently, keeping pace with her as she led him to the stairs. 

“To my knowledge, this does not involve a family emergency.” 

Letting out a slow breath, Stiles massaged the spot above his heart for a few seconds in relief, continuing along after her. He was led out of the building and towards one of the main structures that a lot of the professors had offices in. Walking through the lobby, he looked around, since he’d never had to visit a professor for office hours before. The elevator was old, and kind of concerning, but he said nothing as he rode up. When they reached the fourth floor, she walked him down the corridor towards an area labelled ‘Administration,’ which just had him frowning. 

Until he walked through the door and saw who was waiting for him. 

Stiles slammed on the brakes instantly as Derek Hale stood by the far wall, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he blurted out, looking at the woman who’d led him there. “This guy is absolutely nuts! He broke into my room this morning!” 

She looked confused by his words. “He’s with the FBI.” 

“He is not with the FBI!” Stiles argued. 

“You might want to do some fact-checking before mouthing off at people,” Derek informed him loudly, Stiles turning to him. He held up an FBI badge, but Stiles didn’t buy it. He’d seen the show Supernatural, he knew how easy it was to get a fake badge! 

“You need help,” Stiles spat, walking backwards towards the door. “Please get some.” 

“If you’d rather have this conversation with Rafael McCall, I’m more than happy to fetch him.” 

That had Stiles pausing again, staring at Derek. “Rafe? What does he have to do with this?” And how do you know him? Stiles added silently. 

“He’s my boss,” Derek informed him, putting his credentials away. “I am well aware of your relationship with him, so if you’d rather discuss this with him, be my guest. I’m happy to get him for you.” 

Wait, so... this was real? Like, this guy wasn’t pretending to be an agent? 

Honestly, that felt worse. 

What if this was some weird revenge plot Rafe had concocted to punish his dad for his role in getting the man kicked out of his home eight years ago? 

Derek turned to the woman who’d brought Stiles there and he offered her a winning smile. Stiles didn’t like it. It made him feel uncomfortable, because he knew a smile like that from a face like Derek’s would get him anything he wanted. 

“Do you have an office we can use?” 

“There’s a board room right over there,” the woman said, almost sighing as she did so. Derek was like, her grandson, Stiles didn’t need to be seeing this.

“Thank you.” Derek headed for Stiles, then motioned towards the boardroom. “Walk.” 

“Fuck you,” Stiles hissed, but he obeyed anyway, turning to head for the room that had been motioned. It was halfway down the floor, a straight shot from the large area they’d been in. He had to pass the stairwell door and a few other closed doors to get to it, but he reached it quickly enough and opened the door himself. 

Stiles walked into the room, Derek following him. Stiles went around the table so that he could put space between them, and turned to glare at Derek as he shut the door. “Are you fucking serious dude? Why can’t you leave me alone? Are you doing this for Rafe, is that what’s going on? I’m not putting a good word in for him with Scott, I don’t care what he threatens me with.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Stiles, I’m not here because of Rafe!” Derek insisted, seeming completely done with this conversation. “I told you, someone is trying to kill you!” 

“Well I hate to break it to you, but from where I’m standing, it looks like it’s you!” 

“Why the fuck would I be trying to kill you?!” Derek demanded. “I’m trying to help you!” 

“You broke into my room! Had me pulled from class! You’re probably following me right now! You’re a fucking psychopathic stalker, is what you are!” 

“I’m an FBI agent!” 

“Yeah!” Stiles exclaimed. “Which means it is infinitely easier for you to stalk me! What, you think being an agent means you’re automatically not a total freak? People in positions of power can be bad people too. In fact, they tend to be bad people, from my experience!” 

Stiles was trying to make a point, but acknowledged that his comment wasn’t necessarily true. None of the guys his dad worked with, or his dad, were bad people. 

Well, maybe Haigh. 

“This is the most frustrating loop I’ve been in so far,” Derek insisted, mostly to himself, pressing one closed fist against his forehead, eyes closed. “Stiles. I have no idea what I said this morning that is making you think I am crazy, or this isn’t real, or that I am trying to hurt you, but please, please! I need you to listen to me so I can keep you safe.” 

“And I told you that I don’t need your help.” 

Derek’s eyes were still closed, but he let out a low, animalistic growl, clearly trying to hold back his temper. Eventually, he let his hand drop and his face relaxed. Stiles understood why a second later when there was a knock at the door. 

It took a second for Derek to get his composure back, but he managed a winning smile before he opened the door. The same woman from before was standing there, and Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if she was just looking for an excuse to come and talk to Derek again. 

“So sorry to bother you, Agent Hale.”

“Please. Call me Derek.” 

“Oh.” She gave a little giggle and Stiles rolled his eyes. God, this guy probably got whatever he wanted from his looks alone, so fucking stupid. “Okay. Derek.” 

“Give me a break,” Stiles muttered. Derek tilted his head, obviously having heard him, but said nothing and didn’t look at him. 

“I was wondering if you and uh...” The woman trailed off, and Stiles almost laughed. He’d forgotten she hadn’t been able to say his name. None of his professors called him by it anyway. He always told them to call him Stiles, and always wrote ‘Mieczyslaw (Stiles) Stilinski’ on all his exam papers so they would recognize it was him. 

“His name is not important,” Derek said. 

Stiles gave him an offended look that was lost on Derek, since he had his back to him.

“Oh,” the woman said. She seemed a bit taken aback, but bulled on anyway. “I was wondering if you and your, uh, charge would like some water. Or something to eat?” 

“No, thank you.”

“Wha—” Stiles was cut off by the sharp look Derek threw over his shoulder at him. He looked back at the woman, told her they were fine, and then waited for her to shut the door. When he turned to Stiles, he threw his arms up. “What the hell, man? I could absolutely use some food!”

“You have snacks in your bag.” 

How the hell did he know that? 

“I don’t have water in this bag.” 

“Your water intake is atrocious, if you actually needed water, I’d know something was wrong with you.” 

Stiles stared at him, bewildered. “Who are you?”

“The man who’s trying to keep you alive,” Derek insisted, moving closer to him. Stiles backed up quickly until he hit the wall. He expected Derek to crowd him, but surprisingly, he didn’t. He kept a respectable distance, and then did that whole sigh, fist to his forehead, eyes closed thing again, obviously still trying to figure out how to salvage this.

Stiles didn’t know that it could be salvaged. 

“I need to use the bathroom.”

Derek inhaled deeply, and then opened his eyes, letting his hand fall. He turned to look at Stiles, debated whether or not he believed him—it wasn’t a lie, he did kind of need to use the bathroom, so Stiles knew he hadn’t let off any signals—and then turned to the door again. 

“Bathroom,” he agreed. “And then I need you to listen to me.” 

Stiles held both hands up in surrender, even though they both knew he would absolutely bolt the first chance he got. 

Derek opened the door and motioned him out, the two of them exiting the small board room and heading down the corridor to the bathroom. 

Coincidentally, it was also right where the elevator was, and that was when the doors opened and Stiles saw a very annoyed Rafael McCall exit the lift. His eyes were locked on Derek, and Stiles tried to shift behind the Werewolf in an attempt to stay out of sight. He didn’t want Rafe noticing him. 

“Hale! What the fuck is going on? I just got a call from the office saying you had a student removed from class? What happened to being sick?!” 

“Sir, I can explain—”

“Damn right you’re going to explain, right fucking now!” 

Oh, this was perfect. Stiles slowed slightly so he wasn’t right behind Derek anymore, listening to him start to try and talk himself out of this situation. He just slowed more and more before he began easing backwards.

The stairwell door was just past the area leading into administration, so if he could just reach it, he could get away from this huge mess and just find somewhere to hide for the rest of the day until Derek left. 

He’d be leaving eventually, right? 

When Stiles turned his head and saw the door to his left, he glanced back at Derek and Rafe, who were still arguing, and then quickly moved to the door and pushed it open. He was sure Derek had heard, being a Werewolf and all, but he was hoping Rafe would stop him before he had a chance to chase after him. 

Stiles booked it down the stairs, almost tripping at one point and falling down them, but he managed to grab hold of the rail and find his footing again. He headed down as fast as he could without killing himself and then slammed through the door at the bottom. He bolted across the lobby, almost taking a woman out who’d been entering the building. 

He called back an apology as he slammed through the doors and then ran as fast as he could towards the dorms. 

It occurred to him that Derek would be able to track him by scent alone, but he was hoping the area was too open or too packed with people for him to get a good sniff. 

Stiles just wanted to make sure he lost him, because he honestly did not know what to think of the guy. He was just—so weird! And he scowled a lot. Like, a lot. Who scowled like that so much? His face was going to get stuck like that.

Or already was stuck like that.

Rounding a corner, Stiles made it around the library, swinging his arms when he almost ran into a lamp post but managing to avoid it. He did collide with a bunch of guys who’d been hanging around talking though, and Stiles quickly patted at their arms and backs as he apologized, trying to get his scent on them in hopes it would confuse Derek. 

Then he was running towards the dorms once more, intent on spending the rest of the day hiding. 

Where he was going to hide, he had no idea, but he’d find somewhere!

Eventually. 

Hopefully. 

Stiles was so fucking hungry, he was pretty sure his stomach was eating all his surrounding organs. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day save for the muffin Derek had bought him, and that had long ago been consumed. The snacks in his bag, while a good pick-me-up between classes, did not fill his stomach enough to keep the hunger at bay. 

All he wanted to do was go to the cafeteria before it closed, but he’d seen Derek lurking around trying to find him, so he wasn’t interested in moving from his spot. 

And his spot was a good one. 

The stairs in the dorm led all the way up to a door that was marked ‘roof access, authorized personnel only,’ and had a heavy duty lock on it. Stiles figured it was a safety thing, which absolutely made sense. However, he’d grown up with a sheriff for a dad, and Stiles had learned how to pick locks when he was still a child. He was kind of out of practice at it, so it had taken an embarrassingly long time to get the lock open, but he’d managed it eventually. 

He’d been sitting on the roof for almost eight hours by now, the sun having set over an hour ago, and the dorms alive with life around him. He was trying to make sure he kept a low profile so people wouldn’t freak out and think he was a jumper, and he was going to have to be sure he locked up properly when he went back inside, but spending the day on the roof had been... kind of nice. 

Sure, he’d been forced to take a leak in a corner, which he felt bad about and hoped didn’t leak down into the room below where he’d done it, and he was starving, but it had still been really peaceful. 

His mind had been going over everything that had happened so far that day, and while most of it had centred around Derek and how absolutely insane his claims were, another quieter part of his brain wouldn’t stop whispering, “What if?” 

After all, he lived in a world with Werewolves, which had seemed impossible when he was younger. But now he knew they were real. Them, and Banshees, and Kanimas, and all sorts of other things that went bump in the night. Stiles himself was magic. He’d saved his friends, his family, using said magic. 

Scott would’ve been dead twice without him, even if he had no idea how he’d saved him either time. The second time, he hadn’t even known Scott was in danger until it was too late, until the fire had consumed everything, and yet still his magic had activated to protect him. 

Was everything Derek had said crazy? Yes. But how was it any more crazy than anything else in his life?

Stiles scooted his butt across the ground so he was a bit closer to the edge, looking down at the people milling about below. He could see Derek, the man easy to spot from anywhere. He was the only person wearing a suit, and he kept walking around the area, head tilted upwards, like he could smell Stiles but not locate him. 

It made sense, the wind was strong today. His scent was probably blowing all over the place. 

Maybe... they should talk. Maybe it was unfair to do this when there was the possibility Derek was telling the truth. 

Then again, if even Derek couldn’t find him, maybe Stiles would be safe from whoever was trying to kill him. Still, having backup never hurt, right? 

Staring down at the Werewolf for a few long seconds, Stiles sighed and then made a decision. He couldn’t shout, because people would see him and lose their shit at finding him on the roof, but he couldn’t exactly whisper either or Derek wouldn’t hear him. Werewolf hearing wasn’t that good, especially around the dorms where people were screaming, laughing, watching TV, playing video games, the works. 

Letting out a deep sigh, Stiles raked a hand through his hair, inched a bit closer to the ledge, and raised his voice enough that it would be considered loud, but not shouting. 

“Derek.” 

It was like he’d been struck by lightning, Derek whipping around urgently and looking at the throng of students, trying to find him. 

“Call me,” he said, and Derek was reaching for his pocket, pulling his phone out. Stiles recited his number, and seconds later, he saw Derek put his phone to his ear. It took an additional fifteen before Stiles’ actually began to ring. 

He answered it and put it to his ear. The second he did, he heard a loud bang. He didn’t see anyone doing anything they shouldn’t be down below that would have caused the loud noise, but even if they were, none of his business. 

“Where are you?” Derek asked, sounding stressed. 

“Look up.”

“What?” Derek obeyed, beginning to look up at all the buildings, turning in a slow circle. He stopped when he finally faced Stiles’ dorm, evidently able to see him well enough despite Stiles trying to stay hidden. He was a Werewolf, after all. They had impeccable eyesight. 

“I’m not saying I believe you or anything,” Stiles informed him. “But I figure... maybe it would be better to stick together.” 

“Have you been up there all day?” Derek asked, beginning to walk towards the building. 

“Yeah. I just thought it’d be the last place anyone would look for me.” 

“So you and your friend were just being irresponsible?” Derek sounded annoyed now.

Stiles frowned. “What friend?” 

He didn’t have to see Derek’s face to know it had just fallen. Stiles twisted to look behind himself just as Derek shouted his name in his ear. 

At exactly the same moment someone kicked Stiles in the chest and he fell over the side of the building. 

He had enough time to think this really wasn’t his preferred way to go before he hit the ground. 

TBC...

Chapter Text

When his alarm went off at exactly four minutes past seven in the morning, the sound that escaped him could not be classified as human. He didn’t know what historians would classify the sound as, but if they heard it, they would never assume it came out of a human’s mouth. 

He could feel wetness on his face from where he’d drooled into his pillow while he slept, and he’d just raised one arm to reach out blindly to slap for his phone when the alarm turned off on its own. Frowning to himself, still mostly asleep, Stiles cracked open his eyes, wondering if he’d forgotten to charge his phone and it had just died at exactly the right moment. 

His blurry vision caught sight of movement and his eyes snapped open, his back bowing as he pushed himself upright. 

A man was sitting in his desk chair, leaning back from having just turned off his alarm clock, eyes on Stiles as he crossed his arms. 

“I figured I’d save you the pounding from your neighbour.” 

Stiles scrambled back against the wall beside his bed, pressing into it hard as he stared at the man who’d apparently broken into his room. God, what had he been doing? Had he been watching him sleep or something? Who did that?! What the fuck?! 

The man eyed him for a moment, still leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed, and let out an aggrieved sigh. “Might as well get this over with. My name is Derek Hale. I work for the FBI, with Rafael McCall.” 

“Wait, what?” Stiles asked, feeling ready to fall over. 

This Derek guy ignored him and continued. “I am also an Alpha Werewolf, and I am currently stuck in a time loop. I have been living this same day over and over again, repeatedly, and every day, I have tried my hardest to stop someone from murdering you. Every day, I have failed, and the loop has reset.” 

Stiles’ mouth fell open, his mind absolutely blown as he stared at the man sitting in front of him and tried to piece together what the fuck he’d just said. 

He was in a what?! A time loop? Wait, was this—was he being serious? He looked serious. He also didn’t look like the kind of person who was big on jokes. 

“You haven’t yelled at me to get out yet, so that’s encouraging,” Derek muttered, though he didn’t sound very hopeful. 

Honestly, Stiles kind of wanted to shout at him to get out, because what the fuck?! 

Instead, he motioned him and ordered, “Flash your eyes.” 

“What?” 

“You said you were an Alpha Werewolf, so flash your eyes.” 

Derek looked annoyed about it, like he didn’t want to be taking orders from a student with drool on their face wearing faded sweats, but after letting out an explosive sigh, he flashed his eyes at Stiles. 

They were a deep ruby red, exactly the same as Scott’s when he went all Beta shift. 

“Let me see your credentials.” 

“Why, you’ll just say my badge is fake again,” Derek said dryly. 

Stiles gave him an incredulous look and held a hand out, raising his eyebrows. Derek rolled his eyes, but obediently shifted to reach into a pocket inside his suit jacket and pulled out his identification. Stiles expected him to just open it and ignore his request for it to be placed in his hand, but surprisingly, Derek leaned forward and dropped it onto Stiles’ waiting palm. 

He instantly opened it, and held it up so that he was looking at both the badge and Derek. The name and picture matched, and it looked legit, but Stiles would admit he wasn’t an expert on what FBI credentials actually looked like. The two dudes in Supernatural seemed to get away with fake credentials all the time, but this did really look legitimate. 

Besides, he knew for a fact the FBI was on campus today because they were meant to be joining his criminology class and, realistically, if this guy was looking to hurt him or do anything malicious to him, he’d have done it by now. Who knew how long he’d been sitting there while Stiles slept, he literally could’ve done anything he wanted and no one would’ve known. 

Hell, Stiles could’ve been dead by now! 

And really, a time loop wasn’t the craziest thing he’d ever heard. His best friend was a Werewolf, the girl he used to have a crush on was a Banshee, his childhood bully turned close friend was a giant lizard, and his dad worked with a Hellhound who could literally walk through fire and should’ve been a fireman instead of a police officer. 

So... time loops? Sure. It could happen. 

Letting out a slow breath, Stiles closed the credentials, and then leaned forward slightly, holding them out to Derek. He took them back, still watching Stiles closely. 

“Time loop?” he confirmed quietly. 

“Yeah,” Derek said, still watching him. “You believe me?” 

Stiles let out a small laugh. “I mean, it sounds completely insane but... definitely not the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. And I mean, your speech seems pretty practised. It’s not like you’re here to rob me, since I’ve got nothing of value, and if you were going to hurt me, you’d have done it by now.” He shrugged. “Sometimes the craziest answer to a question is the only logical one.” 

He saw Derek’s shoulder sag with relief and he rubbed at his face with his free hand. “Thank God, I was not ready to spend another day chasing you around. I hate the ones where you think I’m lying.” 

That earned him an arched eyebrow, but since his face was buried in his hand, it was lost on Derek. It seemed to take him a few seconds to straighten and he cleared his throat before putting his badge back where he’d gotten it from. 

“For the record,” Derek informed him, locking eyes with him, “you are absolutely infuriating.” 

Stiles blinked. “How so?” 

“You never react the way I expect you to. I once spent four consecutive loops with you calling me a stalker, a creep, a weirdo, and a liar. You’ve told me to fuck off, you’ve thrown punches, and you’ve basically done everything in your power to avoid me for the entire day. You usually only come back to your senses moments before you get killed, at which time you reach out to me and I show up in enough time to watch you die.” He looked unimpressed with Stiles as he said all this. “And then there’s days like today, where you believe me after asking for my badge and for me to flash my eyes. You make absolutely no sense, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to turn me into an alcoholic.” 

Stiles didn’t really know how to respond to that, because he wasn’t... exactly in control of what past versions of himself had done, so he just said, very stupidly, “But Werewolves can’t get drunk.” 

Derek’s face hardened into the look of a man who was at the end of his fraying patience. “I’ll find a way.” 

Stiles pressed his lips together and thought it best not to say anything else. Derek watched him for a few seconds longer, and then sighed and rubbed at his face again, using both hands this time. 

“Small blessings,” Derek insisted to himself. “Take the win.” 

Neither of them spoke—or moved—for at least another minute before Derek let his hands drop and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Stiles pressed his lips together, tapping one fist lightly against his own thigh, and looked around his room. 

“So uh, now what?” 

Derek sighed and leaned forward to check the time on Stiles’ phone. “Well, you’ve never gotten killed in the morning, so I guess for now, go to the bathroom, get dressed, and we’ll leave campus. See if maybe we can’t run away from this mess.” 

“Oh. We haven’t tried that before?” 

“I put you in protective custody once. It didn’t work. Maybe we can just drive until midnight and see what happens.” 

Stiles frowned. “How many loops have you been through?” 

“Counting only the loops and not day zero, eighteen. Today’s the nineteenth one.”

“Eighteen loops?” Stiles asked, horrified. “Wait, I’ve died nineteen times?!” 

Derek bristled at that, like he thought Stiles was accusing him of something, but he wasn’t. He just couldn’t believe he’d been killed so many times and didn’t know about it. 

Actually, he was more confused about why he wasn’t the one in the loop. If he was the one dying, wouldn’t it have made more sense for it to be him, and not some random person he didn’t know—but had obviously met before, considering. He must’ve met him on day zero, or else Derek wouldn’t even have been there trying to help him. 

“I don’t know why it’s me, please don’t ask me,” Derek suddenly said, sighing deeply. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You had the same look you always have before asking that question.” Derek looked so tired, Stiles kind of felt bad for him. “You’re wondering why you’re not the one in the loop when you’re the one who keeps dying. I have no idea, I’m as confused about this as you are. All I know, is that I’m in this time loop, and every time you die, I wake up to my alarm ringing at half-past five in the morning.” 

“Half-pas—” Stiles almost choked on the words. “Why the hell are you waking up so early?!” 

“I usually go to the gym and take a shower before work.” 

“I mean, good for you, but my God, your poor sleep schedule!” 

Derek gave him a look. “You’re not one to talk about sleep schedules, you were up all night researching Bunyips.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open, and he was about to ask how he knew that before realizing—of course he did. If this was a time loop, Derek probably knew everything about what was going to happen in the day. 

“Which reminds me, call your friend Liam, and tell him he needs to make a spear out of wattle and stab the Bunyip with it to kill it. He should try and go during the day since it’s nocturnal and more aggressive at night.” 

“Oh my God, the more you say, the more real this becomes,” Stiles said, horrified. 

“I thought you said you believed me.” 

“I do, but like... this is freaking me out, not gonna lie.” 

Derek thumbed towards the door. “Freak out in the bathroom while you’re brushing your teeth, I want us to get out of here sooner rather than later.” 

Stiles obediently slid to the end of his bed and off it, throwing the sheets back onto it when they got tangled in his legs and slid off right with him. He started gathering all his toiletries, looking over at Derek. 

“But what about you?” 

“What about me?” Derek asked. 

“You have work, don’t you? Isn’t your boss going to be looking for you?” 

“I told him I was sick. I say that to him every loop.” 

“Oh.” Stiles had to applaud the genius of that, and was somewhat surprised a Werewolf would’ve thought of it, considering they never got sick. Scott forgot that was a thing he could do all the time until Stiles reminded him about it, but in his defence, his boss was also a Supernatural, so he’d know in a nanosecond that Scott was lying. “That’s actually a really smart idea. Means he won’t come looking for you.” 

Derek looked over at him, a weird expression overtaking his features. When he spoke, his voice was almost... soft. Endearing, maybe. “Calling in sick was your idea,” he said quietly. 

“Oh,” Stiles said again. That... kind of explained it. After all, he was the one who always told Scott to do that, so it made sense it would’ve been something he’d recommended to another Werewolf. 

And if it got his boss off his back while he tried to save Stiles’ life—especially since his boss was fucking Rafe—then Stiles wasn’t going to complain. Good job, past Stiles! 

He didn’t really know what else to say to that, so he just nodded towards his door awkwardly, mumbled that he was just gonna go, and then left the room. He forgot his keys, but Derek was still in there, so he’d let him back in, he was sure. 

Stiles made it to the bathroom quickly, ignoring another one of his dormmates who was in there brushing his teeth. He just moved to an empty sink and brushed his own, then used the bathroom. When he was done washing his hands and fixing his hair, he gathered all his things and went back to his room. He had to knock to be let in, but Derek opened the door relatively quickly. 

He was even polite enough to leave the room when Stiles said he would be changing, and when he was done, Stiles opened his door again. He made sure he had his phone, wallet and keys before shutting it behind himself and following after Derek. 

“Do you have a car?” 

“No,” Derek said. “We can rent one. We’ll call a cab from the main road leading off campus and head to the closest rental place.”

“Coffee?” Stiles asked hopefully, wanting to at least be caffeinated before his crazy adventure started. 

“We’ll grab some on the road.” 

This day was not starting out well. First murder, then no coffee? Stiles hated this already, and they hadn’t even gotten to the murder part yet. 

“So let me get this straight,” Stiles said, pointing a floppy fry at Derek while the other man chewed the bite he’d just taken out of his BLT. “You’re lived through this day twenty times including today and day zero, and you’ve never once caught this person actually killing me?” 

“No,” Derek said, sounding frustrated even as he scowled down at the table like it had offended him. It was most likely Stiles who had offended him, but he was grateful not to have the full power of that glare directed right at him. 

He hadn’t meant his words as an insult anyway, he was more... shocked. Whoever this person was, considering they had no idea Derek was in a time loop and trying to protect Stiles, the fact that they’d gotten away with killing him so many times was kind of badass. 

Really shitty, because of the whole murdering Stiles thing, Stiles didn’t like that, but still. Who could possibly murder a person multiple times in front of someone who was both a Werewolf and an FBI agent? 

Balls of steel on this dude, that was all Stiles could say. 

“That’s kind of impressive,” Stiles said, popping the floppy fry into his mouth. 

Derek did not look impressed. “Stiles, this person is killing you. You’re being murdered. To death, as you’ve said in a previous loop.” 

Stiles couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped him. Being murdered to death? Yeah, that sounded like something he’d say. Man, he was a funny guy, he didn’t know why people didn’t seem to think so. 

Matter of opinion, he supposed. 

“Can we go over this again?” Derek asked, popping a fry into his own mouth from the mound on his plate, his BLT still held in his other hand. “You can’t think of anyone who would want to kill you?” 

“I can think of many people who would want to kill me,” Stiles informed him helpfully. “Have we never talked about this before?”

“We have, but I keep trying to see if I can garner any additional information.” 

“Well, top of my list would be a really angry Hunter family I helped put away.” Derek looked surprised and Stiles shrugged. “They didn’t follow the code and went after innocent Supernatural creatures who’d done nothing wrong. As you know, people don’t take too kindly to those in this world who don’t follow the rules. We teamed up with another group of Hunters to help get them locked up on various charges without exposing the Supernatural world. Seeing as I was kind of the frontman on that whole scheme, I’d imagine they’d want me dead.” 

“You remember their names?” Derek asked, pulling a small notepad from inside his suit jacket and a pen, flipping the top page open. 

“You know, their names have kind of slipped my mind after they tried to kill all my friends,” Stiles said dryly. 

Derek didn’t look impressed. Well, neither was Stiles after a question like that, of course he remembered their names! 

He listed them all out, and Derek made a call to his head office to ask about their status in the prison system since they’d gone to human jail and not Supernatural jail. He only had to wait two minutes before it was confirmed they were all still accounted for and Derek thanked whoever it was and hung up. 

While not impossible for it to be them operating through a third party, Stiles highly doubted it. These were the kinds of people who’d want revenge in person, they wouldn’t hire someone to take Stiles out, they’d want to do it themselves. 

Thankfully he was pretty sure dead people couldn’t be after him, because that was a long list, too. Man, Julia Baccari in particular he was sure would’ve loved to absolutely destroy him for what he’d done, but she was really dead and he severely hoped she stayed that way. Same with Matthew Daehler, who’d probably mind control Jackson a second time to force him to rip out Stiles’ insides. 

Man, he needed to stop making so many enemies, he was just grateful the ones who’d actively be trying to kill him were either dead or put away. 

“What about you?” Stiles asked after a brief silence, Derek having finished his BLT and working on his fries. Stiles had started with them, so he was now picking away at his burger. He didn’t think he’d be able to finish it, it was a thick patty. 

“What about me?” Derek asked in return. 

“Why are you doing this? I mean, trying to protect me.” 

Derek watched him for a moment before putting the fry he’d been holding back down on his plate, pushing it to one side, and staring at Stiles intently. 

He wasn’t sure he liked that stare. 

“You ask me that a lot,” Derek admitted quietly. “Not every loop, but most of them. You always ask me why I’m helping you, why I’m trying to save you, why I don’t want you to die. Do you think you’re not worth saving?” 

“I never said that.”

“You imply it.” The Werewolf’s stare was intense and Stiles had to look away from him. He picked up his drink with one hand, burger still held in the other, and took a sip of it. 

He pretended Derek wasn’t there, continuing to eat his burger, even though he could feel the other man’s eyes boring holes through his skull. 

Eventually, he seemed to be tired of the silent treatment, and he said, “I know you won’t remember this if the day resets, but I think it’s important for you to know that I am always, always going to try and save you. Every day, every reset, for as long as this goes on, I will never stop trying to save your life, Stiles. Because you’re worth saving.” 

“Am I?” he asked, glancing at Derek. “You’re trapped in this loop because of me.”

“Maybe,” Derek offered. “But I just see it as endless opportunities to keep you alive. The day you die and the loop doesn’t reset, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. Do I wish the day would stop resetting? Of course I do. But only because I know every reset means you died, and I’m tired of watching you die, Stiles.”

Derek reached out, fingers closing gently around Stiles’ forearm and squeezing. 

“You’re worth saving, Stiles. And I’m never going to stop trying.” 

Stiles stared at him for a few seconds before glancing away and nodding once, curtly. Derek’s hand tightened a bit more before he released him. 

He was glad, because honestly, Derek was... confusing. Not as a person, but just, the way he made Stiles feel. He didn’t know this man, but he felt safe with him. He trusted him when he said he’d protect him. Even though he hadn’t succeeded so far, he kept trying. He could’ve just given up and gone about the day however he wanted, done literally anything and just waited for the reset to do something new the next time. Instead, he spent every single loop trying to protect Stiles, even when Stiles treated him poorly or tried to run off on him. 

“You’re a good man, Derek.” 

“So are you,” Derek informed him. 

Stiles didn’t respond to that and just ate his burger. 

As predicted, he didn’t finish it, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with its size. 

“Are we close yet?” Stiles asked, head leaning back against the headrest and turned to the side so he could stare out the passenger side window. 

“There’s still two and a half hours left.” 

Stiles let out a groan at those words that eventually turned into a whine. He was so done with all this fucking driving. He didn’t know how Derek hadn’t gone crazy yet. 

It felt like they’d been on the road for years, decades, even! He was so bored he wanted to bang his head repeatedly against the dash just for something to do, though acknowledged that was a bit of an intrusive thought. 

Still, he had no idea how Derek seemed okay with all the driving, but figured maybe it was because of his job. He seemed to travel a lot for it, so he may have just been used to it by now. 

At least they’d had a lot of good conversations. Nothing that would solve their current predicament or explain who was trying to kill Stiles, but he’d enjoyed some of the things he’d learned about Derek. 

The guy was pessimistic as fuck though, because he kept ending most of their more interesting conversations by saying Stiles probably wouldn’t remember anything he’d said. He seemed to lack in faith that he would save Stiles’ life, which was a bit concerning, honestly. 

Stiles appreciated everything he was doing, and the lengths he was going to in order to keep him safe, but Derek seemed so convinced he wasn’t doing enough and it kind of sucked. He didn’t know how to convince him he wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

Like, what could Derek possibly do differently? He seemed to be trying various methods of keeping Stiles safe, including putting him into protective custody one time. And this time around, they were literal miles from campus, driving miles and miles in no particular direction with no destination in mind. 

Derek was doing everything right, so if Stiles died over and over again, it wasn’t his fault. It just meant the killer had some kind of advantage they didn’t know about. Maybe they were like, a ghost or something. A vengeful spirit. Hard to protect him from that. 

Stiles’ eyes had gone unfocussed as the darkness passed outside, but when he could see lights out of the corner of his eye, he shifted his gaze ahead slightly in time for them to drive past a sign that informed drivers a gas station was coming up. 

He turned to Derek, reaching out to poke at his arm. “Gas station.” 

“I saw.” 

“Can we stop? I need to take a leak.” 

“It’s because of all the coffee you’ve been drinking.” 

“And now that you mention it,” Stiles said, reaching down to find the cup he’d gotten at their last stop and giving it a little shake. “Yup, out of coffee, so need a refill on that too.” 

Derek just rolled his eyes, but Stiles saw him glance down afterwards to check on their gas situation. 

“Can probably afford to fill up again just to keep us closer to the top.” 

“You realize we’re gonna have to drive all the way back once midnight hits, right?” 

“As long as you stay alive, I’ll deal with it.” 

Stiles hummed in response, then frowned slightly. “What happens if midnight hits and the day resets? Or even if it doesn’t? I mean, the killer’s still out there, even if midnight passes, right?” 

“I just want to know it’s possible,” Derek said. “If we pass midnight and the day resets, then I figure something else out. But if it doesn’t reset, it means I still have you with the knowledge of the day. I don’t have to start with a blank slate every time.” He glanced at Stiles before facing the road again. “Like I said this morning, your reaction to this whole thing seems to shift every loop. Those four consecutive loops of you avoiding me were hell for me, and not having to start every single day re-explaining everything to you would be really helpful.” 

“I guess,” Stiles acquiesced, turning his head back towards the window so he could continue to watch the scenery go by. He had no idea where they were, but he knew they’d crossed at least one state line, maybe even two. He wondered if it would be enough. 

They turned off the highway onto a small off-ramp that led to the gas station a little over a mile later, Derek parking at one of the pumps and cutting the engine. They both got out of the car, heading inside the small station. Derek went straight to the register to pay for the pump, but Stiles went to the back where the drinks were. Derek had already said he didn’t want any more coffee, so Stiles just bought him a Coke, and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot. It tasted old when he sipped it, but he didn’t have the ability to be picky, considering. He’d just make it up to his tastebuds later with good coffee from the coffee shop on campus. 

He grabbed a few snacks off the shelves as he headed back for the front, the door opening to admit a woman who made a beeline for the back of the store just as Stiles reached the register. 

Dumping his haul onto the counter, he set the coffee down more carefully and then waited while the bored-looking man behind the till cashed him out. He still had a ten dollar bill in his wallet, and handed that over when the total came in at just over nine. He told the guy to keep the change, and then grabbed his items and coffee.

“Hey, you have a bathroom here?” he asked while hugging his things to his chest, coffee in one hand. 

“Outside around the back.” 

“Thanks man. Have a good one.” 

Stiles backed into the door to open it, and then walked towards the car, Derek still pumping the gas. He arched an eyebrow at the items Stiles had, but didn’t say anything. Stiles jerked his head towards the door and Derek rolled his eyes before opening it for him. 

Dumping everything onto the passenger seat, Stiles set the coffee into the cup holder, grabbing the old cup and turning to throw it out in the trash can right beside the pump. He put Derek’s Coke beside his coffee and then straightened to shut the door. 

“You gonna use the bathroom too?” Stiles asked. 

“Probably should,” Derek said. 

“It’s around back when you’re done here.” 

Derek nodded and Stiles turned, heading for the back of the building. There seemed to be two bathrooms, each individual ones, so Stiles went into the first one and shut the door. He double-checked it was locked three times, mostly because he honestly couldn’t tell if it was or not. 

Not that it mattered, the only person who’d be barging in on him was Derek anyway. 

He used his shoe to lift the toilet seat, making a face at it, because gas station bathrooms were always kind of gross and smelled rank. But, it beat pissing on the side of the road, for the most part, so he just did his business and went to wash his hands. 

He’d just turned on the tap when there was a knock at the door. 

“I’m in here,” he confirmed. “The other one should be free.” 

The knocking came again, and Stiles turned to frown at the door. 

“Derek, I’m in this one.” 

That didn’t seem to matter, because the knock came yet again. 

“What the fuck dude?” Stiles muttered, hurrying to rinse his hands clean of the soap he’d just used and then shutting the tap off. He dried his hands on his pants and moved two steps to the door, unlocking it. “There’s another fucking bathr—”

Stiles cut off when he felt something slide into his left side, and then twist, the sound leaving him not human. 

Jerking away from the door, one hand grabbed at his side as he stumbled back, hitting the wall. 

The door shut slowly in his face and Stiles could feel wetness beginning to trail down the side of his leg. He glanced down and saw blood. A lot of blood. Oh, that wasn’t good. 

Sliding to the ground slowly, and reaching over with his other hand to apply more pressure, he already knew it wouldn’t do much good. He had no idea what the fuck had just happened, but the blood leaving him seemed to be doing so extremely fast, much faster than was normal, and the pain was blinding. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes, and his entire body felt like it was on fire. 

“Derek,” Stiles forced out between gritted teeth. “Derek, I need you.” 

He had no idea if Derek heard him, because he didn’t seem to be listening earlier when Stiles had been saying he was in the bathroom. He’d called him by name and everything, but if Derek had been doing something over by the car, or was checking his phone, or whatever, he probably wasn’t listening. 

And he also probably didn’t think anything was wrong. Why would he? Stiles hadn’t assumed anything could be wrong. They were literal hours away from campus, in the middle of nowhere, without another soul in sight. How the fuck had this still happened?! He didn’t understand! 

Had he even seen anything? Fuck, he couldn’t remember. All he remembered was opening the door and pain hitting him. He didn’t even have anything he could give Derek to help him with the next loop! 

Provided it looped again. Oh God, what if it didn’t? What if something happened and the loop just broke and this was it for him? What if he was going to die for real this time, without a do-over?! People didn’t usually get a second chance, and he’d already had nineteen according to Derek. So what if this was it? Death number twenty? What if this was his limit? What if he got no more? 

Stiles heard gravel crunching beneath footsteps and then someone knocked on the door. 

“Stiles? I’m gonna be in the next bathroom, head back to the car when you’re done.” 

“Derek,” he forced out. “I think we lost again.” 

The door was thrown open immediately, Derek’s eyes searching the small room and finding him on the floor. His face crumpled and he hurried forward, one hand pressing down hard on both of Stiles’. 

The pain was so bad Stiles’ entire vision went white with pain and the sound that left him didn’t seem human. 

“What happened?!” Derek demanded, sounding panicked. “Stiles—we weren’t even close to campus! What the hell happened?!” 

Stiles didn’t really have the breath to explain, but he knew Derek wasn’t really asking him to. They both knew what had happened, the killer had followed them. Somehow. Despite there not being other cars around the area, despite them not seeing any cars following along behind them, despite the numerous stops and the various lane changes, and all the cities they’d driven through today. None of it mattered. 

The killer had found them, like they always seemed to, and Stiles was going to die. 

Again.

“Oh shit,” Derek said, voice low and frantic. “It’s turning black. Your blood is turning black. That’s—shit!” 

“Derek,” Stiles forced out, and he pulled one hand from his wound, Derek’s still pressing hard against it. Stiles wrapped bloody fingers around Derek’s covered forearm and squeezed. “Derek, it’s too late.” 

“It’s not too late!” he snapped, but Stiles knew that he didn’t believe his own words. If he did, he’d have called an ambulance by now. 

But he’d already figured out what Stiles had. They were literally in the middle of nowhere. The blood flow was way faster than it should’ve been, and his blood was turning black. The killer had probably gotten his liver. There was no way help would arrive fast enough to save him. 

Stiles felt fear rising in his chest, his fingers tightening around Derek’s arm. Tears sprung to his eyes and he could feel his lower lip beginning to quiver. He was dying. He was actually dying right now. And he was scared. He was so fucking scared. 

“Did you mean it?” Stiles asked, the words coming out slightly jumbled. He couldn’t stop his jaw from trembling. “What you said. About me being worth saving. Did you mean it?” 

Derek’s eyes shot to Stiles’ face, and he looked absolutely broken. “Every word.” 

“Please don’t stop trying,” Stiles said, his breathing coming fast as his fear continued to rise. That probably wasn’t good for the injury, not that he thought he’d be alive long enough for it to matter. “Please don’t let me die forever.” 

One of Derek’s hands left his wound to brush along his cheek, grip firm as he stared down into Stiles’ face. 

“I am never going to stop trying to save you, Stiles. Never. As long as it takes. As many times as I have to. I’m going to fix this, I’m going to stop whoever this is. I promise. I promise!” 

Stiles felt moisture leave his right eye, and he managed a nod, swallowing hard. Everything hurt, and his breathing was coming much too fast, and his vision was darkening, and it sucked. 

It just sucked, all of it sucked, and he hated this. He hated it. 

He didn’t want to die. 

Stiles didn’t want to die!

But he did anyway, his body relaxing, his hand loosening around his own wound and Derek’s arm, and his eyelids slowly flagging. 

The last thing he heard was Derek promising he would never stop trying to save his life. 

TBC...

Chapter Text

When his alarm went off at exactly four minutes past seven in the morning, the sound that escaped him could not be classified as human. He didn’t know what historians would classify the sound as, but if they heard it, they would never assume it came out of a human’s mouth. 

He could feel wetness on his face from where he’d drooled into his pillow while he slept, and reached out blindly with one hand to slap at his night stand, trying to locate the source of the noise so he could shut it off. The aggressive nature of his smacking had him, not only hurt his hand, but somehow catapult his phone off the small table into the depths of his room.

Or like, right beside the night stand, since it was plugged in and thus couldn’t go far. 

Peeling open his eyes, he let the sound that had previously escaped him start up again, the low groan of dismay filling the empty room as his eyes slowly focussed on the chair across from the bed.

Except his room was not empty, and he most assuredly was not alone. 

Stiles propelled upwards, one hand slipping so that he almost slammed his face into the headboard of the bed in his attempt to get up faster, and slammed his back against the wall his bed was up against. He opened his mouth to demand to know who this fucker was and what he was doing in his room, but for some reason, he paused. 

He wasn’t sure why. 

Maybe it was because of the way the stranger was sitting. The defeated shoulders, the face buried in large hands, the absolute devastation in his voice when he spoke. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, voice cracked and sounding seconds away from breaking entirely. “I just can’t figure out what to do. I can’t stop it. I’ve tried everything. Nothing is working. I don’t... I can’t keep doing this.” 

Stiles looked around the room, as if for someone to help him, but his room held no one else. In the grand scheme of things, that was probably a good thing. One stranger in his room was more than enough. He didn’t even know how the guy got in. 

Or why he was just... sitting there. All emo and depressed. 

He wanted to tell him to leave. Demand to know who he was, what the fuck he was doing in there, and get the fuck out before Stiles did something dangerous.

Like throw his phone at the guy’s head. It was the only weapon-like object in the vicinity.

He should probably start sleeping with his bat again. 

But he didn’t. As much as his heart was pounding a staccato rhythm of fear against his ribs, he knew he wasn’t in danger. Not only because the guy could’ve done something long before now if he’d really wanted to, but also just... he didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it. Something about this guy didn’t feel threatening. It felt kind of... safe. Warm. 

Like the man was wrapping a giant blanket around him with his presence alone. 

For a long while, neither of them moved. The man in his desk chair stayed exactly where he was, face buried in his hands and elbows resting on his knees, defeat in every line of his frame. Stiles glanced around again, once more attempting to find help that he wouldn’t get, then decided that, even though this guy had clearly broken into his room, he was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

He’d obviously broken in for a reason that didn’t involve hurting Stiles, so he was willing to hear him out before making a final call on screaming his lungs out or something. 

Shifting slowly so he could move to the edge of the bed, the guy didn’t move from his position. He didn’t even seem to care that Stiles was getting up at all. 

Once he was on his feet, Stiles hesitated for a long moment, and then moved two steps closer to the chair, hand out. He hesitated again, then let his hand fall on the man’s shoulder, squeezing hard. 

“Are you okay?” 

“No,” he replied honestly. 

Okay. Well, he’d tried. Now what? 

“Can I... do something?” 

For a long while, the man said nothing. He just sat there, face buried in his hands, Stiles’ own on his shoulder, squeezing hard in comfort. It was weird to comfort someone he didn’t know who’d broken into his room, but he felt some kind of weird connection to him. Which sounded completely absurd, but nothing about his life was normal so he just rolled with it. 

“My name,” the man said, sounding sad, “is Derek Hale. I work for the FBI, and I am an Alpha Werewolf. I am stuck in a time loop. I am about to relive this day for the thirty-eighth time, not including day zero. And the reset for this time loop I am stuck in is—”

“Me dying,” Stiles said. 

The man—Derek—raised his head then, turning haunted green eyes in Stiles’ direction. He looked like he was both hopeful and devastated at the same time. It was kind of a confusing expression to see on his face. 

“How did you know that?” 

“Doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist,” Stiles said with a one-shoulder shrug. “You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a Berserker. Pretty sure being stuck in a loop watching someone die over and over again isn’t good for the psyche.” 

“I have tried... everything,” Derek admitted quietly, turning away from Stiles so he could stare down at his hands, which he clenched into fists. “I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

Stiles sighed, raking his free hand through his hair. He didn’t really know how to fix this, and considering he was the problem, that complicated things a bit. Especially since, for obvious reasons, he wasn’t particularly fond of the reset button for this loop Derek was in. 

He couldn’t imagine watching someone die over and over on repeat. Not to mention—Stiles was very aware of the fact that he did not know Derek. He’d never met him before in his life. But for Derek, he was constantly meeting Stiles one day after another. Having to re-explain everything. Having to convince him time and again that this was actually happening. 

He couldn’t imagine being stuck like this. He’d seen enough movies to know that, while it was probably fun for a while, it got old fast. Not to mention, in Derek’s case, he doubted the guy was having fun since he seemed more geared towards helping Stiles stay alive. 

Letting out another deep sigh, Stiles squeezed Derek’s shoulder tightly once more before releasing it. “Well, I guess we’ve got work to do.”

Derek turned to him, startled, and Stiles thumbed over his shoulder. 

“Let me use the bathroom and get some clothes on. We can go grab a bite and you can tell me what you know. Maybe we can get ahead of it this time.” 

The poor guy looked horrendously confused, but he just nodded numbly and Stiles nodded back, turning to grab his toiletries and heading for the door. Before opening it, he turned to glance at Derek briefly. 

“I’m not uh... I’m not gonna get shanked in the bathroom right?” 

That earned him a head shake. “You usually die closer to the end of the day, never the morning.” 

“Let’s hope today’s not the day then.” 

He pulled open his door and headed out into the corridor. Walking down the hall, he entered the communal bathroom where one of his dormmates had just finished brushing his teeth. They grunted good mornings to each other as Stiles set his things down by the sink and went to relieve himself. 

His mind was going a mile a minute, though seemed to be slow as fuck at the same time. He supposed he was trying to wrap his head around what he’d just learned, all while simultaneously believing it. He may not know Derek from Adam, but it was clearly obvious that something was up, and if Derek wanted to hurt him, he’d have done it while Stiles was sleeping. 

Besides, he clearly wasn’t interested in the ransom money, since he’d know Stiles’ dad wasn’t exactly rolling in it. 

Finishing up in the stall and washing his hands, he brushed his teeth and just dragged a hand through his hair before deeming it good enough. If he was dying today, he didn’t need to look cute. 

Heading back for his room, he unlocked the door before pushing it open, finding Derek sitting exactly where he’d been when Stiles had left. When the other man looked at him, Stiles motioned the door slightly. 

“Let me change and I’ll be right out.” 

Derek nodded once, almost curtly, then stood and moved around Stiles out the door, shutting it behind himself. 

Stiles didn’t dawdle, changing out quickly and re-opening his door slightly so Derek could loom in the doorway while he tied his shoes. To be fair, he hadn’t expected Derek to loom in the doorway, but oh well. 

“Come on, let’s get some food in the cafeteria and talk.” 

Derek nodded again, and Stiles felt like he was just going through the motions because he had nothing better to do. Maybe he’d already given up. Maybe he thought they’d never win. 

Hell, maybe this exact day had already happened exactly like this, and Derek was just humouring him, at this point. 

They said nothing to each other as they walked down the corridor and out of the building. Derek got a few odd looks from other students, but he seemed to be ignoring them all. Stiles was pretty sure it was the suit, and he was positive the only reason Derek was wearing it after having apparently lived through this day multiple times was because he had nothing else to wear. 

If he was FBI—which Stiles figured he must be, because why lie about something like that while admitting to being an Alpha Werewolf?—Stiles had to assume he was part of the group who’d come to campus for his criminology class. He’d have been disappointed to be missing out on the class, if not for the fact that he was apparently going to be spending the day with one of the agents. 

He wondered how Derek was supposed to explain his absence, and while heading into the common’s block, he turned to Derek slightly as they walked to the stairs that led up to the cafeteria. 

“Isn’t your boss going to be missing you?” he asked, almost missing the first step. 

Derek reached out to steady him and he nodded a thanks before starting up the stairs properly. 

“I called in sick.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, grabbing a tray and handing it back to Derek. He was about to compliment the idea, because it seemed pretty smart, but the look on Derek’s face gave him pause and he realized why he looked like that. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?” 

Derek’s eyes raised from the tray Stiles was still holding out to him, then shunted his gaze away. “Yeah. It was.” 

This was so weird, but in like, a depressing way as opposed to a cool way. 

Stiles said nothing else and just waited for Derek to take the tray. He did so eventually, and Stiles motioned for him to get whatever while he went to hunt down his own breakfast. Food was included in his dorm plan, and while it would be eating into his funds for the month to also feed Derek, it was entirely possible this would completely reset by the end of the night anyway. 

Grabbing himself a breakfast bagel from the grill, a glass of chocolate milk, a much-needed coffee, and an apple, Stiles stood near the till while looking around the large area for Derek. He showed up a few seconds later with some oatmeal, his own cup of coffee, and a few strips of bacon. Stiles found that kind of cute, if he was honest. 

Jerking his head towards the till, Stiles waited behind another student, and when he got to the front, he motioned both his and Derek’s meals before swiping his student card. The total wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, presumably because the oatmeal cost basically nothing, which was probably a good thing. 

He let Derek lead the way, and they ended up in the far back corner of the large cafeteria, away from all the other early risers, and sitting with their backs to a wall so no one could come in behind them. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it back down with a wince. He’d forgotten sugar, but too late now. “So, tell me what you know.” 

“Nothing,” Derek said miserably, scowling down at his oatmeal and stabbing his spoon into it. He didn’t take a bite, though. He just stabbed at it like a petulant child. 

“You absolutely know things, you just think you know nothing,” Stiles argued, taking a big bite of his sandwich and chewing for a few seconds before using it to motion Derek. “You’re a Werewolf, right? That means you have heightened senses. And if you work for the FBI, you probably have good attention to detail. Whether or not you have a good memory I think is specific to the person, but I digress.” Stiles waved his own words away with his free hand. “Tell me what happened. The first time, I mean. Day zero. How did it play out?” 

It looked like Derek wanted to talk about anything else, but he obediently started going through the day as he remembered it, making note to mention four different times that he could be mixing some of the days up since he’d repeated it so many times. 

Stiles listened to him until the very end, when Derek explained how he’d found him bleeding out in the library’s stacks and then had woken up to his alarm blaring to wake him up for the day. 

The breakfast sandwich he’d been eating had long ago been consumed, and he was working on the apple, taking a bite of it while he chewed slowly, eyes unfocussed as he thought. It wasn’t so much the death part he was focussing on, but more the loop itself. Clearly it was his doing, but Derek hadn’t said anything that suggested Stiles had done something to force him to relive this day over and over again. 

Then again, his magic was kind of a dick, so maybe it had looked at the scene, thrown both hands up, and restarted the day. His magic did that sometimes, Stiles didn’t always have to actively make it work.

Like when he’d saved his dad and Melissa that one time. Sure, he hadn’t planned to split the earth to stop the pressure from above, but his goal had been to save them. Clearly in this case, Stiles was too far gone to do something to save himself, so he’d instead latched onto the person who could.

Even if Derek felt like he was failing. Stiles doubted he was failing, he probably just couldn’t see the full picture yet. The pieces were all there, in Derek’s mind, he just had to figure out how to put them together. 

Puzzles were fun, though Stiles would wager Derek would’ve preferred a puzzle with less blood. 

“Did I say anything?” Stiles asked after they both went silent, Derek beginning to eat his—likely cold—oatmeal and Stiles munching away on his apple. “That first time, I mean. Before the first loop. Did I say anything to you?” 

“It was a long time ago, Stiles.” 

“I know, but—just think. Try. I just want to know if I said something.” 

Derek sighed deeply, still spooning his oatmeal into his mouth, but Stiles could tell he was thinking, mentally flipping back through the days. He could only imagine how confusing and disorienting this must be, but if they had any hope whatsoever of figuring this out, it was all locked away in Derek’s head. 

“I don’t remember,” he insisted, sounding frustrated. Not at Stiles or the situation, but himself. “I’ve watched you die so many times, they kind of all blend together.” 

“Have I said anything any of the other times I’ve died?” 

“Never anything about the situation. You’re just scared.” 

“Hm.” Stiles chewed at the rim of his takeaway coffee cup, ignoring the fact that it would make it uncomfortable to drink out of. 

“Do you have any ideas?” 

Stiles’ gaze shifted back to Derek, still chewing on the edge of his cup. When he saw the other staring at him, he realized that, yes, Derek was speaking to him. Which—he should’ve assumed, since they were the only two people at the table. 

“Any ideas about what I might’ve said?” 

The look he got then made it clear that Derek thought Stiles was kind of an idiot in no uncertain terms. 

“Any ideas as to who is trying to kill you, or why.” 

Stiles shrugged. “I’m a human in a wolf pack. Everyone and everything is trying to kill me.” He finished off his coffee in a few big swallows, before he destroyed the rim too much, then set the empty cup down. “If you’re not tired of trying to save me yet, we could always go into my history to see if there’s anything there of value. I mean, I did get some guy arrested for killing people with a mind-controlled Kanima once, but he’s also like, really dead now so I don’t think it’s him.” 

“Unless he found a way to come back to life, probably not,” Derek said dryly. 

“Hey man.” Stiles pointed a finger at him and raised his eyebrows. “Necromancers could absolutely be a thing after all the crazy shit I’ve come across in my life. I have a scar on my leg from a Chimera who bit me. With his hand!” Stiles motioned the palm of his left hand with his right one. “Guy had teeth in his hand and he grabbed my leg and tore a chunk clean out of it. Don’t act like the idea of Zombies or people coming back from the dead is out of the realm of possibility!” Stiles deflated. “Oh man, if we need to start thinking about people who are also dead who might want to kill me, my list just like, tripled. There’s one woman in particular I know would want my head on a stick, but she is also super dead so I’m really hoping Necromancers aren’t actually a thing now that I’ve said all this out loud.”  

Derek seemed to think about it for a second, then inclined his head in acknowledgement before uncrossing his arms and shifting slightly in the booth they were in, like he was going to stand. 

“You ready to get started then?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be to research something I have no idea about.” Stiles beamed at him.

To be fair, Stiles often had no idea about what he was researching, so at least he was in his element. 

Standing, he grabbed both of their trays and nodded towards the tray return. He almost bashed into a woman walking by and turned to mouth an apology at her retreating back. She didn’t even notice, given she was focussed on heading towards the food. 

Considering they were on the cafeteria side, he figured she was going for seconds. Stiles did that sometimes. 

Looking back at Derek as the older man started after him, Stiles continued with a smile. “If nothing else, should be a chill day for you.” 

“Trust me, I’d welcome a chill day, but nothing about this entire thing has been chill,” Derek muttered as they headed for the tray return. 

While Stiles would love to say he and Derek had a grand old time, looking up books, discovering exciting new things, solving the mysteries of the universe and time travel, unfortunately none of that happened. 

Well, the looking up books part did, but that wasn’t particularly helpful, though Stiles did learn that some of the books in the stacks were legit Supernatural books. When he’d excitedly told Derek he’d have to remember that for later, the Werewolf had sighed sadly and muttered something that sounded like, “That’s what you say every time I tell you.” 

It kind of made Stiles feel guilty. He didn’t think that was how Derek intended it to come across, and Stiles knew it wasn’t exactly his fault since he had no control over his own demise, but Derek just seemed to get more and more disheartened as the day wore on. Stiles wished he knew how to fix this, but he didn’t even know what ‘this’ was, so fixing it seemed unlikely. 

Also none of the books referenced time travel spells or anything even remotely similar to that, so that was an absolute bust. Stiles would’ve assumed Derek was humouring him right then, but he’d admitted he’d never actually formally looked into the whole time travel thing. He was usually too busy chasing Stiles around trying to keep him alive. 

Stiles had joked for Derek not to quit his day job for a bodyguard gig, just in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Derek’s lips had pressed together so hard at that comment that they’d turned white. Stiles figured jokes like that were too soon for someone like Derek. 

They were putting all the books away in the stacks a little after four when a thought occurred to Stiles and he turned to Derek. 

“Have you ever tried not to save me?” 

“I told you,” Derek said on a sigh. “Your death is the reset, so no matter what happens, you die, and I start all over again.” 

“No, no.” Stiles flapped one hand at him before replacing the book he was holding in it. “I mean, have you ever just like, let it happen? You know, you’re reliving the day over and over again. Haven’t you ever just watched how it played out? If you’re always too late to see me get the killing blow, and show up right after when I’m dying, then obviously whoever this is notices you around and waits for you to leave. If you kept your distance for a day, it’s not like they’d notice you’re gone since it resets and they have no idea you’re even meant to be there. You could just follow along from a distance with your wolfy-senses and see what’s up.” 

Derek paused in replacing a book, turning to Stiles. He hoped it was because he was recognizing the genius of his idea, but it was just as likely he was insulted by his use of ‘wolfy-senses.’ 

But like, they kind of were. Spidey-senses worked the same way as wolfy-senses. Except not, because Werewolves didn’t have a sixth sense, they just had really, really good five other senses. 

Now he was curious if they tasted more than humans did somehow. Like, they had enhanced vision, enhanced hearing, enhanced eyesight. They were strong, so that was kind of enhanced touch, right? So did they have enhanced tastebuds too? Could they eat food and immediately pick out every individual ingredient? Stiles didn’t know if that was good or bad, honestly. He could kind of see both sides of that. 

Like, what if something had one singular ingredient that was absolutely disgusting? Whenever it was used in anything, it would overpower the other flavours. 

Stiles felt like it was probably similar to whenever someone put cilantro in anything. Cilantro should always be on the side! It was a known fact that half the population tasted soap when they ate cilantro! Stiles would love to eat it, but not if it made his tacos taste like he was eating handsoap. 

He jumped when his phone suddenly trilled loudly, scaring the unholy shit out of him, and when he pulled it out, he made a face. Right. He’d... forgotten. 

“One sec,” Stiles said, and he turned away from Derek to answer the call when the phone was snatched out of his hand just as he was about to say hello. He whipped around and found Derek holding the phone to his ear. 

“Bunyips are nocturnal, so try and attack it during the day. You’re going to want to find some wattle, it’s a plant indigenous to Australia, you can probably find one if you speak to the horticulture professor at your university. Fashion a spear out of it, and don’t miss. Good luck, Liam.” 

Stiles’ jaw practically hit the floor as Derek pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up. He tossed the phone back to Stiles, who had to hot-potato it for a few seconds to avoid dropping it before he finally managed to trap it between his hands and his chest. 

“What?” Derek asked, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve had to tell Liam how to defeat the Bunyip every loop, I figured I’d save you pausing to ask me and just tell him directly.” 

Stiles’ phone buzzed and he managed to grab it properly so he could check the home screen. It was a text from Liam that just had a bunch of question marks. 

Quickly texting back that it was a Supernatural friend, and to do what he said, Stiles turned to rush after Derek, and almost walked into him when the other man stood waiting beside him. He got a look for that and Stiles just shrugged. 

Derek often did things like that, but Stiles wasn’t used to it. The others always rushed off whenever Stiles fell behind, but considering Derek’s entire life at the moment consisted of keeping him safe, it made sense he’d always stick close or wait for him. 

Heading for the stairs so they could go back up to the first floor, they chatted about what they should grab for food. Stiles was going to joke about vetoing whatever Derek wanted given it was going to be his last meal, but considering how touchy Derek was—with good reason, Stiles had to remind himself—he figured it was best he keep that joke to himself.

It was a good one, though. Stiles was hilarious.

They were just stepping out of the library, passing between two students, when one of them spoke. 

“Great, I’ll see you later, then! Have a good time!” 

Derek froze. Stiles only noticed when he was two steps ahead of him, and he turned to arch an eyebrow at him, confused. 

“Time,” Derek said. 

Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It’s just past four-thirty.” 

“No, time!” Derek moved closer to Stiles, even though they hadn’t been that far apart. Stiles could feel the Werewolf’s natural body heat seeping right off him, warming his own skin. “That’s what you said.” 

“Uh, no, I think you mistook that dude for me.” Stiles motioned towards the guy who’d entered the library after calling farewell to his friend. 

“What? No.” Derek grabbed Stiles’ shoulder with one hand. “That first time. When you died. You asked me if you’d said anything, and you did, you said the word ‘time.’” 

Stiles cocked his head slightly, then slowly let his eyes shunt to the side. 

Time. As in... time displacement? As in putting someone into a time loop? 

He hadn’t asked the question originally as a means of figuring out if this was his doing, but hearing Derek’s words, and knowing what he was going through... 

His magic was very particular about when it wanted to work, and usually did so when people he cared about were in danger. But would it be weird for it to also work when he was in danger? After all, wouldn’t it want to save him? It was him, so clearly, the magic had to have some kind of self-preservation. While, yes, he felt like it would’ve made more sense for him to be in the loop, maybe it had chosen Derek for a reason. 

Maybe it knew something Stiles didn’t. 

“What are you thinking?” Derek asked. He still had one hand gripping Stiles’ shoulder tightly. It was actually quite comforting. Derek was a calming presence, and despite not having known him very long, he supposed in a way, he kind of did know him. It was weird to realize he and Derek actually knew each other. 

It was like having never ending amnesia. Kind of annoying, but he was glad Derek was sticking around. Realistically, he could’ve gone off to do whatever he wanted, the same way the people in Palm Springs had done. But instead, he spent all his time trying to save Stiles. 

And not because he had anything waiting for him at home that he wanted to get back to. He’d already admitted that he lived alone and worked a job with insane hours because he had nobody waiting for him—not even a pet. 

Oh God, was Stiles his pet? 

Not a thought he wanted to have, it was kind of depressing. 

“Nothing,” Stiles said. “I just clued in to what you’ve probably ascertained on your own. Or I told you the last time I realized what was happening.” He wondered how long it had taken him the last time. Or the time before that. Or the one before that. 

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, looking adorably confused. Scott had the same look sometimes, it was totally a Werewolf channelling dogs look. 

“About my magic causing your time loop.”

Derek stared at him extremely hard. Stiles just stared back, confused at the multitude of emotions flashing across the Werewolf’s features. 

“Your magic?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, even more confused. “I mean, I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that I can’t really control it, so it’s kind of a loose cannon most of the time, but I guess it—”

“I’m sorry,” Derek interrupted, Stiles pausing in his explanation when he saw the Werewolf close his eyes, bow his head, and look like he was trying for patience. “You have magic?!” 

Oh.

Oh, Stiles knew that tone. He’d heard that tone before, yes sir. He knew that tone very well when it came from authority figures. Like his father, the sheriff. 

“I—didn’t mention that any of the other loops, did I?” 

Derek took a second before he inhaled deeply and raised his head, opening his eyes to look at Stiles. His eyes had the slightest red tinge around the irises, and Stiles knew he was mad. 

Whoops. 

“No,” Derek informed him. “You did not.”

Stiles nodded once, lips pressed together, then mouthed, “Sorry.” 

Derek took another slow breath, obviously steeling himself, and then asked, “What kind of magic do you have?” 

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He held up both hands in surrender when Derek gave him a look. “No, I swear. My magic is—kind of temperamental. We didn’t even know I had it until some psycho Hunters tried to kill my best friend Scott. They’d taken him somewhere and we had no idea where he was, or how to find him, and something happened and I was like—teleported isn’t really the right word, but I like, mind-teleported?” Stiles squinted, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “Like, I was in my house freaking out at my dad about Scott being missing, and then suddenly my mind was on like, superspeed mode and I went zooming through town right to his location. And there was this other time with a locked door, but I’m pretty sure that was just luck and not my actual magic, though the one with the force field shield thing was kind of crazy. I also saved my dad and Scott’s mom from a psycho Druid once too by splitting open the earth.” He scowled slightly. “You’d think my dad would’ve been more appreciate, but he was annoyed at having to find a good enough lie to explain what happened. My dad knows, you see, so whenever weird shit happens he kind of has to come up with explanations for the weird without causing too much suspicion. Not that my dad wasn’t appreciative, I know I said he should’ve been more appreciative, I didn’t mean he was like, mad or anything, he was just kind of—”

Stiles cut off when Derek slowly raised his free hand to press it against his mouth and got the hint. Derek was obviously trying to think, and Stiles’ chatter was making him lose his train of thought. 

He waited as Derek stared at the ground, one hand still over his mouth and the other gripping his shoulder. It seemed to take him a long time to decide what he wanted to say. 

“So you were dying,” Derek said slowly. “And then I showed up, and your magic latched onto me.” He frowned. “Why me?” 

Stiles shrugged expansively. He had no idea how his magic worked, so for all he knew, his magic was like, “Hey, FBI Werewolf dude, let’s use him!” 

“Proximity?” Stiles offered aloud, voice muffled behind Derek’s hand. The Werewolf moved it away, so he continued. “I mean, you said that you were there, right? And I knew you were a Werewolf, so clearly I figured you could do something about what happened. And I mean, I’m not wrong.” He motioned between them, raising his eyebrows. “You’re doing something.” 

“A terrible job, is what I’m doing,” Derek muttered. 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles patted Derek’s chest lightly before ducking under the hand still on his shoulder and motioning for him to follow. 

“You’re doing the best you can. This is kind of an impossible situation.”

“You’d think I’d be able to get ahead of them,” Derek insisted grumpily. “Like you said, I’ve got the advantage. I know what’s going to happen.” 

“Well, not really.” 

Derek turned to him with a frown. “What does that mean?” 

“Think about it,” Stiles insisted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to combat the chill. “You’re disrupting the entire day every time we interact in a way that isn’t the same as the first time. So realistically, you’re not getting ahead of the killer, because you keep changing the angle they come at me from.” 

“But I should still have the advantage,” Derek argued as they walked. “I know someone’s trying to kill you. They don’t know that I know that, yet they keep being a step ahead and it makes no sense to me.” 

Stiles shrugged again, because he couldn’t answer that any more than Derek could. When they started past his favourite coffee shop, he motioned for them to go that way. Derek sighed, like it was a huge inconvenience, but he obeyed anyway. 

Whatever, in Stiles’ opinion, being out and about was the better call for him. Being around people made it a lot harder to get murdered. 

Well, he was pretty sure, at any rate. Guess it depended on whether or not the killer cared about collateral damage. 

Derek reached the door first and pulled it open for Stiles, following him in. They went to stand in the short line and when Stiles started to reach for his wallet, Derek motioned for him to put it away. 

“Don’t worry about it. I can pay.”

“Uh, you’re trying to save my life, pretty sure I owe you all the money in the world.” 

“I haven’t succeeded yet,” Derek said. The last few times he’d sounded defeated. For some reason, this time he sounded a bit more... frustrated. Growly. Stiles figured maybe he was thinking about everything Stiles had said throughout the day and was annoyed he hadn’t figured out how to save him sooner. 

“How about a compromise?” Stiles asked. 

Derek arched an eyebrow at him. “Compromise?” 

“Yes. I’ll pay for this round, and if the loop doesn’t reset, you pay for the next one. That way, it’s fair. I mean, if it resets, I’m not gonna be out the money anyway, you know?” 

It was obvious Derek didn’t like that logic, but he seemed to understand Stiles would cause a scene if he argued. 

Maybe Stiles had caused a scene in another loop. Man, it was weird for Derek to know so much about him, but for Stiles to know hardly anything back. He wanted to ask questions, but it seemed pointless. 

If he died tonight, it’d all reset anyway. It was kind of annoying, he couldn’t believe Derek hadn’t gone crazy yet. 

It explained why he looked so sad and defeated this morning though. 

“Hi, welcome.” 

Stiles turned to the woman behind the till and offered her a smile. “Hello. Can I get a mocha with whip, and whatever he wants?” Stiles thumbed over his shoulder. 

“Coffee. Black.” 

“Really?” Stiles glanced at him. “So boring, man, live a little.” 

“I’d rather you live a little.” 

Oh, so Derek could make jokes, but if Stiles did, it was insensitive?! Rude. 

“Sure thing,” the woman said behind him and Stiles faced her once more. She stared at the till for a few seconds before actually putting a total in. Stiles wondered if she was new. He figured that was impossible given she was there alone, though maybe her trainer had run to the bathroom with explosive diarrhea or something. “Anything to eat? Brownie? Cookie? Muffin? We’ve got some great muffins.” 

“You do have great muffins,” Stiles agreed, glancing over at the display case. There was only one double chocolate muffin left. It was like a sign. He’d survive the night, and have it for breakfast tomorrow. “Actually, yes. Can I get that last double chocolate muffin please?” 

“Of course!” She beamed at him, as if thrilled she’d managed to upsell. Maybe she thought he was a mystery shopper. 

She gave the total and Stiles paid while she got him his muffin. He took the bag when it was offered to him and he and Derek went to stand at the other end of the counter while they waited on their drinks. 

Derek’s was done basically right away, since it was pouring battery acid into a cup—Stiles shouldn’t judge, he drank black coffee too, but it was easier to make fun of Derek—and then they waited what felt like entirely too long for his mocha. 

When Stiles finally got it and took a sip, he was too nice to tell her she’d definitely fucked it up and just thanked her for the drink before walking out with Derek. 

“This is not great,” he informed Derek when they were out of the small shop. “But I mean, probably better than I could do on my first day, so I’ll cut her some slack.” 

He took another sip and winced. He couldn’t figure out what she’d gone heavy on. It almost tasted like cinnamon, but why the fuck was there cinnamon in his mocha? Whatever, it was still coffee. 

Derek hadn’t said anything in response to that, and Stiles hurried to say, “I wasn’t like, making fun of her or anything. Like I said, she’s doing way better than I would be on my first day. Or second. Or like, ever, I couldn’t handle being a barista. Don’t want you to think I’m a dick or anything.” 

Stiles frowned when he noticed Derek still wasn’t listening. Arching an eyebrow, he poked him in the arm and the Werewolf’s head whipped in his direction. That only made the eyebrow arch even higher. 

“You good?” he asked, confused. 

“Fine,” he said, facing forward once more, still frowning. Man, the guy was gonna get wrinkles if he kept frowning like that all the time. “I’ve just never seen her before.” 

“What?” 

“The barista,” Derek explained, motioning behind them. “I’ve come here with you a lot, and sometimes even without you when I grab something on the way to your dorm first thing. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her.” 

“Well, it’s almost five,” Stiles said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking it. “The coffee shop closes at ten, so it’s probably a shift change. You ever been there this late?” 

“No,” Derek admitted, and some of the scowl left his face. “That makes sense. Hadn’t considered that.” 

“Never worked retail, huh?” Stiles slapped him in the arm, grinning before taking another sip. It turned into a grimace, but again: coffee. One did not waste coffee, no matter how bad it tasted. 

Derek shook his head. “I used to work for my parents. For a while, at least. Wasn’t really what I wanted to do with my life, so eventually I applied for the police academy. I did a little too well in some of the training and ended up getting recommended for an internship with the FBI. Rest is kind of history.” 

“That’s pretty cool though, even if you did cheat with your whole Werewolfness thing.” 

“I didn’t cheat.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I just... might’ve been showing off a bit too much. Mom was scared I’d get found out.”

“But you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t,” Derek confirmed. “Got assigned to an absolutely amazing boss, with an incredible team. I loved my job, once.” 

“What changed?” Stiles asked, sipping his drink. Now that he was used to the taste, it wasn’t quite as bad anymore. 

“My boss went on maternity leave and never came back. We got a new boss who butted heads with another person on the team, so they left and he replaced them with one of his cronies. The guy works well enough, but he’s a brownnoser and the favourite, so my other colleague and I get...” he trailed off, pensive. “Not bullied, but we’re never given recognition. They both take a lot of the credit for everything we do. I grit my teeth and bear it because I don’t do this for the praise, I do it to help people. But it does get irksome when the big boss suggests my one colleague and I are dead weight.” 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “That really sucks.” 

“It is what it is.” Derek shrugged. He drained his own coffee, not seeming to care about how hot it was, and tossed the cup into a trash can they passed on their way back to the dorm. “Besides, it’s to be expected, considering who it is.” 

“Who it is?” Stiles asked, confused. “Why do you say that?” 

He got a sideways glance and a sarcastic half-smile. “Know a lot of FBI agents, do you?” 

Stiles stared at him for a second, and then jerked slightly before hurrying in front of Derek, walking backwards. “Wait, Rafael McCall is your boss?!” 

“Got it in one.” 

“Holy shit, that sucks!” 

“You have no idea.”

“He still drink?”

“All the time.” 

“Fuck.” Stiles winced. “Seriously, I’m sorry. Dad had to—”

“Help your friend’s mom get him out of the house.” Derek half-smiled here, this one genuine. “I remember.” 

“Oh. I guess I’ve mentioned that before.”

“Only about once a loop,” Derek teased. Stiles just stuck his tongue out at him, but he was glad Derek was smiling, as small as it was. 

He shifted back to his side so they were walking together once more, and when the path for the dorms came up, Stiles jerked his head towards the common’s block. They may as well grab dinner now. He didn’t know what the plan was for the rest of the night other than just try and keep him alive. 

It was weird how chill of a day it was considering what was supposedly coming. 

“He hit you.” 

“What?” Stiles asked, inspecting the bottom of his mostly empty cup. He was debating whether or not to drink the rest up, but the dregs made it unappealing, especially considering how bad it had been overall. 

“Rafe. He hit you in one of the loops.” 

“I’m not surprised, honestly.” Stiles decided to toss it out in the garbage they passed on their way to the common’s block. Then he frowned and looked at Derek. “Wait, one of the loops? What about all the others?” 

Derek’s expression went dark when he looked at him. “I only let him do it in one, and it’s because it was the first one, where I had no idea what was going on.” 

“Oh.” That was actually really thoughtful. “Thanks.” 

Derek said nothing in response, and they continued their short walk in silence. Stiles got the door this time, motioning Derek in and following. He was pretty sure the only reason Derek allowed it was because a group of students were coming up behind them, and it was highly unlikely any of them were the killer. 

They weren’t planning to stay in the cafeteria this time—Derek felt it was too close to day’s end, never mind it wasn’t even five-thirty yet—so they grabbed their food, checked out, and then headed back to Stiles’ dorm. 

“Can I ask a personal question that you don’t have to answer?” Stiles asked as they walked. 

“I suppose.” 

“When did you become Alpha? I’d say you’re kind of young, but my buddy Scott’s an Alpha and he was like, just barely seventeen when it happened so, I know it’s a thing.” 

“Your friend was an Alpha at seventeen?” Derek asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story, and not really mine to tell since it was, you know, not great for him.” 

Derek inclined his head in understanding, and was considerate enough not to ask anything else. Stiles figured that would be the end of the conversation, since he’d essentially cut it off, but Derek actually replied. 

“It was two years ago. There was—an incident. Werewolf politics, mostly.” Derek moved to one side when they reached the door to the dorm. Stiles swiped his card and keyed in the code so they could enter. Derek held the door open before following him inside. “My sister was meant to be Alpha after my mom retired, but when all hell broke lose, my mom had to pass the spark on and she didn’t have a lot of time. I was closest, so it was kind of a convenience thing. I wasn’t her first choice, so she probably regrets having done it.” 

“I don’t think she sees it that way,” Stiles argued, stopping halfway up the stairs to turn and look at Derek. “Is your sister older than you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“By how many years?” 

Derek looked confused by the question, but said, “Five years.” 

“So she’s, what, thirty?” 

“Thirty-one.” 

Well, that answered Stiles’ unasked question of how old Derek was, if they were five years apart. But he didn’t think about that for long, because he hated that Derek thought he was Alpha just out of convenience when he was sure his mother hadn’t seen it that way. 

“I think your mom wanted your sister to be Alpha because it’s a lot of responsibility, and she didn’t want to put that on your shoulders. If this happened two years ago, you would’ve been twenty-four to your sister’s twenty-nine.” Stiles reached out to shove lightly at Derek’s shoulder. “I might not know your mom, but I know her son, and she doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who thought of you as second best for the job. I think she wanted it to be someone older to not have you carry a heavy burden on your shoulders, especially given your job.” 

Derek stared at him for a long while, then slowly nodded once and said, “Thanks Stiles.” 

Stiles offered him a smile and continued on up the stairs. “Your mom is okay though? Like, whatever happened worked out and she’s good?” 

“She’s fine. Pissed off how everything went down, but she’s kind of relieved to be retired. My sister’s also pretty happy she got out of it, actually. Besides, my mom is still basically the Alpha, we all respect her and recognize that, but I have to go to all the big meetings and summits and stuff. It’s kind of annoying, but she’s still been going with me just to help. My sister was actually groomed for this. I wasn’t. I’m doing my best.” 

“And I’m sure you’re doing a great job,” Stiles beamed over his shoulder as he pushed through the door leading to his floor. 

He heard Derek snort behind him and call him an idiot, but he could tell his words had made him happy so he took the win. 

When they finally reached his room and went inside, Stiles locked the door, and noticed Derek double-check it, as if worried Stiles hadn’t done it properly. He wondered if that was something that had happened in another loop.

Man, not knowing things was so weird. 

Falling onto his bed, Stiles tossed his muffin onto the night stand and set his can of Coke down beside it a bit more carefully. Then he unwrapped his burrito and took a bite of it while Derek commandeered his chair, doing the same with his sandwich. 

They were both silent for a moment while they ate, Stiles staring at nothing across the room and Derek’s eyes on all the stuff littered across Stiles’ desk. A lot of it was Supernatural stuff, but Stiles had perfected the lie in first year when he’d had a roommate. He said he was writing a book. Easiest way to talk himself out of anything. 

Why did he have tons of pictures of the human body along with notes about the amount of blood someone could lose before dying? Writing a book. Why did he have pages and pages of notes on Werewolves and Chimeras and Banshees? Writing a book. Why did he have detailed topographical maps of the Preserve with all the best places to bury a dead body? Writing a book. 

Seriously, serial killers needed to get with the times and think smarter. Then again, seeing as one was after Stiles, he probably shouldn’t have been encouraging it. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Stiles’ eyes shifted away from the wall to Derek, both hands still wrapped around his burrito and chewing the overly large bite he’d taken. He motioned for him to go for it, since fair was fair, and Derek tapped one finger against one of Stiles’ assignments. 

“M. Stilinski, right?” Derek asked. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s my real name, Stiles is just a nickname.” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “I work for the FBI, Stiles, and have been stuck in a time loop with you for over a month. I know it’s your name.” 

“Then why’d you ask?” Stiles asked with a smirk. 

Derek did not look impressed. “I was going to ask how to pronounce it.” 

“Oh. You didn’t Google it?”

For some reason, Derek looked uncomfortable, which made no sense to Stiles at all. He arched an eyebrow—something he felt like he’d been doing a lot today—and waited for Derek to either tell him what was up, or change the subject. 

It was always hard to tell with Derek. 

“I didn’t think I should,” he muttered.

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly, dragging the word out. “Why?” 

“My mom says names have power. Kind of like... charging a spell, I guess.” He scowled, still avoiding Stiles’ eye by staring down at the papers scattered across his desk. “I suppose a part of me thought maybe your name would hold power, too. I only looked it up because of that first day, when I was trying to find you. But I never went further than that because... I guess I thought maybe it would be the key to saving you. Somehow.” He scoffed, then raked a hand through his hair. “Which is stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Stiles said quietly, Derek’s eyes shifting to him. “I mean, you’re stuck in a time loop because my magic decided to ruin your life. Thinking names hold power doesn’t seem that stupid to me.” 

“Your magic didn’t ruin my life,” Derek argued. “Honestly, I’m glad I met you. Even though each meeting is different, it’s been... nice. Knowing someone like you.”

“Aw, is someone getting attached?” Stiles teased, waggling his eyebrows. He’d meant it more as a joke, but Derek’s face hardened slightly and he turned away, scowling down at Stiles’ desk again. 

Oh. 

Well... yeah. Stiles supposed that made sense. After all, Derek had basically had the equivalent of 50 First Dates, except Stiles died at the end of every date, so... Kind of a shitty date. 

Also, it hadn’t been fifty yet, but considering, he was sure Derek was more than okay with that. He was probably hoping for it not to hit fifty. 

They were both silent for a long while, then Stiles sighed and said. “Mieczyslaw.” 

Derek glanced over at him. Stiles pressed his lips together and tilted his head slightly. 

“That’s how you say it. Mieczyslaw.” 

“Mieczyslaw,” Derek repeated. Stiles smiled, because he’d actually kind of nailed it on his first try. “Mieczyslaw Stilinski.” 

Stiles laughed slightly, then motioned him and said, “Derek Hale. Yours is much shorter.”

“How come you don’t go by it?” 

Now Stiles just laughed. “Are you kidding? No one can pronounce that atrocity. Even my dad calls me Stiles. Except when he’s like, volcanic levels of mad, but we don’t think about that. Those are dark times.” 

“What about your mom?” 

The smile slid right off Stiles’ face, an ache in his chest at the question, and he could tell by Derek’s expression that he knew he’d said something wrong. 

Which—to be fair, he hadn’t. Stiles just... forgot sometimes. That he wasn’t in Beacon Hills anymore. That people didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry, you don’t—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine.” Stiles forced himself to get his shit back together and waved one hand at Derek to bat away his apologies. “It’s just weird when people don’t know, because everyone back home knows. Small town, and my dad’s the sheriff so, you know. News travels fast.” He pulled a piece of soggy-looking lettuce from his burrito, then stared at it for a while when he realized all lettuce was soggy once it was inside a burrito. 

He also didn’t know why his burrito had lettuce, did burritos usually have lettuce? 

“She uh, died. When I was a kid.” He paused for a long while, still staring down at the soggy lettuce. “I tell people it was cancer, because having to explain frontotemporal dementia is kind of depressing considering how old she was.” 

“I’m really sorry, Stiles.” 

Stiles shrugged and sniffed once, letting the piece of lettuce drop onto the wrapping he had in his lap. “It happens. We all go eventually, right?” 

He realized how weird that must be for Derek to hear, considering. 

“Can I tell you something?” Stiles asked quietly, still avoiding Derek’s gaze. 

“Of course.” 

“Sometimes, when I’m doing something mundane, like dishes, or laundry, or whatever, I have this weird... feeling. Like her death is my fault. Like I caused it somehow. Like my dad hates me because I’m the reason she’s gone.” 

“Stiles,” Derek started, but he waved one hand at him to leave it. 

“I know. It’s irrational, and stupid, and absolutely not true, but I just... feel like I should’ve been able to save her. Especially after my magic came out. Like—why did she have to die, when so many others have lived, you know?” 

He forced himself to take a bite of his burrito to stop talking, chewing for a few seconds before swallowing. He didn’t take another bite though, and Derek didn’t move. 

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” Stiles admitted. “I guess—if the day resets, and you hit argumentative-doesn’t-believe-you-Stiles, you can pull that out of your back pocket.” 

“I’d never use that on you, Stiles.” 

“You’re not using it on me,” he insisted, looking over at Derek, but not quite at him. “It’s just something I know I’ve never told anyone. So if you were to tell me that, I’d know you weren’t lying. How could you know something I’ve only ever said to myself?” 

Derek was quiet for a long while before saying, “Only as a last resort.” 

Stiles nodded, and took another bite of his food. 

“It’s not true, you know.” 

“I know,” Stiles said, and gave Derek a look when the other man’s expression said he didn’t believe him at all. “I do. I think it’s just... the kind of thing you think about when you realize magic is real.” 

Derek seemed to concede his point, which Stiles appreciated. He didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, since it was still very much in his mind. Especially now, since he’d actually spoken the words aloud to another person. 

“Can I tell you something?” Derek asked, Stiles shifting his gaze back to him. Derek had barely eaten any of his sandwich. Stiles, meanwhile, was almost completely done his burrito. 

“Sure.” 

For a few seconds, Derek said nothing. Then he shook his head once, and said, “I don’t really want to admit this, but maybe doing it means the day won’t reset. Because it’s less scary admitting this with the thought of you forgetting.” 

Stiles tilted his head slightly. “Okay. Interest is piqued.” 

He got a real look for that, but Derek continued anyway. 

“I don’t want the day to reset,” he said quietly, after a brief silence. “Not just because it means you died, or because I have to convince you all over again. But just because—that first day. When we met. It was—something. I don’t know. I feel different with you. And meeting you like this over and over again, it only reaffirms that you matter to me. And today...” He scowled, like he hated admitting this. “Today has been probably the best day since day zero of this whole mess. I feel like we’re building something. And the idea that I’m going to lose it again... I don’t want that.” 

Stiles felt his chest clench, because he could see how much Derek was struggling to admit this, and Stiles so wished he could do something for him. Promise it’d work out this time, insist that things would be different, whatever. But he couldn’t. 

All he could do was bow his head and hope for the best. They still had time before midnight. 

“How does it happen?” Stiles asked, forcing Derek to look back over at him. “How do I die? Is it–is it quick?” 

“Stiles...” 

“It might help,” he insisted, even though he was pretty sure it wouldn’t help at all. “I just—maybe it’ll help me figure out who this person is. So how do I die?” 

It looked like Derek wasn’t going to answer at first. He just stared at Stiles, emotions warring behind his eyes, but eventually he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms, sandwich sitting forgotten on the desk, and said, “I wish I could say it was quick, but it’s not. Every time you die, you’re always still alive enough for me to find you before... you know.” 

“Oh.” Well. That sucked. More for Derek, at least Stiles didn’t remember it. “How does it happen? Am I like, stabbed or shot or what?” 

“It’s different every time,” Derek explained, and when he opened his mouth to continue, he paused, eyes shifting to the side before he closed his mouth again. 

Stiles stared at him, eyebrows raised as he waited for Derek to continue, but he didn’t. He just stared at the wall, eyes going a bit glassy as he thought, and then they snapped back into focus and widened. 

“They’re in the loop.” 

“Who’s what now?” Stiles asked, confused. 

Derek turned back to him, looking like the biggest epiphany of his life had just occurred to him. “Stiles, they’re in the loop! With me! It makes so much sense, don’t you see?!” 

“Given you have way more context than me, uh... no. I don’t see.” 

Derek looked like he wanted to get up and pace, but instead he put both hands on the desk and stared down at it as he thought, speaking aloud as if to ensure his logic was sound. 

“They keep killing you in different places, and while that makes sense since I’m changing the locations by interfering, like you said earlier, they have no reason to change how they kill you! Why would they have to?! The only reason they would do that is if they’re trying to figure out how to kill you and break the loop! They killed you, and you put them in the time loop!” His breath hitched and he turned wide eyes on Stiles then. “What if that first day wasn’t the first day? What if... this loop has been going on for months, years? What if the person killing you got trapped in the loop, and they kept changing how they killed you, what they did, until the day came where I ended up in the right place at the right time, and you put me in the loop?” 

“Wait,” Stiles said slowly, watching Derek have a mental breakdown right before his eyes. “Wait, you think that my magic forced you into an existing loop because you were finally in a position for it to happen? But why would I have put the killer in the loop to begin with?” 

“Think about it.” Derek grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and put it down on the desk. “Imagine I wasn’t in this loop with you, right? Imagine we’re both just living out the day as normal, as intended.” He drew a straight line on the page. “And at the end of the day, maybe late at night, or in the shower, or wherever, you die.” Derek drew an X at the end of the line. “The day resets. But if the day resets exactly as it was, with no changes, then it’s just a loop that goes on forever. If you pull the killer into the loop, and they realize they’re reliving the same day, it means they’d try different things to get out of it. So this person does this over and over again, trying different things and different times of day to kill you.” He drew a few lines coming off the first one, adding Xs every now and then to denote Stiles dying. “Then, one day, they decide they’re going to kill you here.” Derek drew another line, and added an X again. “But they forget the schedule. They forget that I show up, or maybe they don’t care that I show up, because whatever, the loop will reset if they didn’t manage to break it.” Derek drew a D beside the last X he’d drawn. “But they didn’t consider that the thing that put them in the loop in the first place was you. And there was finally someone around who could do something about it.”

Stiles stared down at the piece of paper, and he could hear Derek’s breathing quicken. He was going to hyperventilate himself into unconsciousness, but Stiles could understand why he was so excited. After all, he’d been stuck in this loop for weeks with no progress, and now he actually understood how the killer kept getting ahead of him. 

If they were both in the loop, and both changing the series of events, it made sense. Action and reaction. 

“Do you think they know?” Stiles asked quietly, looking up at Derek. “Do you think they’ve figured it out?” 

Derek looked back down at the page, rubbing at his stubble with one hand as he did so. “It’s hard to say,” he admitted. “But it’s more likely than not that they do, because of all the changes in your routine. And they obviously know I’m watching you, or else they wouldn’t bother waiting for me to be out of sight before striking. They’d just kill me, and then kill you.” 

They both stared at the paper for a few seconds, then Derek let out a short, harsh laugh. 

Stiles could tell he was thrilled at having figured this out. It didn’t solve the overall problem, but it certainly gave Derek an edge. If the killer knew about Derek, but assumed Derek didn’t know about them, then for the first time, Derek was the one who had the upper hand. 

That meant if Stiles died tonight, at least Derek could figure out his next move before starting the game. This had just gone from being a game of tag that Derek didn’t even know he was playing to a game of chess. 

God Stiles hoped Derek was good at chess. 

“This calls for a celebration!” Stiles said loudly, wanting to pull Derek out of his dire thoughts. He could think about a strategy next loop, if there even was one. 

He saw the Werewolf start, obviously having succeeded, and when their eyes met, the smile on Derek’s face was so soft that Stiles wanted to eat him. God, was it weird to kind of love this man he didn’t know while simultaneously also knowing him but kind of not? His life was so weird. 

“And how do you propose we celebrate?” Derek asked, sounding amused. 

“Uh...” Stiles had said the words, but he hadn’t actually thought them through. He looked around his room, and realized he’d forgotten his Coke and his muffin. “Dessert!” He had to lean more than usual to grab the pastry bag, almost slamming his head on the edge of his desk, but Derek grabbed his shoulder to steady him and he managed to snag the corner of it. “Double chocolate muffin for us both!” 

“I’m not really a fan of chocolate,” Derek said, which had Stiles gasp in horror. 

“Are you serious? We might not be able to be friends.” 

“Isn’t it better this way? It means you get to eat all the chocolate things I don’t want, and I get to eat all the pickles out of your burgers.” 

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “Pickles are gross. You’d eat my burger pickles?”

“With pleasure. I love pickles.” 

“Man, we are a match made in heaven,” Stiles told him, offering him a saucy wink. Derek rolled his eyes, but he still smiled fondly. 

Stiles shoved his hand into the pastry bag, pulling his treat out. “Well, more for me, so I can’t complain!” 

“You probably will, though.” 

“True.” Stiles winked at him while removing the wrapping from around the base and then took a huge bite, letting out a content sigh. “Man, they put crack in these or something. They taste so good.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s just the chocolate.” 

“You are probably right,” Stiles acquiesced. “After all, sugar is by far the highest addiction in the United States.” 

“And probably most other countries, too.” 

Stiles inclined his head, conceding his point, and took another huge bite of his muffin. He ate it in five bites, because he was classy that way. Also chocolate was delicious. 

Derek snorted when Stiles was done licking chocolate off his fingers. 

“What?” 

“You have chocolate on your face, idiot.” 

Before Stiles could reach up to wipe it off, Derek had leaned forward, his thumb brushing along the corner of Stiles’ lips, presumably to clear it away. 

Then, his fingers stayed there, barely touching his chin while his thumb rubbed gently at the same spot a second time, Derek’s eyes on his lips. 

Stiles felt his heart do a weird double-thump in his chest and Derek’s eyes snapped down to it before he retreated his hand and leaned back. 

That wasn’t what Stiles wanted. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted...

Honestly, he didn’t know. But he felt connected to Derek, somehow. It was more than just this day, it was like he knew him, even though he didn’t. Like despite not remembering all the previous loops, he somehow still recognized who this man was, what he was like, how important he was to him. 

What if this was the last loop? What if this was the end, and they could make this work? Find the killer, stop them from murdering Stiles, and just... continue on? 

“Hey,” Stiles said when Derek turned his face towards his unfinished sandwich, scowl on his features. “Hey,” he repeated, more insistently. 

Derek looked thoroughly annoyed when he turned back to look at him. 

Stiles leaned over, half-standing, and pressed one hand against the back of his desk chair to lever himself up. He brought his face inches away from Derek’s, but didn’t close the gap. He could feel Derek’s hot breath against his lips. 

“I won’t do it unless you want me to,” Stiles said quietly. “I know it’ll hurt you more than it will me. And I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t remember this tomorrow if you die tonight.” 

“But I will if I don’t,” he argued. “And I’d rather die with that memory than live without it.” 

Derek’s hands were on his face in a heartbeat, closing the distance instantly, lips pressing insistently against Stiles’. Their teeth clacked together, and their tongues tangled, and it was messy, and urgent, but also somehow everything Stiles had ever wanted. 

He buried one hand in Derek’s hair, the other scratching at the stubble on his face, and almost bit off his own tongue when Derek surged forward so that they ended up back on the bed. Stiles’ head almost collided with the far wall, but Derek’s hand moved from his face to between the wall and the back of Stiles’ head in an instant. 

Damn Werewolves. Not that he should be complaining, it had saved him a hell of a headache. 

And probably his tongue, because he definitely would’ve bitten through it. 

Kissing Derek was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Which felt weird to recognize, but it was just... more. More intense, more urgent, somehow more sexual. He had no idea why, but something about Derek just... fit. It fit in his life, and he never wanted to stop kissing him.

Eventually, it was getting hard to breathe, and he pushed at Derek’s chest to get him to back off. He did so, reluctantly, and when he pulled back, he bit at Stiles’ lip until he was too far to keep it trapped between his teeth and let go. 

“Sorry,” Stiles gasped, reaching up to tug at his collar. “It’s just... hard to breathe.” 

“Sorry,” Derek repeated with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to knock the wind out of you.” 

“You wish.” Stiles tried to laugh, but didn’t manage it. He rubbed at his neck, trying to exhale, but only a wheeze left him. When he tried to inhale, it felt like his lungs weren’t working properly. 

Derek’s amused expression and soft features shifted in an instant and he jerked upright. When he said his name, his tone was all alarm. 

“Stiles? Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Stiles tried once again to inhale, but it was the most pathetic gasp in he’d ever managed in his life. Derek grabbed him by the shoulders and wrenched him into a seated position, but it didn’t seem to help. 

He couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong. When he reached up to grab at his throat again, he found his arm wouldn’t move. He could barely twitch his fingers. 

What the actual fuck was going on?!

“Stiles!” Derek was bent in front of him, Stiles’ vision going dark around the edges, and he could see the panic on the other man’s face. “No, you can’t do this! Not this time! Please! Stiles, we had this! Fuck!” 

He had Stiles’ face cradled in one hand, but he punched at the closest hard surface with the other angrily. The pastry bag got caught on his fist and he shook it away roughly, then paused and snatched it up. 

“The woman,” he breathed. “The woman at the—it was the muffin! She poisoned you!” 

Stiles hadn’t gotten a breath in quite a while. He could only vaguely make sense of what Derek was saying, his vision swimming and growing darker. 

Then arms were wrapped around him, and lips were at his temple as Derek held him tightly enough to grind his bones together. 

“It’s okay, Stiles. You’re gonna be okay. We figured it out today. You and I figured this out, and I’m not going to let her win.” He tightened his hold. “I’m going to save you. We’re going to get you out of this hell, I promise.” 

Stiles wanted to tell him he knew. He wanted to tell Derek he trusted him, and that he believed in him, and that there was no doubt in his mind that he would fix everything.

But he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t even get a breath out. Eventually, his vision went completely black, and he couldn’t feel Derek’s arms around him anymore. 

TBC...

Chapter Text

Stiles woke up gasping for air, coughing so roughly it made it even harder for him to inhale to the point where he reached up to claw at his own throat, trying to relieve some of the pressure. When he finally managed that first inhale, his gorge rose, and he leaned over the side of his bed and threw up. 

Stomach acid burned its way up his throat, spattering pathetically across some of his clothes and the carpet of his room. He dry-heaved for a few seconds, spots dancing in front of his eyes as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. 

It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually he managed to cough bile out of his throat and he inhaled shakily, letting out another harsh cough before spitting. For a few seconds, he just lay there on his side, half over the edge of the bed, gasping as he stared down at the sick on his floor. 

Most of it seemed to have landed on his pants. He supposed that was a good thing, he could wash his pants. His carpet—not so much. 

The smell of his own vomit burned his nose and he let out a groan of disgust before wiping at his mouth with one hand and struggling to sit up properly. He felt weak and shaky, like he’d just had the worst bout of food poisoning in the world. 

He figured it was probably his dream. He’d had the weirdest dream that he couldn’t even really remember, but he knew he’d been... drowning? Suffocating? He didn’t remember. But he couldn’t breathe, and that had somehow translated into his waking life. Not fun. Zero out of ten, certainly did not recommend. 

Letting out another cough, that ended up causing a bit of a coughing fit and he struggled to get himself back under control. Somewhere between him dying from the coughing, and shouting in the corridor, his alarm went off and he hastily shut it off, not needing that on top of everything else right now. 

He sat in bed for what felt like forever, trying to get himself back under control, the shouting outside getting louder. It wasn’t until it was almost in front of his door that he realized what it was saying. And who it was. 

“—eat, please do not leave the dorm. This is a direct order from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. There is a wanted criminal on school grounds, and deadly force will be used. I repeat, please do not leave the dorm.” 

His Resident Advisor’s voice passed in front of his door as the words were repeated again, and he wondered if they had people stationed at the doors to stop students who were in the shower or passed out cold from leaving, in case they hadn’t heard. 

If he hadn’t recognized the RA’s voice, he would’ve assumed it was a prank, but he knew for a fact the FBI was on site today since he was meant to have them in his criminology class, and his RA wouldn’t have pulled a prank like this. 

He figured it must be serious. 

Well, if they were using deadly force, then it was obviously serious. He wondered what case it was. Like, was it a known serial killer traversing the United States? Or more localized? Maybe this was a cop killer. Stiles knew that the cops went hard on cop killers, so maybe this person had killed an FBI agent and now they were all out for blood. 

Whatever, at least it meant he didn’t have to go to class today. He would’ve preferred to continue sleeping considering he hadn’t gotten much of it, but his harsh wake-up followed by the vomit had kind of forced him into consciousness pretty aggressively to the point where he was sure he wouldn’t get any more sleep. 

Figuring he might as well keep looking into Liam’s Bunyip problem—after cleaning up the puke—he moved to the bottom of his bed so he could climb off it without stepping in anything gross. Bending down, he tried to use one of his shirts that had also gotten some puke on it to clean up most of the mess on his carpet. When he got as much of it as he could, he grabbed his toiletries and a washcloth and went to the bathroom. 

There were more people there than usual, considering they’d all been woken up relatively close together given the announcement, so he had to wait to use both a sink and a stall. He ended up at the sinks first and brushed his teeth before wetting the washcloth. When a stall opened up, he went to relieve himself, and then realized he had to wait for another sink to open up to wash his hands. 

He ended up giving up and went to wash his hands in the shower, since only one stall was in use. Once he was done, he gathered all his things, ignoring the people chatting away about the excitement of the morning, and headed back for his room. 

Making quick work of the mess, he rolled his sick-covered clothes over each other to trap the vomit in the middle, and then headed down to the basement so he could put them in the laundry. At seven-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday, the place was empty, so he found a machine easily and then started the load, setting a timer on his phone for close to when it’d be over.

His biggest pet peeve was when people fucking dumped his clean, wet clothes on the ground because they wanted the machine. He’d never left his clothes in the wash for longer than five minutes after it was done, since he was pretty good about checking the time, but some people stood waiting and dumped the load out instantly like assholes, so he’d started coming down early to avoid that.

Once he was back in his room, he stood just inside his doorway for a few seconds, listening to people still chatting beyond the closed door, and then sighed before raking a hand through his hair. 

Bunyip research first, and then he’d get some homework done. He wondered if any of his professors would assign homework via email later due to the cancelled classes. He could see his English composition professor doing that, but the others were probably just as happy staying home all day and not having to deal with their students. Why would they assign extra work for themselves? Seemed silly. Only sadists would do that. 

Like his English composition professor. 

Changing out and eying a bag of popcorn on his dresser, he shrugged and decided it would be good enough for breakfast. Grabbing it, he fell into his chair and shoved a handful of stale popcorn into his mouth while bringing his laptop out of sleep mode and typing in his password one-handed. 

He’d spent hours looking into this yesterday, mostly online, so he had no idea what he was thinking he would find this time around, but he tried anyway, browsing the internet, clicking on a few websites, reading old lore on Wikipedia, anything he could get his hands on. 

Eventually, he found a website that was so blatantly not legit that he started to click out of it when he paused, staring at it. He had no idea why, but there was an... itch. An itch at the back of his mind, telling him not to dismiss this so easily. 

He couldn’t figure out why, and he spent almost an hour reading through the website in an attempt to ascertain what his brain was latching on to. It was by a woman named Marin Morrell, and the way it was laid out made it so obvious it pertained to a game. 

It took him entirely too long to finally Google said game, only to discover it didn’t exist. Which was weird. Even if it was discontinued, it should’ve still been something he could pull up, but there was nothing. 

Even more intrigued, he continued reading through the site until he finally thought to click on a Supernatural creature he did know so he could figure out why this site bugged him so much. 

Reading through the Werewolf section, he stared at the last sentence once he was finished for an exceptionally long time. 

It was all true. It was accurate, and true. 

He clicked on Kanimas next, and then Kitsunes. They didn’t seem to have much on Hellhounds, but what they did have was also correct. 

“Damn,” he said to himself, surprised. This site was literally a legit site, designed to look like a fake. That was—pretty smart, actually. And helpful. He knew they existed, he’d used them before, but there weren’t many of them and they all looked much more legit and associated with real games. He wondered how many other sites were like this one that he’d just immediately clicked out of. 

Bookmarking it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew about this site in advance, but didn’t know why. Leaning back in his chair, he sat staring at his laptop with his arms crossed for a few minutes, struggling to think about why that was.

He gave up relatively quickly. He knew that it would come to him eventually when he wasn’t obsessing over it, that tended to be how things worked. 

Going to the Bunyip section, he read through it a few times before texting Liam, and then sending a link to the website in the pack’s group chat for good measure. Because why not share the knowledge? Maybe next time something attacked the pack, they would do their own research. 

Unlikely, but a man could dream. Mostly so that he could sleep. 

Lydia responded to the group text first, taking offense that the site said most Banshees were hideous old ladies. 

Mason, not so helpfully, reminded Lydia she would eventually be an old lady, and beauty wasn’t permanent. 

Stiles turned alerts off on his phone after reading that message, because if Mason wanted to die by Lydia’s hand, he would not be an accomplice. 

When it was close to two, after Stiles’ laundry had long ago been dried and returned to their spots on the floor, he left his room to go down to the main entrance, curious as to whether or not the lockdown was over. 

One of the RAs was sitting by the door reading a book. Stiles doubted they were reading Chaucer in their free time, so it was more likely they were reading it for class. Might as well do homework while guarding the door. 

Since they had their back to it, Stiles assumed it was locked.

“Hi,” Stiles said as he approached, the girl looking up. 

“Hi,” she replied with a smile. 

He stopped a few steps in front of her and motioned the door. “Take it leaving’s still off limits?” 

“For now. We’re waiting to hear from the university president, apparently they might have caught the perpetrator but we have to stay on lockdown until we get the all clear.” 

“Better safe than sorry, right?” Stiles asked. 

“Glad someone thinks so,” she said with a sigh. “The amount of bitching and moaning I heard today almost made me let some people out just so they could fuck around and find out for themselves. But, I didn’t.” 

“Your patience is appreciated,” Stiles said honestly. “I would’ve let them leave if they wanted to die so badly.” 

She let out a small laugh at that, and Stiles smiled, then said he’d let her get back to her book. She made a face, making it clear it was just for class, and he headed back upstairs. 

He could see how some of the people in his dorm would’ve wanted to head out, enjoy the day. It was a beautiful day out, and Stiles himself was getting a headache from the coffee withdrawal since he didn’t have any in his room. Most of the others in his dorm probably figured it would be safe to go out and play ultimate frisbee or tan or whatever. Use this as a day off. 

Stiles had grown up in Beacon Hills, he knew better. The only reason he wanted to leave the dorm was for much-needed coffee, and real food. Much as he liked the popcorn and gummy worms he’d unearthed in his room, they weren’t exactly filling and he was a growing boy. He wanted a sandwich, or some pizza, or a muffin. 

“Oh, not a muffin,” he said to himself aloud while opening a file on his computer to continue some homework. 

He paused once the words left him, fingers hovering over the keys of his laptop. Why had he said that? Stiles loved muffins! Especially the ones from the coffee shop between the building near his criminology class and the dorm. It had the absolute best double chocolate muffins in the world. 

But for some reason, the mere thought of the muffin was making his fight or flight kick in, and he had absolutely no idea why. What the hell had a muffin ever done to him? 

Shrugging it off uncomfortably, he figured maybe he’d been eating them too much lately and his body was trying to rebel. It was a weird thing to happen, but he’d be fine laying off the muffins for a while. As long as he could still eat eggs and cereal, he’d survive breakfast. 

Oatmeal was the devil and he stayed far away from it. 

Trying to get back to work on his assignment, he couldn’t completely shake the feeling that there was a reason he should be avoiding muffins for the foreseeable future. 

It was well past seven in the evening when they called a lift to the dorm lockdown, and most people rushed for the common’s block for some much needed food or caffeine. 

Stiles was one of them, but was sad to find the cafeteria closed. Unfortunately, because of the lockdown, the staff who usually manned the various food halls across campus hadn’t been allowed to report to work, which meant even though the ban was lifted, nothing was prepped and ready for people to eat. 

Most of the other students bitched and moaned about it, but Stiles just shrugged indifference. There were tons of places to eat right off campus, and the student-run convenience store in the common’s block had just opened, so he knew they’d all get food somehow. 

Almost everyone bolted when news spread of the cafeteria being closed, obviously trying to go and find something open somewhere close by before the crowds hit, but Stiles just turned and headed for the convenience store. A few other students—not many, but a few—had realized the same thing as him.

There was cup noodle in the convenience store, and while it wasn’t the healthiest thing, it was better than the stomach full of popcorn and gummy worms he’d had all day. They even had some Starbucks iced coffee in the drink cooler, and he grabbed four of them so he could put three in his mini fridge. One never knew when he might need a caffeine fix again, and all he had in his dorm was Red Bull. 

Perusing the cup noodle, he found a brand he’d never heard of before that was more of a yakisoba than a ramen, so he grabbed that one instead, along with a bag of Doritos and some brownie bites. 

Paying for his haul, he headed back to the dorm with his loot and stopped by the common room on his way to his room so he could start the communal kettle. Hopefully most people had cleared out and no one would steal his hot water, but even if they did, it wasn’t a big deal. 

He dropped his stuff off in his room and headed back with the yakisoba, reading the instructions while he waited for the water to boil. He didn’t see another soul, and thankfully did not have his water stolen. Normally he’d have gone back to his room after filling the Styrofoam container, but apparently he had to drain it, so he waited for three minutes, then peeled off the extra tab to drain the water. He’d never had this before, and was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t have just gotten a cup noodle. 

Too late now.

Well, no, not really, he could still go and get one, but he was lazy so he just went back to his room, dumped the sauce in—which was in liquid form instead of powder—and then used a fork to mix it up. It was actually pretty good, and he browsed Reddit while he ate and drank his iced coffee. He’d have preferred a real coffee, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. If he’d had his Jeep here, he’d have gone out to grab food, but that was still back home in California so this was the easiest way to avoid taking transit off campus. 

There were a few fast food places dotted throughout the campus itself, but he was fairly convinced if the cafeterias were all closed, the fast food joints had probably all been closed throughout the day too. 

Finishing up his dinner relatively quickly given how hungry he was, Stiles was watching some random YouTube video about an influencer going to jail for the dumbest shit in history, enjoying his one-bite brownies, when his phone went off. 

He hesitated briefly, only because he still hadn’t checked his messages since Mason’s brave, but stupid words to Lydia, but he’d turned the alerts back on in case his dad called. It was hard to coordinate given his dad’s schedule, so he always took his calls whenever he could. 

Debating whether or not this was Scott asking for help finding a Necromancer to revive Mason, he sighed and grabbed his phone, bracing for the worst when he checked the home screen.

All he felt was confusion. 

[Unknown Number]
Library stacks. Now.

He blinked, staring down at the three words, utterly confused. Was this a wrong number? 

Another message came through. 

[Unknown Number]
NOW Stiles!

Okay, not a wrong number. What the hell? 

He stared down at the message, tapping lightly at the edge of his phone with one finger as he thought. Well, his curiosity was certainly piqued, and he had to assume whoever this was knew whether or not the library was open, considering the way the day had gone. 

Maybe it was a classmate whose number he’d forgotten to program in or something. 

“At least I’m done dinner,” he said to himself before getting to his feet. He figured there was no harm in checking it out, so he texted back that he was on his way and shoved his phone into his pocket. 

Exiting his room with his keys, phone and wallet, he checked his door was locked and headed out the back way, exiting the building and starting towards the library. 

It was kind of freaky seeing how dead it was on campus. It was still early, but given most people had raced off school grounds for food, there were hardly any people milling about. 

He almost walked into a woman checking her phone, which was a feat in and of itself since nobody else was around. 

“Jeez, walk much?” he muttered, since she’d literally been the one to almost walk into him. 

Shrugging it off, he kept going, making his way quickly to the library and climbing the steps. Thankfully, it was lit up inside and clearly open to the public, so he grabbed the door handle and pulled, entering the library. 

No one greeted him when he walked in, presumably because the lady at the counter was too busy trying to catch up on a day’s worth of work. He could see another worker wheeling a trolley of books towards the small elevator at the back.

Bypassing everything on the first floor, he headed for the stairs and started down them, taking them a few steps at a time and pushing open the door at the bottom so he could walk out into the stacks. 

The rows of tables were all empty, and the projectors on the far side were dark and devoid of people. Arching an eyebrow, Stiles headed closer to the stacks, beginning to walk towards the few shelves with gaps for people to fit. 

“Hello?” he called, moving back and forth along the shelves. He thought he caught sight of something near the end of one of the rows, but was probably imagining things. “Hello? Is anyone here?” 

Why did he feel like the stupid first-to-die character from a horror movie? 

Probably because his life felt like one. 

He heard and saw nothing, and was about to call out again when the door behind him opened and he turned. The woman who’d almost bashed into him while on her phone was walking into the stacks, a smarmy smirk on her face as she inspected every inch of him. 

Stiles frowned, because she obviously wasn’t the one to ask him to come, or else she wouldn’t have ignored him outside. 

“Well, well,” she said as she moved closer, dragging one hand lightly along a table as she passed it. “And here I was thinking it’d be borderline impossible to get you alone tonight. I thought I’d have to lure you out, or break into your room. That would’ve been troublesome. But instead, here you are, of your own volition. All alone once again.”

“Again?” Stiles asked, confused. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he also wasn’t an idiot, and her words were definitely cause for concern. 

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been?” she asked, moving fully around the table and starting slowly towards him. “How many times I’ve done this? Over and over again. But it never seems to stick. I just wake right back up where I was. Why is that?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles insisted, moving around another desk as she got closer so he could keep some space between them. 

“Of course not.” She smiled at him kindly, though her expression was anything but friendly. “Why would you? See, the fun thing for me is finding new ways to make you suffer. But I’m running out of ideas. And I’m running out of patience. So we’re gonna try again, and this time, we’re gonna have to hope it works. If not, well, I can always try again.” Stiles jumped when she waved one hand to the side and the desk beside her flew across the room, slamming into the far wall. “And again.” She swiped a second time, another desk flying away. “And again.” 

The last desk between them careened away across the room, slamming into the reinforced glass that comprised of the wall by the stairs. The sound of it hitting the glass was jarring, but besides some spiderweb cracks in it, it didn’t break entirely. 

Stiles stumbled back a few steps, hitting the wall behind him, mind racing as he tried to figure out what the fuck to do, and why the fuck she was acting like he’d wronged her somehow. He was more used to the big, scary monster type of Supernatural. People like this, who used magic, he’d only met once. And it hadn’t been a fun encounter. 

Also his own magic was a dick so it wasn’t like he could fight her off. He felt like Agatha Harkness trying to stand up to Wanda Maximoff in WandaVision. 

Woefully outmatched. 

“So.” The woman reached into her belt and pulled out a wicked looking dagger that would make video game developers weep with how cool it looked. “Let’s try once more, shall we?” 

Before Stiles could say anything, before he could even think of what to say, she lunged for him, knife raised, ready to strike. He tried to cover his face with his arms, despite knowing how dumb that was, and the moment the knife began to lower as she swung, a shadow appeared right beside him and he heard the loud sound of skin hitting skin. 

His heart was pounding in his chest so hard it actually hurt, and he lowered his arms slightly to find a man standing beside him. He was wearing a nice navy suit, hair perfectly styled, and eyes burning Alpha red. One hand was wrapped tightly around the woman’s wrist, dagger inches from Stiles’ raised arms, and the smile on his face was both hot as hell and terrifying. 

“Got you bitch.” 

He wrenched her arm around and she screamed, the dagger dropping to the ground. Stiles instantly slid to the ground and scrambled sideways towards the shelves, trying to put distance between them. It ended up being a good thing, because a second later, the Werewolf was blasted backwards into the wall, right where Stiles had been standing. 

Stiles had no idea what was going on, or who these people were, but he was so fucking out of there it was not even remotely funny. 

He raced for the door leading to the stairs just as the woman turned to him, shouting his name. A chair flew at his legs and Stiles fell hard. Scrambling to get back up, he heard the woman let out another shout and turned to glance back as he practically crawled to the door. 

The Werewolf was on top of her, roaring in her face as he struggled to hold her down. It looked like she’d erected some kind of shield between them, which was making it difficult for him to actually get a good grip on her. 

Reaching the door, Stiles wrenched it open and started to bolt up the stairs when he stopped. 

He didn’t know why he stopped, but he did. He could still see the fight between the two unknown parties through the glass wall, and the woman had just thrown the Werewolf off her with magic. She was on top of him now, having retrieved her knife, and she was stabbing repeatedly at his chest. 

Sure, the guy was a Werewolf, and even from there, Stiles could tell he was still alive and would likely be fine, given he was roaring angrily—and loudly, how had no one from upstairs heard this whole fight?!—but... 

He’d saved his life. 

Stiles didn’t know who this guy was, but he’d literally saved his life. He couldn’t just abandon him like this, it wasn’t right. What if that blade was laced with wolfsbane? What if this guy actually died?! 

“Fuck!” Turning and almost falling down the stairs, Stiles slammed back through the door, skidding so badly he had to push one hand off the floor to stay standing and redirected towards the crazy bitch going to town on the guy’s really nice suit. 

On a back swing, Stiles grabbed her wrist and twisted hard enough to break it. She shrieked and dropped the dagger again, the clatter somehow deafening despite everything else going on. Stiles kicked it away with one foot, still bending her arm the wrong way, and wrenched her off the Werewolf. 

The man was gasping as he rolled onto his side, struggling to breathe. Shit, she’d probably hit a bunch of vital organs, that would take a while to heal. Shit! 

It was so weird to Stiles to be fighting against someone who didn’t have super strength, but did have magic. He felt a bit like he was playing a weird game of tug-of-war with her arm, because she didn’t seem able to erect a shield while they were still connected, so Stiles punched her in the face a few times, praying for her to just pass out so he could figure out what the fuck was going on.

He’d apologize to his dad later for hitting a woman. This particular woman was trying to kill him, so he felt like the punches were justified. 

She let out a scream of rage and thrust her free hand towards his stomach, but the Werewolf was suddenly there, tackling him out of the way and forcing Stiles to release the grip he had on her wrist. What the actual fuck?! What did the guy think she was going to do, bury her hand in his chest?!

Actually, now that he saw the panic on the Werewolf’s face as he hovered over him, she might have. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“I—”

“Get out of here! Now!” 

Wait. 

Wait, was this the person who’d texted him?

Stiles sat up when the man leapt off him and went for the woman again, watching as the two of them started fighting one more. Well, it was more the woman slamming the Werewolf into the wall repeatedly with magic. He seemed not to have much experience with someone like this. 

It made sense, Werewolves tended to be all about brute force, but when going against a magic user, cunning was much more important. 

For a few long, stupid seconds, Stiles sat on his ass by the door, watching the two of them go at it. He didn’t know why he was sitting there, just that he didn’t want to leave this Werewolf alone with her. He felt like that would be a bad thing. He didn’t want him to get hurt. 

He felt like something bad would happen if this man got hurt. And he was... important. To him? Maybe? He had no idea why he felt that way, he’d never seen him before, but something about him felt familiar. Like someone he’d known once, but forgotten. In another life. Or in a dream? 

God, he felt like he was a stupid Disney princess, but the feeling was so visceral that he couldn’t shake it. 

The Werewolf managed to get the woman against the far wall, but of course that just had her blast magic into his chest so that the man flew backwards all the way across the floor to slam hard enough into the opposite wall that the concrete crumbled. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air, the woman using her own wall for support across the room. 

“So fucking troublesome,” she spat, and Stiles saw blood on her lips. Her face seemed to be flickering. Like some kind of weird TV reception. She looked like the woman who’d come down the stairs, beautiful and captivating, but then her image would flicker for a split second to look like someone else. Someone he knew, or had known. It was so slight that he hadn’t fully caught it, but he knew if it happened again, he’d figure it out. 

He knew this woman. But why? 

“Bad enough I have to relive this fucking day over and over again, but now you?” she snapped, still using the wall for support as the Werewolf struggled to his feet, looking dazed. “I didn’t need the added complication, but I’ll find a use for you eventually, mutt.” 

Her image flickered again and it clicked. Who she was. Why he knew her. Holy fucking shit! 

“Derek, I know who she is!” 

Derek? Wait, who the fuck was Derek? 

The Werewolf’s head snapped in his direction, looking startled. Probably as startled as Stiles. 

Was he Derek? How the fuck did Stiles know his name?! What the fuck was going on?!

His head felt like it was going to explode. 

The woman laughed, and both of them looked back at her, Stiles’ blood running cold at what she was holding. She wasn’t looking at Stiles, though. She was looking at the Werewolf. 

At Derek. 

“See you tomorrow, handsome. Let’s see who wins then, though I have to say, you have a shit track record.” 

“No!” 

Stiles heard the gun discharge, felt a split second of pain somewhere near his left temple, and then everything went black. 

TBC...

Chapter Text

Jerking upright in bed, Stiles clutched at his head, letting out a pathetic whine at the splitting headache before it disappeared a second later. Keeping his eyes clenched shut and his hands gripping at his head, he waited a few seconds to be sure it had actually passed before cautiously opening his eyes. 

He’d just had the weirdest dream about some Werewolf named Derek trying to save him from...

From... 

Stiles stared at his own hands, not really looking at them, but more through them. Something... was wrong. Something weird was going on. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something off about this morning. 

And the guy. The Werewolf. Derek. Why did he... 

Derek Hale. 

His name was Derek Hale. He worked for the FBI. Stiles could see his entire backstory in his mind, but he didn’t understand why or what was going on and—

Someone knocked at his door and Stiles almost hit the ceiling in fright, eyes shooting towards it. Not even a second later, his alarm went off and he twisted to turn it off aggressively. Then he sat there for an additional second before throwing off the covers and moving quickly to his door. He was about to open it, then paused. 

He didn’t know why he paused, but he felt like throwing it open was a bad call, so he stopped short and then leaned forward to look through the peephole. 

The second he saw who was on the other side, his stomach bottomed out and he unlocked the door, wrenching it open. 

Before a word could even leave his visitor’s mouth, Stiles beat him to it. 

“Derek Hale,” he said, pointing a finger at him. “FBI. Alpha. Stuck in a time loop.” 

Derek looked like Stiles had just dumped a bucket of ice water on his head, completely floored and adorably confused. God, he was so cute, much better than his dream.

Or his not-dream? Fuck, his head was going to start hurting again, what the fuck was happening?! 

“How did you know that?” Derek asked, carrying a sealed can of pop in one hand, and a sealed sandwich people usually bought from 7-11 in the other. 

“I have absolutely no idea,” Stiles said, moving aside and motioning Derek in.

He obediently entered the room, but he was looking at Stiles in utter confusion. Honestly, Stiles couldn’t blame him, he was pretty fucking confused too. He shut the door and locked it for good measure, then went to his chair while Derek stood in the middle of his small room. Dumping all the clothes onto the floor, he motioned for Derek to take a seat and fell onto his bed, facing him. 

Derek sat down slowly, eying Stiles, and held out both the drink and the sandwich. “I got this for you. I figured sealed items were safer because—”

“Poison,” Stiles said, then winced when his split-second headache came back and reached up to press hard at his forehead, eyes clenched shut. He saw a brief flash of Derek’s panicked face, his image blurry, like the edges of Stiles’ vision was darkening. “The muffin was poisoned.” 

Neither of them moved, or spoke, for a few long, tense seconds. Stiles was glad when the headache abated and he let his hand drop. Derek was still holding out the can and sandwich, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. 

Stiles took both and opened the can, draining half of it in one go, and struggling not to burp right in Derek’s face because that would be rude to do in front of someone he’d just met. 

Kind of just met? 

Jesus fucking Christ, his brain was a jumbled mess. 

“I don’t...” Derek trailed off, watching Stiles as he opened the sealed film of the plastic box the sandwich was in and then pulled one half out to take a bite. “Do you... remember?” 

“No,” Stiles said with his mouth full. He chewed a few more times, then looked at the ceiling. “Yes? I’m not sure. I don’t know. I’m having this... weird movie session in my head. Like, I’m seeing bits and pieces of something that happened, but hasn’t happened, but maybe will happen? I don’t know.” He shoved another bite of food into his mouth to avoid having to explain further. “You tell me,” he ordered, his mouth full of bread once more. 

Derek said nothing for a few seconds. He kind of looked like the 404 error screen right then, Stiles was wondering if he had to restart him. Did he have a reboot button? 

“You good?” 

“This has never happened before,” Derek informed him slowly. “I’m trying to... figure out next steps. Usually I have to explain this to you from the beginning.” 

“I mean...” Stiles motioned between them, food tucked into one cheek while he spoke, “I’m still not entirely sure what’s going on.”

“I’m stuck in a time loop,” Derek said. “Like you said at the door. We met today, originally. Before I was sucked into the loop. You... died.” 

Stiles winced, rolling his neck slightly and clenching his eyes shut when his head throbbed again, an image of him staring down his bloodied front with a hand clean in his chest. 

“Yeah, literally ripping my heart out of my chest. Could’ve happily lived the rest of my life not seeing that.” 

Derek was still watching him, seeming lost, but he continued anyway. “The day reset after you died. I’ve been trying to save you every reset, but I keep failing. I got close last night though. Or, last loop, rather.”

“What changed?” Stiles asked, still eating his sandwich. It was a surprisingly good sandwich for something from 7-11. Or it could’ve been elsewhere, Stiles didn’t know, but it was definitely low quality food that tasted palatable. 

And it was free so, really, he was winning all around. 

“I know now. About the killer.” 

“You didn’t know before?” Stiles asked, confused. “Did you think I was like, super clumsy and killing myself by accident?” 

“What?” Derek gave him a weird look. “No, I mean, I know the killer is also in the time loop. We didn’t know that before, we thought it was just someone trying to kill you, but they were always one step ahead of me and we only just figured out it was because the killer was in the loop, too.” 

“Oh, well that’s good news, right?” 

“It was. Yesterday. Or last loop.” Derek waved an impatient hand, obviously frustrated with having to correct his words since it wasn’t the previous day, it was just a previous version of this day. “I caught the killer off-guard. I thought I could end the loop, but I was outsmarted and now the killer knows that I know they’re in the loop.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked, trying to piece together Derek’s words with the random images that kept floating through his mind. 

“I forced the school into lockdown.” Derek crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “I needed to find a way to lure her out, while making sure you stayed safe, so I called a lockdown under the guise of a serial killer being on school grounds. I’m not technically wrong, you’ve been killed forty times by now if we count day zero. Which I do, because watching you die every loop is traumatizing.” 

Stiles winced and mouthed an apology at him that Derek ignored. That was fair, wasn’t like Stiles could control the fact that he was being murdered. 

“Once they came out of the woodworks, I called everything off and texted you to bring you out into the open. As soon as you did, the killer followed. I thought I had it, but I didn’t realize the bitch had magic.” 

“Well yeah, she’s a Druid trying to become a Darach, what did you expect?” 

Derek’s gaze shot to Stiles then and he uncrossed his arms, sitting up properly. 

“You know who the killer is?” 

“Yeah, she tried to kill my dad, Scott’s mom, and the pack. We thought we killed her—” he held up both hands urgently, “accidentally! We accidentally killed her! Or, we thought we did, at any rate. Guess it didn’t stick for her either. She ended up not dying, and I’m forcing you to live in a time loop until you save me. Can’t really decide if that makes me an asshole, though to be fair, I don’t think I did it on purpose.” 

“You were dying,” Derek said, somewhat dryly. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t thinking about anything except not dying in that moment. The fact that this whole thing happened is kind of a miracle.” 

“How is she getting around without being noticed?” Stiles asked. “Not to be insensitive, but she’s trying to kill me so, I’m gonna be. She’s probably like, super fucked up. She kind of uh...” He made a face. “You remember this was an accident, right?” 

“I promise not to hold it against you,” Derek deadpanned, which was not encouraging, but Stiles continued anyway. 

“We kind of like, trapped her? No, that’s not the right word. We surrounded her. She was inside this abandoned warehouse, and the pack kind of cornered her—” Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed at Derek. “Yes, that. Cornered. Better word to use, because it—”

“Stiles,” Derek said, giving him a clear look to get on with it. 

“Sorry, right. So we cornered her in this warehouse, and she and my buddy Scott—he’s our Alpha, chill dude, very Batman, murder bad and all that—were kind of going at it. You know, about to bring the whole place down. I can’t tell you what happened, because I got injured and my friend Jackson dragged me out of the fight kicking and screaming, but before he could go back in, the place exploded.” Stiles mimed an explosion with both hands and made a small explosion sound. “I actually thought my friend died, like, he was still in there when it decided to blow the hell up.”

“But he wasn’t?” Derek asked. 

“Wasn’t what?” 

“In there?”

“Oh no, he was in there,” Stiles insisted, nodding emphatically. “Yeah no, he was uh, he was right in there. At the source. Apparently she caused the explosion, don’t ask me how, again, I was not there.” Stiles motioned himself with one hand. “He says he survived the fire because an invisible barrier erected itself around him to keep him safe from the flames.” 

“Your magic, I take it.” 

Oh, had he told Derek he was magic? That wasn’t something Stiles shared very much, because it was usually useless. 

“Uh, yeah, we think so. He’s my best friend, you know, and my Alpha. Makes sense I’d have protected him.”

“So what happened to the Darach?” 

Stiles pointed a finger at Derek. “Not a Darach yet. She was doing the ritual to become one when we stopped her. She still had to sacrifice the three protectors since she tried using my dad and Scott’s mom and another pack parent, but we saved them.” 

“You saved them,” Derek corrected, more a statement than a question.

Stiles waved one hand impatiently at him. “Sure, whatever, point is, they were saved. She never completed the ritual.” 

“So what happened?” 

“Well, we have a Hellhound in our pack—nice guy, super useful, should’ve been a fireman—and he’s fireproof, so he ran into the building to find Scott after it blew up to get him out of there. He couldn’t, because of the fire, and because of the protective bubble, but he said he found the Druid and she was like, extra crispy. He got her out since he couldn’t move Scott, but she was dead on arrival when he got her to the hospital. Doctors couldn’t really do anything for her, she was right beside the blast. I’m honestly still amazed she was breathing enough for Parrish to get her to the hospital, I was sure she was just, you know...” 

“And you’re sure it’s her?” 

Stiles winced and reached up with one hand to press the heel of his palm against his temple, visions of the unknown woman flashing through his mind interspersed with flashes of the Druid. 

“I don’t—really know. The woman, with the brown hair? Her, I don’t know. But I remember... they were flickering. Like lights or something. Sometimes it was the Druid, Julia. Other times it was that woman.” 

Derek leaned back in his seat once more, looking pensive. Stiles picked at what was left of his sandwich, no longer hungry after recounting the story. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about, and while his dad kept insisting it wasn’t the pack’s fault, since they hadn’t started the fire, Stiles still felt guilt over it. Sure, the woman was evil, had killed a lot of people, had tried to kill his dad, but no one deserved to go out that way. 

They’d never gotten answers, either. The fire department hadn’t been able to determine the source because the damage was too severe, and Scott didn’t remember anything. One second he was fighting the crazy bitch, and the next he was being blown backwards. He remembered heat, and landing on his back, and then the barrier had gone up, protecting him from the blaze. 

The best any of them could come up with was that one of the woman’s spells had hit a gas pipe or something and blown the place to kingdom come. 

Didn’t explain how she was still alive though, but to be fair, Stiles was apparently having weird flashback memories of a previous life of some kind so it was entirely likely he was absolutely crazy.

Then again, Derek was real, so it was kind of hard not to take this whole thing seriously. 

Stiles glanced up at Derek when he shifted in his seat and pulled his phone out, unlocking it and scrolling through what Stiles assumed was his contact list. 

“You calling your office?” he asked, confused. 

“I’m calling my mom.” 

Stiles’ eyebrows slowly rose, and Derek just gave him an annoyed look while bringing the phone to his ear. He waited while it presumably rang, and spoke once his mother answered.

“Hi mom, it’s me. Sorry, I know it’s early, I wouldn’t have woken you if it wasn’t important.” A brief pause as she spoke, then Derek continued. “You don’t happen to remember that I’m in a time loop, do you?” 

Another brief pause, but Stiles could hear the buzzing a bit louder from the other end this time. Derek just sighed and ran one hand down his face. 

“No, mom, I’m not overworked. I’ll tell you about it some other time, I don’t want to re-explain it to you all over again when you’ll just forget it when the loop resets.” Pause. “I was just wondering.” Another pause. “Because.” Pause. An aggrieved sigh. “Because,” he said, but continued afterwards, clearly having lost the fight, “the person I am trying to save in the time loop is starting to remember bits and pieces. I wasn’t sure if maybe you would too, since I’ve called you every loop.”

Derek had called his mom every loop? That was kind of sweet. Then again, Stiles had to wonder if it was always right in the morning, which would mean it would’ve been a call made immediately after seeing Stiles die. Maybe Derek needed emotional support, and that made Stiles feel guilty. 

“We can talk about it later, that’s not why I called. Do you know anything about Darachs?” 

The voice got much louder, Stiles’ eyebrows shooting up. Derek just looked defeated, like he knew he was going to get a lecture about not being safe and how on earth had he gotten involved with a Darach and where was he?! 

Stiles may not have enhanced hearing, but he could read Derek’s expressions just fine, and that told him everything he needed to know. 

It wasn’t a long conversation, but he was sure it felt like it to Derek, given how relieved he looked when he finally hung up. 

“Everything uh, okay?” 

“Yeah, she just worries.” Derek put his phone away. “Our family almost died back when I was in high school because of a psychotic Hunter who didn’t follow the code, so she’s kind of protective. I’m also the pack Alpha, so she doesn’t want me getting myself into any trouble. I don’t know much about Darachs, but my mom sure does, and she is not happy.” He sighed and crossed his arms again, leaning back in his seat. “You said she was trying to finish the ritual by killing three protectors, right?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. 

“That’s why she’s after you.”

He stared at Derek. “That’s why she’s after me what?” 

“She needs to finish the ritual. She needs protectors.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said, drawing the word out. “And she’s coming after me because...?” 

“Because,” Derek said, sounding exasperated, like Stiles was being stupid on purpose. He was not being stupid on purpose, Derek needed to explain things better!

Stiles felt like he’d told him that before, but honestly, his brain was so jumbled he wouldn’t have been surprised if Hannibal Lecter opened him up and got excited for scrambled brains. 

“You stopped the ritual. You protected the protectors. On top of that, you’re also magic, which means double the power for her. If she kills you, she’s basically completing the ritual in one shot, since your magic makes you worth more than three kills.” 

“Wait,” Stiles insisted, shifting on the bed slightly, mouth hanging open. “Wait, you’re saying she’s doing this for power?! That’s so fucking boring!” 

“You’d rather be dying for another reason?” Derek asked dryly. 

“I’d rather not be dying at all, but like, if I had to, a more epic reason would be pretty cool, yeah.” 

Derek stared at him for exactly one second before raising both hands to drag them down his face. “I can’t believe anything smart ever comes out of your mouth.” 

“Hey, I got in on a scholarship,” Stiles argued. 

“Doesn’t mean you’re not still an idiot.” Derek let his hands fall. “Listen, we’ve only got a few hours before she’ll start looking for you if you don’t show up. The downside this time around is that she knows I know about her. She’s not going to make this easy.” 

“But you know what she looks like, too. So really, win-win.” 

Derek shrugged one shoulder and Stiles squinted slightly, thinking. 

“Could you like, bring me in? Arrest me or something? Or move me into protective custody or whatever?” 

“Tried it,” Derek informed him. “Didn’t work.” 

Stiles winced and rolled his neck when an imagine of him getting run over by a car and crushed against the side of a building flashed behind his eyes. 

“Right. What about—”

“Tried it.” 

“I didn’t even finish!” 

“Stiles, this is my fortieth loop. Do you know how hard it is to find forty different ways to kill someone who is being protected by the FBI? Everything I’ve tried, she’s always a step ahead. Even this last time, I thought it had it. She was right there, she didn’t have her knife anymore, I thought it was done.” 

Frowning slightly while leaning back against his wall, Stiles squinted towards his window as he thought, watching a squirrel make its way up the trunk of a tree with what looked like a piece of chewing gum between its teeth. Thankfully it looked like it was unchewed chewing gum, so likely something someone has just dropped, but it probably wouldn’t be healthy for it. 

But, it was a squirrel. It didn’t know better. 

For some reason, that had Stiles frown even more, until his eyes finally shifted to Derek, watching the Werewolf rub at his mouth, scowl at the desk, mouth words of annoyance. That was when he realized... maybe the problem wasn’t as complicated as Derek thought it was. 

“What if you’re doing it wrong?”

“What?” Derek asked, turning to him. 

“I don’t... really remember everything, but I have the distinct feeling that most, if not all of your attempts to keep me alive have been strictly Werewolf in a time loop versus crazy Druid bitch trying to kill a dude who has really selective and shitty magic. Right?”

Derek grunted, arms crossed as he slouched back in his seat. It was obvious he wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that, but at least he wasn’t refuting it. 

“What if that’s the problem?”

“What if what is the problem?” 

Stiles shifted on his bed so he was sitting with his legs crossed under him, mind going a mile a minute as he looked over at Derek. The older man just arched an eyebrow at him, but didn’t move otherwise, still slouched with his arms crossed. 

“You’re looking at this like a Supernatural problem. Like a-a Werewolf dilemma that you need to resolve without the normies knowing about all this crazy bullshit we deal with on a daily basis. What if that’s not how you beat her?” 

Derek stared at him for a second, then his eyes shifted to the side as Stiles’ words sank in. 

“You’re saying I should be looking at this as if it were a human problem.” 

“Your team is here for a reason, right?” 

“We’re chasing a serial killer,” Derek confirmed. 

“What if she’s the serial killer?” 

This silence stretched on longer, Derek’s gaze still shunted to the side, a million thoughts passing across his face. Stiles just waited, because he had far less context than Derek did after forty—Christ, forty!—resets, but it made sense to him. 

Derek kept trying to keep Stiles safe. To use anything at his disposal to keep him alive. When those attempts failed, he tried looking at this from a Werewolf perspective. But what if the problem wasn’t keeping Stiles alive or being a Werewolf going after a Druid? 

What if the key to keeping Stiles alive was just doing his job? 

“I need to make some calls,” Derek said, getting to his feet. He headed for the door, but before opening it, he turned back to Stiles briefly, pointing a finger at him. “Stay here.” 

Stiles saluted him, watched Derek hesitate for another moment, then he left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

He sat there, on his bed, for what felt like entirely too long before he jerked, a realization hitting him, and he leapt off the mattress, racing to the door and throwing it open. Derek was already halfway down the corridor, but Stiles didn’t care. His dormmates were all idiots anyway, they would think he was talking about a game.

“How do you kill a Bunyip?!” 

Stiles was pretty sure his head was going to roll right off his neck with how hard he was rolling it along with his eyes. He did not have the patience for this. He was not a father. He was not meant to be babysitting! God, was this how his dad felt? 

Oh shit, was this how his dad felt?! No wonder he was going grey early in life, Stiles felt like he was going to start going grey in a second, too! 

“—and where the hell am I meant to find this magical wattle plant that’s from Australia, Stiles?! Like, mountain ash is great, thanks for the tip on that one, but unless you’ve forgotten, I can’t touch it either! So what am I supposed to do, blow it at the thing?!” 

Stiles was absolutely going to surround Liam in mountain ash in the middle of the woods when they all went home for the summer and steal his phone so he was forced to sit there bored out of his mind until Stiles showed him mercy. He didn’t deserve this level of ingratitude, what did Liam expect him to do? Fly down there and kill the thing himself?! 

Not fucking likely! 

“Look man,” he said with a sigh, raking one hand through his hair as he walked slowly across the green towards the library. It had closed ten minutes ago, but he wasn’t headed for it specifically to use it, he was just out for a stroll. “I’m just the research guy. The actual disposing of the big, scary, flesh-eating monster is not my responsibility. Furthermore, I’m not there, so short of me teleporting to you, I don’t know what you expect me to do.” 

Kicking at a random can in the large, paved courtyard in front of the library, Stiles continued to kick it all the way to the garbage as he and Liam continued their conversation so he could throw it out. 

He’d recycle it, but the university sucked about the recycling. 

“Help me!” Liam insisted. “Somehow!”

“I did all the heavy lifting, man,” Stiles argued, turning to head for the library, and somewhat surprised by how dead it was. He supposed it helped that it was a Wednesday night, most people on campus partied it up in their own downs, and no one who lived off campus would stay this late, especially if they had morning classes. “I figured all this shit out for you. You didn’t have to do anything but complain.” With a groan, Stiles took a seat on the front steps of the closed library, rubbing at his forehead. “I’m the brains, you’re the get shit done. If you want moral support and backup, call Scott. He’s the Alpha, make him fly out to you.” 

Reasonable. Logical. Absolutely not Stiles’ problem. 

“But what if it kills me?” Liam all but whined.

Stiles was so done with this conversation. “I’ll grieve forever.” 

There was a brief silence, the only sound around Stiles that of the wind blowing somewhat aggressively. He should’ve brought a coat, it was cold out, and his hoodie wasn’t really keeping much warmth in. 

“You haven’t been getting much sleep lately, huh?”

Stiles let out a bitter laugh at those words. “Liam, I haven’t gotten much sleep since I was fourteen years old and my best friend got bitten by a Werewolf. Some days, I feel like death would be a welcome change of pace for me, because at least I’d be unconscious for an extended period of time.” 

When the words were out, Stiles wondered if that was actually true. Had the Stiles in previous loops been pleased to die just because he could finally get some damn sleep? Somehow, he doubted that. It was funny how life experiences changed someone’s perspective, because Stiles wouldn’t have thought twice about those words any other time. Hell, he’d probably said them multiple times in many loops when he either didn’t know or didn’t believe what was happening to him. 

He should probably stop making comments like that. 

“I don’t think death and being unconscious are the same thing, Stiles,” Liam informed him, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Whatever,” Stiles insisted, raking a hand through his hair again and then leaning back against the front steps of the library. “Figure out how to get what you need, stay indoors at night, and attack it during daylight hours. It’s nocturnal, so you’ve got a better chance when the sun’s up.” 

“Right.” Liam was definitely pouting. “I’ll see what I can do. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, and good night.” Stiles hung up his phone, staring at the picture on his home screen until it went dark. Then he put the phone back in his pocket. 

Rubbing his face with both hands, he sighed, and contemplated heading back since the cold was kind of unbearable at this point, when he heard someone approaching him. 

Glancing up, he saw a figure moving towards him through the darkness. It really was a deserted part of campus, but he supposed given it was where all the classes were, and on the edge of campus, unless people were heading to or from the library, it wasn’t a well-travelled path this late at night. Considering the library was now closed, and had been for at least fifteen minutes by now, it made sense the area was empty. 

Feeling a chill race down his spine, Stiles patted his pockets, double-checking he had his phone and his keys, and stood to head back to the dorm. 

“Don’t move.” 

Stiles froze with one foot on the bottom step, watching the figure approach him. He didn’t need to see in the dark to know she was aiming a gun at him. Was that how he’d died last time? He felt like it might’ve been, but honestly, the flashes had been coming and going all day, it was hard to keep track. He didn’t think they were linear. 

“Alone once again. Where’s your guard dog? Still stewing in his failure?” 

“What failure?” Stiles asked. 

When the woman came into the light, Stiles was surprised at how beautiful she was. He kind of had flashes of her in his mind from the past, but he was mostly just picturing her as the Druid. Or, perhaps what his interpretation of what the Druid would look like after the near-fatal accident, at any rate.

She arched a perfectly manicured brow at him and motioned the stairs. Raising both hands over his head, he slowly sat back down on the front steps of the library. 

“I know this is going to be difficult for your tiny mind to comprehend, so I’m not going to bother wasting my breath. Just know you brought this on yourself. It didn’t have to be you, but you showed your cards that night. So now, you’re going to finish what you stole from me to begin with.” 

“We both know killing me isn’t going to solve anything, Julia. It’s just going to reset the day.” 

There was a split second flicker between the beautiful brunette woman, and what Stiles recognized as a horrifically scarred person. He didn’t want to think about Julia surviving the fire, how much pain she must’ve been in. He honestly felt like death would’ve been the kinder alternative in this case. 

“So your little dog told you about the time loop.” She scoffed. “You’ve wasted a lot of precious time for me, but I have to admit, it is fun coming up with different ways to kill you over and over again.” 

“How long have you been reliving this day?” Stiles asked quietly, almost feeling sorry for her, despite her cruel words. 

“I’ve lost count,” she admitted, her voice sounding more dangerous than ever, somehow. “Months. Maybe even a year. Do you know how boring it is to relive the same day over and over again? Admittedly, the first few days, I just followed the same routine, but after the first month or so, I realized how much more entertaining it was to just... plan ahead. I’ve killed you so many different ways, Stiles Stilinski. Sure, I might have repeated a method or two, but in the end, you always died slowly. Torturously. I stood over your body and watched you die, the same way you let me die.” 

“But you didn’t die,” Stiles argued. “If you had, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me.” 

She let out a loud, bitter laugh, moving a step closer, gun still aimed at him. “This isn’t my body, you stupid little boy. I died that night when you saved your friend and didn’t bother to spare me. But what you and your friends failed to understand is that a spirit like mine, so far into the ritual, doesn’t just go away because you want it to. Oh no, it sticks around. It finds a way to enact revenge. So I searched, and searched, and searched until finally, I found this.” She motioned down her body with her free hand. 

Stiles kept his arms raised, eyes locked on the woman’s face as she spoke, never once flinching at the gun she still had trained on him. 

“A beautiful house, with nobody home,” she continued. “In a coma after a traumatic car accident. Completely brain-dead, though her husband never gave up hope. Attaching myself was difficult, but I managed in the end, binding myself to this body until death finds me again. The physical therapy after waking up was excruciatingly slow, but I was patient. I had to be, because you see, I had to do the ritual all over again in this new body. Inconvenient, but I am a very patient woman, Stiles Stilinski. So once I was able to make my way out of that ridiculous man’s protective embrace, I travelled back to Beacon Hills to start over, only to find that the source of my ire wasn’t there. So I just did the ritual as I made my way across the country all the way to the child responsible for everything.” 

“I didn’t cause that explosion,” Stiles argued. “All I did was save my friend.” 

“And killed me in the process,” Julia shouted, taking another step forward while jerking her gun hand angrily, still aimed at Stiles. “You should have saved me too!” 

“My magic doesn’t work that way,” Stiles bit out. “I don’t get to decide what it does. If I did, do you honestly think a time loop where I don’t remember anything would’ve been my first choice?!” 

“But you didn’t need to remember anything, did you?” she asked darkly. “Because you had him.”

Stiles said nothing to this, because if she wanted to monologue, he wasn’t going to stop her. 

“I was so... irritated,” she bit out, jerking the gun once more, teeth grit. “I killed you that night, and I was watching the life fade from your eyes. I could see it the moment I put my hand through your chest. But then, he showed up.” She scoffed, and for the briefest of moments, she shifted the gun away from Stiles, aiming it at her own head to scratch at her temple. 

Stiles could think of many things he’d use to scratch his temple, and a gun was not one of them. 

“I got the timing wrong. I’ve killed you there before, but I guess I got... excited. I timed it wrong, and then he showed up and I had to leave you there to die without enjoying watching you suffer. I could’ve stayed, it wouldn’t have mattered, but I didn’t want to deal with the trouble. It was easier to just go and enjoy your death next time. And then the day reset, and I went about my day, planning my next attempt to take your life, except the day did not play out how it should have.” She let out another bitter laugh. “It took me two resets to figure out why. Somehow, you’d pulled him into your little life-saving scheme. He was now in the loop with me. Oh, but that made it fun, Stiles.” 

He leaned back slightly when she approached him quickly, bending down to be closer to his level, a manic smile on the woman’s beautiful face. 

“Suddenly it wasn’t just a game where I had to find new ways to make you suffer. Now, I had an actual adversary. A white knight trying desperately to protect his king when all the pieces left on the board are black. Watching him fail over and over again was so...” she trailed off, and let out a shuddery breath. “Oh Stiles. Thank you for bringing me a friend to play with.” 

“You’re welcome,” Stiles responded easily. 

For a second, Julia stared at him, wearing the face of another person. It seemed so unfair that she’d gotten a second chance at life, and instead of doing something with it, she’d chosen to finish what she’d started. 

After a long moment, Julia offered him a smile and stood, aiming the gun at his head once more while reaching behind herself, pulling a wicked-looking dagger from the hem of her pants. 

“What did you do to make him leave?” she asked curiously. “He finally give up and try and drive home, hoping to escape this nightmare?” 

“No. I just went for a walk.” 

That earned him a laugh. “You just slipped your leash? Oh, he is not going to be happy with you after the reset.” She paused, seeming to think. “If we reset. Something’s bound to work eventually, right? I’ll find a way to kill you where you actually stay dead.” 

Stiles just stared at her, hands still raised, and said nothing. That seemed to annoy her and she waved her dagger at him impatiently. 

“What, no snappy comeback? No witty retort?” 

“Honestly, I’m kind of cold, so if you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with. I hate when villains monologue.” 

Her beautiful face twisted into something decidedly unkind, and he saw another flicker of the woman underneath. The vengeful spirit out for blood. 

Without another word, the hand holding the dagger slashed downward, blade headed right for his left eye. It came so close that by the time the knife was shot out of Julia’s hand, he felt the heat of the bullet that forced it away from his face and out of her grasp. 

“Freeze! Don’t move!” 

Stiles had never seen someone go from so enraged to utterly confused in the span on a second. Blue and red lights flashed around them as people melted out of the shadows, most of them in full tactical SWAT gear, aiming weapons as they approached. 

The confusion melted off her face in a second when she realized what was going on, and Julia turned back to Stiles from her half-crumpled position, whipping the gun around to aim at his head again. She didn’t make it before another bullet shot that right out of her hand, too. 

“Don’t! Move!” Derek shouted, gun aimed at Julia as he moved quickly around the building, still wearing his suit pants and pristine white shirt, but sporting a bulletproof vest that boasted FBI across the front in large letters. 

Stiles had to admit, he was a good shot. The knife had been taken out by a sniper, but the gun had been all Derek. And from that distance with a handgun too, damn. That was hot. 

The force of the shot had caused Julia to half-crumple to the side once more, and she looked around at the police converging, her face contorted with fury as she looked back at Stiles. 

“I could kill you in a heartbeat and the day would reset,” she spat. 

“You could,” he agreed. “Except if you miss, you’ve exposed yourself as a Supernatural. And we all know what happens when people like us break rules.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice as the officers got closer. “The Hunters come calling, and no amount of resets will save you from the hell they’ll put you through.” 

Julia lunged for him, but the cops had already reached them, two of them grabbing at her as she started for him and slamming her hard into the ground. 

“Jennifer Blake, you’re under arrest for nine counts of murder, and one count of attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent.” 

“Hey.” Stiles turned to Derek when he approached. He still had his gun out, eyes on Julia—or, Jennifer, he supposed. Julia’s soul in Jennifer’s body. 

He was pretty sure that was a movie. Jennifer’s Body, not Julia’s soul. 

“Hey,” Stiles said with a small smile, tuning out the officers reading Julia her Miranda rights. He’d heard it enough times growing up with a sheriff for a dad. “Nice shooting.” 

“I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily,” he insisted with a small smile, eyes flicking to Stiles before returning to Julia. Stiles looked over at her too as she was pulled to her feet, hands cuffed behind her back. 

She was still glaring daggers at Stiles, but he just smiled at her and offered her a small wave. Derek let go of his gun with one hand to reach out and force him to lower it, shaking his head. 

“Don’t antagonize her, it’s not midnight yet.” 

“Fair.” 

Stiles honestly wasn’t sure what would happen at midnight. Would the day reset anyway? Or would it continue on? For him, it wouldn’t really be much of a difference, since he hadn’t even known it was resetting. Sure this last loop he was more aware of things than before, but realistically he probably would’ve woken up again without being any more knowledgeable than he’d been that morning. 

For Derek, though? For Derek, this would be a new day after almost six weeks of reliving the same one over and over again. For Julia, it’d be the first new day after months. He was sure it would be weird. 

“Well, looks like you didn’t waste my time after all.” 

Stiles would’ve preferred to have continued a nice, easy conversation with Derek about how they’d outsmarted someone who’d apparently been in the loop much longer than Derek, but alas, Rafael McCall had to come ruin everything with his condescending comment and his holier-than-thou attitude. 

“And on that note,” Stiles said, slapping his knees and getting to his feet, “I’m gonna go find an officer who needs to take my statement.” 

He patted Derek’s arm lightly, and started past Rafe when the man reached out to grab for him. Stiles heard Rafe’s reaction more than he actually caught Derek’s movement, but when he heard Rafe’s confused grunt of pain, Stiles turned to find he’d grabbed at the man’s wrist. 

Stiles gave him a look, because seriously. They’d just managed to get through this without revealing the Supernatural, they didn’t need Derek fucking it all up. 

He really didn’t want to have to die again to reset the day because of Derek, but he would. He just would not be happy about it. 

Derek released Rafe’s wrist, muttering that he was still high on adrenaline and had just reacted without thinking. Thankfully, Rafe was too stupid to know better and just rubbed at his wrist before turning to Stiles. 

“You’ll tell him, right? What I did tonight? Saving you?” 

“Oh, I should tell him about you finally agreeing to this plan after Derek and I argued with you for almost two hours where you threatened to fire him and throw me in jail for being an insufferable little shit? I can if you want me to, yeah.” Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets, ignoring the way Rafe’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll be sure to let Scott know. He’ll be thrilled.” 

Turning his back on Rafe, he went to hunt down an officer to take his statement, knowing he was going to have a long night, but as long as the minute hand passed twelve to bring them into a new day, he wasn’t going to complain. 

Much, anyway. 

TBC...

Chapter Text

When Stiles’ alarm went off at exactly four minutes past seven, bleary eyes opened slowly, taking a few seconds to focus before he inhaled deeply and buried his face in his—thankfully dry—pillow. No drool from him last night, score. 

He reached out with one hand, slapping at his phone until he found it, and then tapping insistently all around until it finally went quiet. He could hear sounds of life outside, birds chirping, some cars passing on the main road close to the dorm, movement in the corridor from people heading to and from the bathroom. 

Staying where he was for a few seconds longer, he finally sighed and let his head turn to the side, falling back down fully on his pillow and looking across the room as his empty desk chair. 

It had been two weeks since the incident with Julia, and some days when he woke up, he wondered if it was truly a new day, or if he was just stuck in another unknown time loop again. He was pretty sure he wasn’t, but he’d never know, honestly. Not until he went to bed at night and didn’t get murdered. 

He hadn’t known what would happen after he’d gone off with the local police to discuss the events of the evening. They’d taken his statement, even though the whole thing was staged and they knew as much as they needed to, but he knew it was procedure. Another agent called Kincaid had come in to ask some questions as well for the FBI’s side of the investigation before leaving. 

Stiles hadn’t seen Derek again that night, but he hadn’t thought much of it. He’d assumed he’d see him again eventually. Maybe before he left, or around campus as they made their public announcements about having caught the serial killer. Because Julia had been the serial killer, it had just taken them a long time to finally catch her. 

Longer than even Rafe knew, considering. 

Honestly, Stiles had felt bad for Jennifer Blake’s husband. He’d tried not to listen to the news much, since he had enough going on without that nightmare reliving itself, but every snippet he caught said she was a well-liked, kind woman before the accident. Stiles hated that Julia’s vengeful spirit had inhabited the body of a kind woman and turned everyone against her. 

Wherever Jennifer Blake’s spirit was, Stiles hoped she’d found some peace. 

More peace than Stiles had, anyway. He’d remembered more and more of the loops as the days had passed. Mostly dreams that he woke up from in a panic, but sometimes they would hit during random trigger words, too. 

It was alarming to realize how few of them actually had Derek in them, in the grand scheme of things. Julia really had been reliving the same day for months before Derek’s introduction into the loop. They might not have spent a lot of time together, considering, but the more Stiles remembered of their six weeks trying to solve his murder, the more he missed him. 

Derek had just... left. After everything had happened, he’d just gotten on a plane and flown back to wherever the fuck his field office was. He hadn’t said a word to Stiles, hadn’t tried to contact him, hadn’t said goodbye. Nothing. He was there, and then he was gone. 

Stiles sometimes wondered if it was because it hurt Derek to see someone he knew but didn’t know him all the time. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been having to re-explain everything over and over again. And Stiles was a dick sometimes, Christ. Even he could acknowledge that, considering some of the memories he was getting.

He felt guilty about it, even though he couldn’t control it. Or erase the past. 

Still, he wished Derek had said something to him. Considering he now remembered a lot of their time together, if Derek had stayed, they could’ve talked about it. They could’ve... he didn’t know, but he’d have wanted to help Derek through this weird phase of their friendship. 

Or not friendship. Stiles didn’t know. He definitely remembered the loop where they kissed, and was actually quite pissed when he woke up gasping for air, realizing that was the loop where he’d been poisoned. What a shitty way to ruin a hot makeout session. 

Not that he thought they’d be making out again any time soon, though he was hopeful they would, considering, but it was weird to realize how many times he’d met Derek, and was only now remembering them. 

And he couldn’t believe why. He still wasn’t sure how much he trusted what he’d discovered about why he’d suddenly started remembering the loops. He also couldn’t fully recognize how many he’d remembered during the loops, so it was hard to be sure of what had actually changed to have him remember.

Because the dreams never came linearly, it was hard for him to figure out a pattern, or discern what might’ve happened to cause the memories to stick around, so he was just left with guesswork and other people’s theories. 

Top of his list was his magic being an asshole again. It often was. 

His alarm went off again, the snooze having expired, and he sighed before reaching out to shut it off again, then threw his covers off himself and climbed out of bed. He didn’t have much time to get ready before his English composition class, and he was already behind. Not that he cared, that course was fucking useless. 

Still, he had to go. He had a GPA to maintain and whatever. 

Grabbing his toiletries, he made his way down the corridor to the communal bathroom, relieving himself and brushing his teeth so he could get squared away for the day. Once he was as good as he was going to get, he went back to his room and changed out into regular clothes. 

He pulled a Starbucks iced coffee drink from his mini fridge and shoved it into his messenger bag before hoisting it over his shoulder. Making sure he had everything, he locked up behind himself and headed down the back way out of the dorm. 

Taking his time getting to his class, as if walking slowly enough would magically have it cancelled for the day, he arrived in time to snag one of the last good seats near the middle so he wasn’t stuck at the front. He only sat there in classes he liked. 

Criminology being a prime example. 

After many more minutes than he felt like he could handle, Stiles having spent a majority of his English composition class Googling on his phone and texting Scott links—because he couldn’t Google shit apparently, Stiles didn’t know—the class finally ended and they were dismissed. He grabbed his messenger bag after shoving his phone back into his pocket, and picked up his glass Starbucks drink, finding it almost empty. It made sense, he’d been drinking it all through class. 

Tossing it out in one of the designated glass recycling spots—though he knew this place did not recycle—he headed for his criminology course, wondering what they’d be moving into today. They’d just finished one of the more robust chapters in their book, and the professor’s lesson plans were always interesting, so he was looking forward to it. 

Even though every time he went to that class, it made him think of Derek. It was where they’d met, after all.

Well, he thought it was, anyway. It seemed to be the most logical place, despite the lack of linear memories. 

He was one of the first ones who walked into class, and he was only one row down from the door at the back of the auditorium when he froze. 

There were three people standing at the front of the class with his professor, all of them appearing to be having a genial conversation. The woman was laughing, at any rate, and while the two men weren’t, they looked amused. 

Someone cleared their throat behind Stiles and he hastily started down the stairs towards the front, where his usual seat was, eyes locked on one of the men standing with his professor. 

He had no idea why, but for some wild moment, Stiles was wondering if Derek had forgotten him. If his own memory had been reset somehow, and everything they’d been through together was long gone. 

How ironic if Derek lost all of his memories from the time loop just as Stiles gained them all. 

He sat down, almost missing the seat entirely, eyes still locked on Derek, and he felt his heart give a happy little flip in his chest when the other man’s gaze left his professor’s face for a split second to glance over at Stiles. 

“Hey Stiles.” 

Stiles almost hit Heather in the face with his flailing. She gave him a weird look as she took her usual spot on his left side. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been extra jumpy lately.” 

“Well, you know, someone tried to kill me,” Stiles said easily, turning back to Derek, but he was focussed on the professor again. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

Blinking in confusion, Stiles turned back to Heather, and realized she felt guilty for her words. 

“Oh, no! No, it’s fine, I wasn’t—don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean it that way,” he insisted, offering her a smile and nudging her arm. She managed a small smile back, pulling her laptop out of her bag. 

Stiles looked back at the agents. “Hey, do you know what’s going on?” 

“Right, you missed class that day,” Heather said, getting her stuff set up. “You know that one class last month where we were meant to have the FBI come by? Well, they didn’t show, presumably because of the whole serial killer thing, so I’m guessing the professor reached out again to ask for them to come in.” 

“Oh.” Stiles didn’t know what else to say. 

Had he been hoping Derek was there to see him? Well, kind of, yeah. Knowing it was just about the class made him wonder if the guy would beeline for the exit as soon as it was over. 

Stiles wouldn’t let him, he wanted to talk. They had—things. To discuss. Many things. 

What those things were, he could only really think of one, but he was sure he’d find more! 

“All right, everyone. Settle down. Settle down, please.” The professor was clapping his hands loudly at the front of the large hall, calling them all to order. Stiles took his notebook out, but honestly wasn’t sure he’d use it.

He’d be too busy trying to have a telepathic conversation with Derek, who seemed determined not to look at him.

What a jerk. 

“As some of you may recall, we were meant to have guests a few weeks ago, but that kind of fell through due to extenuating circumstances. I couldn’t find a good time slot to fit them back in until recently, so I reached out and was lucky enough to get a positive response. Please, join me in welcoming the FBI.” 

When he started clapping, the class obediently followed suit. He noticed a few girls making eyes at Derek and Stiles scowled, annoyed despite himself. 

“Good morning,” Derek said loudly when the clapping had finally died down. “Thank you for having us today, professor. I am Supervisory Special Agent Hale.” 

Wait, supervisory? Stiles had heard that correctly, hadn’t he? But if that was Derek’s role, where was Rafe? 

He honestly missed the introduction of the other two, though he recognize the other man as Agent Kincaid from his final brush with death. The woman he didn’t know, and hadn’t caught her name. She looked really young though, so good for her! She may have been there the last time, but he hadn’t spent a lot of time with anyone other than Derek. 

It was hard to pay attention and take notes on what they were saying, since he was horrendously distracted by Derek. Even when he wasn’t talking, and was just standing a little ways back with his arms crossed as one of his colleagues spoke, a small scowl on his face, he still looked perfect. 

Stiles still found it so weird how he knew so much about Derek when he honestly shouldn’t. It felt almost invasive that he’d learned it all through weird dreams of the days he was stuck in the loop. He wondered if Derek felt that way, too. Maybe it was just as weird for him. Hell, he’d admitted in one of the loops that he liked Stiles, and there was no way that was an easy discovery, considering. 

Their entire friendship was so horrifically messed up, and it kind of sucked. He didn’t want this to be how things went with them, he wanted them to actually talk. Figure this out, move forward. Not necessarily forget the past and how they ended up this way, but not dwell on it, either. 

When class was over, people clapped again, though more enthusiastically this time after a good lesson and started packing up. Stiles saw Derek making a beeline for the door and felt his heart drop. 

“Don’t.” 

It was all he said, and it wasn’t even loud enough for Heather to hear over the chatter around them, but Derek paused and tilted his head slightly. For a second, he didn’t move, then his shoulders seemed to sag and he motioned the door with one hand, not looking at Stiles. He was clearly saying he’d meet him out in the corridor so the class could clear out for the next lesson. 

Stiles didn’t waste any time, shoving all his things into his messenger bag and barely remembering to say bye to Heather before hurrying for the door. When he got into the corridor, he was annoyed to find some of his classmates were hovering around all the agents, chatting with them and asking questions. Most of the ones around Derek were girls, but Stiles wasn’t exactly surprised. He was a good looking guy. 

He lingered for about five minutes before realizing this was not going to go quickly, so he just sighed and caught Derek’s eye through the students. 

“I’ll wait in front of the library.” 

Derek gave him the smallest of nods and Stiles turned away so he could head down the corridor. When he reached the stairs, he spoke again, very quietly, but he knew Derek would hear him. 

“Don’t run off on me again.” 

Then he pushed through the door leading to the stairs and headed down them to the first floor. 

Stiles was sitting on the same step he had been two weeks ago when Julia had tried to blow his brains out and finally been thwarted. He wasn’t in the middle of the stairs leading up this time, since it was the middle of the day and people would get annoyed, but he was over on the left side, staring out at all the people walking by. Some of them were rushing, obviously late for class or between classes depending on the time since he hadn’t checked it in a while. Others were just walking along leisurely, joking and laughing and talking about nothing of importance. 

He just watched them, messenger bag in his lap, and arms crossed over his knees. He knew he could pull out his phone and browse the internet, but he didn’t want to. So many people spent their time looking at their phones instead of paying attention to the people around them, and it made him sad sometimes. Relationships required effort, and he couldn’t count the number of times he’d been hanging out with Scott where his friend just spent the whole time texting people on his phone. 

Jackson was probably the only friend he had who didn’t do that. Well, and Derek. If they were even still friends.

If they ever had been. 

He didn’t know how long he sat waiting, but eventually, he caught sight of someone heading towards him across the courtyard. The guy stuck out like a sore thumb, considering the suit he was wearing. He looked really good in it though, Stiles wished he could pull off a suit half as well. 

Derek took his time walking towards him. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was just apprehensive about this whole thing, or still trying to figure out whether to turn tail and run. Thankfully, he didn’t. He just kept heading over to him until he finally stopped at the bottom of the stairs, right in front of Stiles, hands shoved into the pockets of his very nice pants. 

“Supervisory Special Agent Hale, huh?”

Derek managed a small smile and inclined his head. “I got promoted last week.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thanks.” 

Silence. 

“What about Rafe, then?” 

Derek inhaled deeply, kind of like a backwards sigh, then looked around them, as if checking for eavesdroppers. No one was really paying them any attention. 

“Officially, he’s on a leave of absence for personal reasons.”

Stiles hummed once. “And unofficially?” 

Derek looked back at him. “He was forced into rehab. It was that, or lose his job entirely.” 

“Damn,” Stiles said. “They don’t hold back at the FBI.” 

“Well, Hayden almost died because he was too drunk to make a good call.” 

“Hayden is the woman with you?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded, so Stiles mirrored him. “Sorry. She doing okay?” 

“She’s fine.” 

“Doesn’t look like someone who almost died.” Stiles half-smiled. “You save her too?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice at being a good bodyguard.”

Stiles actually laughed at that, because damn if that wasn’t the truth. Poor Derek, having to contend with Stiles for all those loops, trying to keep him alive. The fact that he’d failed so many times wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t known the full picture yet. He’d saved him in the end, so that was the important thing. 

They were both silent for a few seconds after Stiles’ laughter calmed down, then Derek hesitated briefly before finally pulling his hands out of his pockets and moving to sit beside Stiles on the stairs, looking out at the people passing them. 

“You’re going to get your pants dirty,” Stiles said lamely. 

“I’ve had worse on this suit.” 

Stiles glanced at him, and wondered if it was the same suit he’d been wearing during the loop. It was blue, but like, there were hundreds of blue suits in the world, and it wasn’t like Stiles was an expert on different cuts so he had no idea if this was the same suit or not. 

“I remember what happened,” he said instead of asking, looking back out at the people. He felt more than saw Derek jerk beside him, but the Werewolf didn’t say anything, letting Stiles continue. “Not everything, exactly. And definitely not in order. But... I remember. Sometimes more than I’d like.” Stiles glanced down at his hands, picking at the cuticles on his left thumb and pulling until he felt pain and blood welled up. Damn it, he’d need to put a bandaid on that later. 

“From before I was in the loop?” Derek asked softly. It was always weird hearing him speak like this, his voice was so gruff and commanding, but he could be so soft sometimes. His gooey interior definitely didn’t match his outward appearance. If he changed into jeans and a leather jacket, he’d look like the kind of bad boy mothers would shoo their daughters away from. In the suit, he looked respectable, but still imposing and authoritative. 

God, he was such a confusing contradiction. 

“Yeah,” Stiles finally said. “I try not to focus on those ones much. I usually try and stay in the moment when I see you’re in the memory-vision thing. I don’t think I’ve got forty of them, but I’ve gotten a few.”

“Which ones?” 

The way Derek asked the question had Stiles turn to him. He was trying to look indifferent, but Stiles could see the pulse in his neck jumping. It was obvious he was asking that question to find out if Stiles had seen a specific loop. While he didn’t know if the one he was thinking was the right one—namely, the one where they kissed before he was rudely interrupted by being poisoned—he felt that was probably a safe bet. 

Looking back out at the crowd, he said, “I think your mom is right. About names, I mean. I might not know the order of things, but it seems like everything changed after I told you how to pronounce it.” 

He both felt and saw the full body sag from beside him, like Derek had been carrying a weight on his shoulders for months and was finally being allowed to put it down. 

“I talked to her about it,” he admitted. “I noticed the change happened after that loop, too.” 

“I thought at first that maybe it was because we like, had a nice, long chat, got to know each other, admitted some things.” Stiles shrugged. “But the more I looked into it, the more I realized that names really do have power. I gave you mine, and you repeated it. And then I said yours. I think... maybe the whole reason the loops were happening with you in the first place was because my magic always knew you’d be the one to save me.” 

“You got all that from names?” Derek asked, a smile in his tone. 

Stiles was quiet for a long while, not sure he wanted to talk about this with Derek yet. He’d done a lot of research about this whole thing since Derek had run away, and he’d had a lot of time to think. He just didn’t know how Derek would take it. 

And he didn’t blame Derek for running, either. He was trying to protect himself. Anybody would’ve run, including Stiles. Didn’t mean he liked it, but hopefully he could make him stick around this time. 

Not indefinitely, the dude had a job, but maybe... not cut off all contact. Stiles wasn’t going to be in school forever, and he was sure he could find a job closer to where Derek lived. If that was what Derek wanted. 

Stiles already knew it was what he wanted, given all the time he’d had to think about it. 

“I looked into things after you left,” he finally said, still not looking at Derek, even though he could tell the other man’s eyes were locked on his profile. “Mostly about the time loop, which I couldn’t find much about, but also just... weird things. About us. About my magic, and why it chose you, and why I can remember the loop when I couldn’t originally.” He shrugged one shoulder, then leaned forward a bit more so he was resting his chin on his arms, still hugging his knees. His messenger bag was digging into his middle uncomfortably, but he didn’t mind. It was a good distraction. 

“I think it’s important to note that the loop started the day I met you. I know you weren’t in it from the beginning, but the fact that Julia showed up that day to kill me, and you and I met and bonded over the whole Bunyip situation always kind of struck me as odd. I know why the loop happened with Julia, since obviously it was my magic attempting to save me, but I couldn’t figure out why it didn’t just... give me the memory, you know?” He glanced at Derek out of the corner of his eye. “I was the one dying, I was the one it was happening to, so why not just put me in the loop? It’s the most logical thing to do.” 

Sighing and leaning back, Stiles rested his elbows on the step above him instead, face skyward. The clouds were moving relatively fast, but none of them were darkening so it didn’t look like there would be any rain tonight. 

“I thought about it for a long time. When I wasn’t doing research, or homework. When I wasn’t in class. All I did was try and figure out what my magic was doing, and why it decided to bring you in when you were finally there at a time where it could. And after a while... I think I figured it out.” 

“You did?” Derek asked. He sounded deadpan, but Stiles saw the confusion on his face when he glanced over at him again. 

“Yeah. You see, I’m a pretty independent person.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Derek said dryly. Stiles half-smiled at that. 

“Jerk.” He nudged him slightly with his knee, then looked up again. He realized he risked being pooped on by a bird, but that was true regardless of whether he was looking up or not. At least looking up, he’d have a chance to dodge it. 

“So what did you figure out?” Derek prompted after a few seconds of silence. 

“It would’ve been different,” Stiles admitted quietly. “If it was me, I mean. If I was the one to remember. I wouldn’t have gone to class. I wouldn’t have met you. I would’ve just... stayed in the dorm, gone to the police, done everything in my power to avoid being killed. I never would have met you. Or rather, you never would’ve met me. Because after day zero, I wouldn’t ever have gone back to class, and wouldn’t have made the effort to meet you all over again.” He glanced at Derek then, out of the corner of his eye. “Having it be you meant we couldn’t escape each other. You’re too noble to let me die, so you’d come find me, no matter what, every single loop. And you did. My magic knew the only way to make sure we always met, no matter what, was for it to be you. It just needed to wait for you to show up in time to pull you into the loop.” 

Derek was silent for a long while as he thought. Stiles could understand, he’d thought about it a lot too, he’d just had the luxury of having more time to think about it. 

“Why did it matter so much for us to meet?” Derek asked, genuinely curious. “What did our meeting do?” 

“Well, I’m a great kisser, for one thing,” Stiles informed him and Derek snorted. He followed that up with a look, since it was obvious Stiles was stalling with humour. Sighing and conceding defeat, he looked back up at the sky. “Like I said, I did a lot of research after everything happened. I even reached out to Marin Morrell.” 

“Really?” Derek sounded surprised. 

“Yeah. She wasn’t super interested in speaking to me at first, but when I told her everything that had happened, her interest was piqued and she started talking to other people, asking around. I’m pretty sure she emailed your mom.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I have an email chain that she forwarded to me between herself and someone called Talia Hale. I mean, I know Hale is a common name, but the chances of it being another Werewolf seemed a bit slimmer.” He looked over at Derek. “So?” 

“That’s my mom,” he said, sounding stunned, and almost betrayed. “How come she didn’t tell me?” 

“Did you tell her about the time loop? Aside from when you called her originally that last loop, I mean.” 

“Not really,” Derek admitted. “She never asked me about it again.”

“Maybe she wanted you to bring it up first.” Stiles shrugged and pushed up so he was sitting up properly again. “Either way, they had a long back and forth discussion about it, and the names having power thing came up. She said something... kind of interesting.” 

Stiles stopped here, Derek watching him. When he raised his eyebrows and motioned for Stiles to continue, he hesitated. Now Derek looked annoyed. 

“You realize I can just ask my mom what she said, right?” 

“You could, but then you’d have to explain why you were asking.” 

Derek seemed to take that for the empty threat it was, because he pulled his phone out and, without breaking eye contact with Stiles, he scrolled through his contacts and dialled out. Stiles was kind of impressed he’d managed to do that without looking. 

He didn’t put the phone to his ear, though. He just put it on speaker. Stiles found that to be brave, considering they were out in public, but then again, it was obvious no one was listening to them. They were all too busy doing their own thing. 

“Hi sweetie.” 

Stiles didn’t know what he’d expected Derek’s mother to sound like, but somehow, it wasn’t this. She sounded so... mom-like. Her voice was smooth and rich, and somehow reminded him of Derek, but there was authority in there too. 

“Hi mom. You’re on speakerphone. I’m here with someone I think you might have met in passing. Or at least, spoken to or about in passing.” 

A brief silence. 

“The one Marin emailed me about. Stiles.”

“Hello,” he said obediently, because his parents had taught him manners. 

“Hello Stiles. I was wondering when I would get this call,” she admitted, her tone fond. When she continued, it was evident she was speaking to Derek. “I remember you mentioning a time loop a few weeks ago. I thought you were overworked, but when Marin contacted me and showed me her emails with Stiles, I realized perhaps not as overworked as I had first assumed.”

“No,” Derek agreed. 

“You broke out of it, though.”

“I did. Well, it was mostly Stiles’ idea.”

“It was entirely my idea,” Stiles insisted, shoving him lightly. The guy didn’t even move. Fucking Werewolves. 

“It might’ve been entirely his idea,” Derek corrected. 

“I’m glad,” Mrs. Hale said, a smile still in her voice. “I imagine you’re calling about my response. What I said about why the loop is leaking into Stiles’ mind.”

“He won’t tell me what it is.” 

“Perhaps he still doesn’t believe it entirely himself.”

“It’s not that,” Stiles said quietly, though it may have been partially that. He was sure she’d hear him no matter how quiet he was, so it wasn’t like he could escape this. “It’s just... a lot. I don’t know if he’ll believe me.” 

“Stiles, my son is a Werewolf,” Mrs. Hale said, laughing slightly. Stiles tilted his head to make sure no one was close enough to hear them, but Derek didn’t look concerned so they were probably fine. “You would be amazed at the things he’s seen in his life. And after living in a time loop with you for an extended period of time, do you honestly believe he wouldn’t trust this to be true?” 

Stiles shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. She seemed to understand the silence just fine either way. 

“Names have power. I’ve always said this to you, to your sisters,” she said, back to addressing Derek. “But names have more power when they’re tethered to magic. As I understand it, Stiles has magic, and if his parents knew this, it explains why they gave him a name that wouldn’t be easy to pronounce. At least, not in North America.” She sounded amused now, and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh a bit. She wasn’t wrong. Stiles had family in Europe, and they could say his name just fine, especially when he was in trouble. 

But maybe that was the point. His mother was the one who’d wanted to name him after his grandfather, even while knowing he’d rarely see his family in Europe since they lived in the US. He’d spent his whole childhood being called Stiles, even Scott couldn’t pronounce his name properly. If he tried, Stiles was sure he’d get it eventually, but overall he was just Stiles to people. No one called him Mieczyslaw except his dad, and only when Stiles was in danger-levels of trouble with the man. 

“Having magic like his, old magic, and a name like he does, means that he would only share it with people he trusts. And he trusted you, so he shared it with you.”

“Technically, I asked.”

“He didn’t have to answer. He chose to. He gave you his name, and you kept it safe. You protected him, and cared about him, and tried to save him over and over again. Someone you didn’t know, not at first. Someone whose trust you earned, and whom you trusted in return. Someone who fits.”

Derek’s eyes had slowly started to widen the more his mother spoke, and by the last sentence, his head whipped around to look at Stiles. Stiles just pressed his lips together and shrugged in response. 

“Are you telling me the reason this all happened is because Stiles is my mate?” Derek blurted out, looking at his phone again, adorably confused. 

Well, he wasn’t horrified, angry or disgusted, so that was a nice weight lifted off Stiles’ shoulders. 

“If the day hadn’t been forced to repeat due to Stiles’ unfortunate passing that first time it occurred, I believe your relationship would have grown and become what a normal relationship would have looked like. You would’ve discovered this information together. But Stiles died that day, and his magic would not allow either his death, or the loss of his mate. So it reset the day, and waited for the right time to force you to stay together. To bring you close to one another over and over again until finally you reached a point where you were already bound, even if neither of you knew it. And as soon as that happened, the magic loosened its grip and allowed you to continue on, discovering things for yourselves, organically moving closer until the loop was finally broken.”

Derek was quiet. Too quiet. It was making Stiles uncomfortable. 

“Do you think,” he blurted out, needing some kind of distraction right now, “that if I’d died that first time, and Derek had been there, that we would’ve both remembered when the loop first started?” 

“It’s possible,” Mrs. Hale mused. “But hard to know for certain. I feel inclined to believe it would have turned out differently, had you both been looped back at the same time, but magic as old as yours is difficult to predict, or understand.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he muttered. He was still looking into that with Marin, too. All he knew was that it was called ‘Death Magic,’ which sounded ominous just by itself, but was actually more of a life kind of magic. It only came out during times of great need, when a loved one was dying before their time. It was why it hadn’t worked for his mother, and even though he knew now she probably had the same powers as him, if her death was her time to go, then no amount of magic from her or from him would’ve saved her. 

His magic was an asshole, but at least it had saved his dad, his friends, and him, so he was trying to cut it a bit of slack. 

“I imagine you would like to have your afternoon back to discuss, so I’ll take my leave. I look forward to meeting you, Stiles. Officially. Take care of my son, he works too hard.”

“I will,” he promised. “I kind of owe him.” 

Mrs. Hale laughed, said another farewell directed at Derek, and then hung up. 

Derek’s screen flashed to show the call had ended, and then went dark before long when he made no move to return it to his pocket. 

For a long while, they didn’t speak. Stiles started feeling anxious about the whole thing again, but Derek didn’t look upset. He looked more—shocked. Like he was trying to figure out how he’d missed the signs, and finally knew why he’d always reacted so badly to everything surrounding Stiles. Sure, seeing him die was traumatizing, Stiles wouldn’t ever think otherwise, but he also knew Derek’s psyche had been impacted so much more than it should’ve been at seeing someone he’d just met die. 

He finally had a reason for why his emotions were all over the place, and it was probably overwhelming. 

“Mates,” Derek said, after a solid ten minutes of silence. Stiles knew, he’d counted. 

“Honestly, didn’t even know that was a real thing,” Stiles admitted. “I’d read about it, but details were always pretty vague, and even Marin’s site before she and I spoke said it was rare because it only happened with born wolves, and the Werewolf population is dominated by bitten wolves.” 

Derek said nothing, he was still staring at his phone. 

“So I uh, guess you’re a born wolf then, huh?”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “We talked about it once.” 

“Probably don’t have that memory yet,” Stiles said. “But it’s kind of cool. I don’t know any born wolves. Or rather, I didn’t, considering I know you.” 

Then, Derek did the weirdest thing Stiles could’ve expected. 

He laughed. He actually put one hand over his face and began to laugh, like the words that had escaped Stiles were the most absurd words he’d ever heard in his life. 

Stiles didn’t think it was that funny, but this was better than the silence, so he’d take it. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Derek asked him, finally turning to face him, a small smile on his lips. 

“At least I’m not boring.” 

Derek snorted. “No. You’re definitely not boring.” 

They both looked out at the passing students once more, this silence a little more comfortable than the previous one, mostly because Stiles wasn’t feeling anxious or panicked anymore. 

“Can we start over?” 

Stiles turned to Derek when he asked this, arching an eyebrow. “Like, go back to the beginning of the loop? I don’t think my magic works that way unless I’m dying, and I’m good not going through that again.” 

“No, Stiles.” Derek looked skyward, letting out a small sigh of exasperation. God, he was adorable. “I mean start this whole thing over again. Get to know each other properly. Spend time together where we’re not just trying to figure out how to stop you from dying.” 

Stiles smiled. “Yeah. I think we can do that.”

Letting out a groan, Stiles shifted his messenger bag off his lap and then stood, stretching loudly before turning to Derek, who hadn’t moved. 

“Lunch?” 

“It’s probably not even close to lunchtime,” Derek argued. 

Stiles shrugged. “Food is food, man. I haven’t eaten all day.” 

“That’s not healthy.” 

“Then we should go get me some food.” 

Derek got to his feet then, and Stiles turned to walk down the few steps to the courtyard, Derek falling into step beside him. They’d barely begun walking when Derek’s hand brushed the back of Stiles’, and without hesitating, Stiles just twisted to lace their fingers together loosely. 

No point in pretending this wasn’t a thing, when it so clearly was and had been for a long time. Even if Stiles hadn’t known it at the time. 

“You’re paying,” Derek informed him after they’d walked a few more steps. 

“What?! I’m a student! And broke! You’re the big FBI agent, and you got promoted, you’re probably rolling in it!” 

“You invited me, Stiles.” 

“You’re a terrible person,” Stiles advised. 

“Let go of my hand then.” 

“You let go of mine.” 

“I didn’t call you a terrible person,” Derek argued, turning to smirk at him. 

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh,” Derek said, clearly still amused. “Whatever you say, Mieczyslaw Stilinski.” 

“Wait, how do you know my name?” Stiles demanded, pulling away from Derek ever so slightly to slap his free hand to his chest in mock horror. “Where did you hear about that? Who are you?” 

Derek actually laughed at this, stopping and forcing Stiles to do the same, pulling him closer and reaching up with his free hand to press it lightly against Stiles’ cheek, thumb brushing at the skin beneath his eye. 

“My name is Derek Hale.” 

“Yes it is,” Stiles said with a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget it this time.” 

He closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was weird to know this wasn’t their first kiss, and that Derek probably remembered it much better than he did, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that, as much of an asshole as his magic was, at least it knew enough to not listen to Stiles and his dumb ideas. 

Stiles thought he wouldn’t mind if this particular day repeated over, and over, and over again. Because this was the day where he honestly, truly, fully met Derek Hale. 

And he was never going to forget this man again. 

END.