[ being elevated to the position of king's advisor was not something to be taken lightly. well--okay, it wouldn't be, if stiles actually was that. at the moment, he was an apprentice, working underneath the actual king's advisor, a man by the name of alan deaton. stiles had been chosen for a reason, apparently; he'd actually gotten into an argument with the king of all freakin people on the day he'd been brought in on his father's, a sheriff of a local town, heels, he'd run into the king and argued with him about the fact that his dad had lost a district that was under his protection when he'd clearly not deserved it, and brought up his dad's shining record as a sheriff right to the king's face.
his father was promoted to head of the kingsguard and stiles? well, here he was, studying politics and getting into more, albeit less random and more appropriate, arguments with said king. he got along famously with prince scott, and was pretty much attached at his hip from the first day, but while dr. deaton focused on advising the young prince into taking the throne someday, stiles found himself interacting more and more with king derek hale.
they had to train scott, because the same thing had just happened to derek; the rest of the hale family had been wiped away in a vicious arson, leaving only derek and scott alive. but stiles didn't really think it was fair that the actual king didn't get that much concrete help.
so he tried. he tried his goddamn best to make sure that derek was making good decisions, talking him through arguments, doing anything and everything a good advisor was supposed to do. at the moment, that was dealing in a political alliance wanting to be arranged by the yukimura family from the east and trying to decide how to set it up.
he's lying flat on his back on derek's table when derek arrives, ten minutes early and holding what looks like a huge book over his head, flipping pages, brown eyes scanning the pages and occasionally grabbing a quill to make markings in the margins. this position of reading has mostly ended up with getting splotches of ink on his face, but at least he's focused. ]
[ Scott enjoys reminding Derek frequently of how he and Stiles first met, if only because he finds it infinitely entertaining. However, he's not about to correct either of them on the fact that it was an error in communication that took the district from the elder Stilinski when it hardly matters at this point. Now, the entire kingdom is basically in the man's hands rather than a simple district. Technically his own safety has been entrusted to him, but the king has focused that protection more towards Scott than anyone else.
The fire swept away much of their family. Cora has been missing for months now, Laura taken from them, his uncle unfit to rule and considered a traitor. Now, all he has left is Scott. He's not about to lose him, too.
Even if he's feeling strained, frustrated, some form of resentment building up in him. It's not towards Scott, never towards Scott, but he watches Deaton work with him and prime him to be the king in his stead and he can't help but let it form in the burnt out space of his chest. Though he might understand why the advisor does what he does, it's not as if he was ever prepared for this himself. Laura was going to become the ruler after their mother, but now the position has fallen to him.
And he has no idea what he's doing.
But while Deaton works with Scott-- and Scott gives him apologetic looks for it, sometimes-- Stiles has stepped forward. He doesn't know how this has happened, how they went from errant arguments to Stiles actually helping him, but he's not going to turn it away. They've got a rapport going now, some form of friendship that he's not sure how to actually label, and it just continues to grow as the days go by. He's excellent conversation, and is more than willing to play devil's advocate even when Derek is less than thrilled about the discussions. He keeps Derek anchored, and from straying off the path his mother would've wanted him to stay on.
He's also ridiculous. Raising an eyebrow as he comes into the room on silent feet, he watches as a bit of ink drips down onto the smooth skin of his cheek before he-- just as quietly-- closes the door behind him and comes over. He reaches out, swiping his thumb across his cheek to wipe the ink away. ]
[ he was pretty much completely in the zone before derek showed up. the book is old as hell, but it's--druidic magic, the kind of thing that runs in the very veins of their kingdom, and something stiles is just now starting to get a grip on. he needs so much practice, so much it's not even funny, but deaton told him he was a--natural conductor. the kind of person who could lift magic from the soil and make it pulse with their heartbeat.
stiles really wishes he could make that as easy as it sounded, but you know, such is his life.
he's startled out of his thought, quill tip in his mouth, when suddenly, a hand reaches out and touches his face. stiles jerks and drops the quill, freezing and staring at derek with those big brown eyes. ] Your highness!
[ that comes out in a squawk, and a flush tracks across his cheeks where the ink used to be--stiles scrambles to a sitting position and refuses to admit to himself that the flush wasn't just from embarrassment at the king scaring the shit out of him. ] Oh--my god, jesus christ, you have got to start wearing a bell or something.
[ Neither Scott nor Derek will ever pretend to understand druidic magic. That's what Deaton is for, what Stiles is training to be for. They understand the basics, simply because they've grown up with it amongst their kingdom, but they lack the ability to actually utilize it. They both carry a spark-- or so Deaton says-- but it's not quite the same. Their power is different.
Sometimes, though, he thinks he can detect it in Stiles. He comes from a lesson with Deaton, and he can smell the ozone on him. It's slow progress, but it's still progress.
Snorting as Stiles startles, he rubs thumb and forefinger together idly to remove the ink from his skin. There's something... vaguely endearing about this, about when Stiles gets so distracted with his work. He tries not to assess it, and instead raises his eyebrows at his advisor-in-training. ]
Hello, Stiles. [ Using a foot, he nudges his chair back and calmly takes a seat at the table, hardly fazed by the fact he's still got a teenager perched on it. ] You wouldn't be the first to say that.
Good, it's a damn smart idea. [ Stiles huffs a little and tries to regain his composure. He at least managed to call him by the proper title this time--he thinks, anyway, it can't be much worse than the time he called him a "raging asswipe" in front of about ten members of the court--and Stiles drops the book, putting it down and pausing in a moment of indecision, flicking his gaze between the chair and the table and giving up, pulling both legs up onto the mahogany surface and resting his hands on his ankles. ] It might save your human, may I remind you, court advisors an early onset heart attack.
[ Now that he's super awkward as usual, Stiles taps both hands on the book. ] Soooo, the Yukimura alliance.
[ At least he has the good grace to look a tiny bit sympathetic. ]
You're too young to have heart attacks. [ Deaton, on the other hand.
Watching as Stiles gets comfortable, Derek reaches to loosen the collar of his shirt now that he's no longer expected to keep up appearances. There's just something about Stiles that lets him relax, for as much as he gets under his skin and drives him nuts and mortify him in front of the court on the rare occasion, and he can't help but slump down in his seat as he regards the papers and books spread across the worn mahogany.
He'd rather not deal with this.
Head rolling across his shoulder, he regards Stiles from under his brow before sighing noisily and reaching to open one of the drawers so that he can root through them. ] The Yukimura alliance. Have we heard back from their dignitary?
Don't be such a drama queen. [ He snipes that pretty much immediately when Derek basically rolls his eyes and sighs at him, in the kind of words a servant really should not be saying to a king, but, you know, whatever. Stiles nods and pushes a package of papers towards them, topped with a letter. ]
Their King is hesitant about it. [ Because of what happened, but he doesn't really need to say that part out loud. ] The dignitary basically fed me and Dr. Deaton a lot of bullshit about how impressed they were with the kingdom but thought we didn't have a lot of ~growth potential~ [ Said so, so sarcastically, hands waving in a jazz motion ] and they need something to to solidify the entire alliance.
So a visit might be in order. [ And another sympathy wince. Sorry Derek. Visits mean dinners and hostings and politics and basically nothing that anyone wants to do, ever, but Stiles kind of has an idea....it just depends on what Scott'll do with it. ]
That's king to you. [ Without looking up from where he's going through the drawer, he brings up one hand to knock the back of his fist into one of Stiles' knees. Once he gets what he's looking for, though, Derek shifts to sit up a little more, cracking his back in a slow stretch before he starts to set things out. This includes the package that Stiles pushes forward, and he takes the letter first to read over it.
If he's bothered by Stiles' behavior, he doesn't indicate it. ]
Don't have-- that's a crock of shit. [ A disgruntled rumble leaves him, but he sets the letter aside. ] We're in the middle of rebuilding, I don't know what the hell they're expecting.
[ But then he Stiles points out that they're likely slated for a visit, and he brings his hand up to rub at his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Dinners and hostings and meetings and his already scarce nights of sleep completely disappearing. ] Might as well.
Drama king, then. [ Stiles rolls his eyes at the hand and brushes his touch off, even if the weird, easy relationship between them is something he can't just pretend doesn't exist. It's kind of ridiculous, the amount of rapport he's put together with the freakin' king of all people, but--when it gets down to it, Derek's just a person, too.
Werewolf. Whatever.
Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Stiles ponders over his last point, his idea. Derek is probably going to rip his throat out the minute he mentions it is. ] That is, unless...you, arrange a meeting of a different kind, if you know what I mean.
[ Wow, great start. ] He's got a daughter, yanno. Bout my age.
[ The king should always establish connections with his people, but what he's got with Stiles is something completely different. It's not something that he would've expected from their first meeting, but all the same he's not exactly keen on letting go of it. Stiles has, thus far, kept Derek relatively sane. He's been so much help since the fire happened, that he's not as lost as he could've been.
Slowly lifting his head a little, he looks up over his hand at Stiles at the noise he makes, eyes slowly narrowing a little. For as underestimated as his intelligence is, it takes a moment for his words to click into place.
When they do, his eyes narrow further. ] About Scott's age.
Name's Kira Yukimura. [ Flipping through one of the packages for him, Stiles leans directly into Derek's space as he pulls out what looks like a photograph of a girl with dark hair and pretty almond eyes. If you ask Stiles, Kira is Scott's type to a T--she's smart, gorgeous, dark haired, and could probably kick his ass sideways. Since the Allison Incident ended, Stiles had been trying valiantly to help Scott move on, and Kira Yukimura might just be the answer to that.
Derek's gonna kill him. Whoops. ] She's seventeen, a princess, rich and her dad's looking for a match for her. You know it'd work perfectly.
[ He's prepared to fight for this--he can see why it would bother Derek, when he was betrothed to a girl who passed away because she couldn't take the bite. The key is Kira is--she's human. At least as far as Stiles knows. ]
[ Listening despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm for this entire situation-- evident on his face-- Derek doesn't move when Stiles leans into his space, hardly batting an eye at the intrusion and instead accepting the picture to look at the girl. Admittedly, she does look like she'd be Scott's type, even though he's not particularly inclined to admit that the type also included Allison Argent. While she might not ally herself with what Kate had done, might still be on the kingsguard, he just does not trust her like he had before.
He sweeps away the thoughts of ash and smoke for now, working his jaw a little. ] It would, if they actually meet and mesh.
[ Between Paige and Kate, he's been numbed to the idea of love being for him. Scott? Scott deserves love, deserves that happiness. And ever since things ended with Allison, he's been half-smiles when he thinks no one notices. So he mulls over it, an internal debate before he seems to give up, clear eyes flicking up to meet Stiles' bright amber. ] We send the invitation, but if it looks like it's not going to work in any way, shape, or form, it's called off and we think of another way to get the alliance as a Plan B.
He couldn't sleep, sprawled out across his bed in the hallway across from the king and the prince's rooms. It's quiet over here, and it feels like the room is suffocating him with every breath he takes; Stiles wants to fidget and run and jump and do basically anything but sleep because there's this feeling in his gut that something's not right. And maybe he's oversensitive--maybe Deaton's magic training is starting to actually work--but he hears a noise from across the hall and springs out of bed in half a second, stumbling across the room in his pajama pants.
It's coming from Derek's room, and when he pushes the door open, he's not dying, but Stiles' heart stutters in his throat anyway, because that...that sounds like a nightmare. Stiles would know; his nightmares about his mom plagued him for years, to the point of where he'd thrash and whimper and scream in the night trying to tell her I'm sorry the only way his subconscious knew how.
He's across the room in half a second, hurrying to grab Derek's hands, any sort of protocol or pretense forgotten as he starts talking, hurriedly. ] Derek--Derek, hey, come on, it's just a dream, it's just a dream, wake up--
[ If one were to say that the king had nightmares, they would find it a slight understatement.
After experiencing so much loss in his life, Derek's got plenty of fuel for the figurative fire-- and how wildly yet awfully appropriate that phrasing is-- survivor's guilt and blood on his hands and the knowledge that it'd all been his fault. Of course things never go right for him, it's as if the universe is trying to give him the punishment he feels he deserves for everything that's happened.
Thus, of course the king has nightmares. Quiet, mostly, until they strike the hardest.
Most nights it's flames and blood, his mind filling in where his memories fail, the strong smell of charred flesh and burning wood. It's hardly new to him, such a typical image that he should be used to it by this point. But it rips into the heart of him, his family dying before his very eyes, his first betrothed smiling and thanking him for ending her pain.
Tonight, it's different. One face that comes to him is familiar, showing itself occasionally-- Scott is the only remaining family he has, Cora still gone from the kingdom and god knows where, Peter a rogue and a traitor, and he's basically been his brother since the younger werewolf was born. But the second has only recently joined the ranks, and it just feels so real--
So when he jerks awake, to warm touch and bright eyes, red flashing in his own, he nearly jerks back. ] No.
[ Because, somehow, Stiles has entered those dark corners of his mind. ]
N--[ Stiles doesn't jerk when Derek shifts, his long fingers wrapped around his wrist, just barely enough to make his fingertips touch, and there's nothing but worry and sympathy, empathy, in those big brown eyes. Stiles has been here before, been through the nightmares so vicious he wakes up screaming, with his dad holding him around the shoulders to keep him from hurting himself, and imagining Derek having to go through that too--well.
He knows he has every reason to.
Derek's life hasn't been what some would call stellar, after all. And even though it's been years since the fire, the death of his sister is probably still fresh, and that's the kind of thing that Stiles thinks probably stays with you forever, the way sometimes he thinks he hears his mother's voice asking him why he killed her in the deep, dark of the night.
Stiles doesn't know how to comfort. But this--this he knows. His hands gentle a little, until the touch is more of a caress than a hold, and his eyebrows knit together, voice going a little softer. ] Hey--hey, big guy, it's a dream. It was just a dream.
[ It takes a moment for clarity to really sink in, Derek's heart thundering in his chest and his pulse racing where Stiles' fingers curl around his wrist. The red in his eyes starts to fade away, but that's the only shift-- there are no fangs, there are no claws, no fur or sign of something more wolfish. Just fight or flight rearing its head, with something leaning more towards flight in the way that he looks at Stiles. Maybe it's part of his subconscious deciding not to defend himself, guilt too heavy. Maybe it's another part reminding him that the last thing he saw was Stiles' face, and then he woke up to it, he doesn't want to hurt him.
Whatever it is, he looks at Stiles for a long moment, pale eyes scanning his face as he takes him in. He registers the touch, the attempt to soothe, but it takes a little bit longer for him to really remember how to breathe properly. Waking from a nightmare makes him feel like he's drowning, can only pull in ash and soot and smoke, but eventually he lets out a shuddering breath and sits up a little more.
Bringing a hand up, he covers his face, rubs away sweat as he lets Stiles bring him back down. Just a dream-- Derek's life since he was fifteen has been a nightmare, and that has been his reality. It would be good if it all started to fade away like a dream after waking. ]
[ Stiles lets go of his hands when Derek goes to scrub at his face, and tries to frantically calm the way his own heart is pounding in his chest. He was terrified, for half a second, that somebody was trying to kill Derek--it was a very real threat, considering his position as the king was something you might call wanted. For Stiles, at least, he can take half a comfort in the fact that that was just a dream, that he can try and help pull Derek out of the freakout he'd been having in the way that Derek would for him.
Part of that is touching, at least a little bit, anchoring yourself to reality. Stiles' hand moves to rest on his shoulder instead, calloused skin on smooth muscle, and he offers a small smile, rubbing the spot. He's relieved--so, so relieved--but it's overwhelmed by concern for Derek at the moment, instead. ] Happens to the best of us. Even Scott gets nightmares.
[ Without really thinking, Derek leans into Stiles' touch against his shoulder. Some part of him would deeply prefer an assassination attempt to the nightmares, because at least that would be something he could fight. Some physical thing he could wrap his hands around and tear to pieces, rather than succumb to an imagined thing with tangible weight.
A shaky exhale leaves him again, and he brings his hand away from his face to trace fingertips over Stiles' hand, following the top of his palm to his knuckles, overlapping his fingers and sitting there for a long moment in silence. The contact is appreciated, despite how frequently he shies away from any attempts typically made. There are some people that get away with it, obviously-- Scott and Stiles chief among them-- but most days he doesn't reciprocate the same as they would.
Most days he doesn't return the touch of hands. Bad memories go with that particular gesture. ]
He didn't used to have as many. [ Finally getting some control of himself again, he lifts his eyes to look at Stiles. ]
Trauma tends to do that to people. [ Stiles doesn't even move, doesn't even breathe when he feels Derek move over his hand. There's something special, some kind of electricity in the contact between them, and Stiles finally breathes again when the silence settles. Derek doesn't touch, he doesn't really move in on anyone, no matter how close Stiles has gotten to him in the year or so since he's arrived in the Hale kingdom, and a part of him aches with how bad the dream must have been to have him acting like this.
Stiles returns his gaze though, steady, eyebrows knitted together in worry. Scott didn't stir, possibly from his room being so far from Derek's, but Stiles did. Maybe there's something important about that--maybe Stiles is becoming a true emissary, that he's so attuned to his alpha that he can hear him in any time of distress. It'll be a good thing when there's actual distress, if someone does try to kill him, and his stomach lurches a little nervously at the thought, heartbeat skipping.
He has to stay calm, though. Be the anchor he's always tried to be. ] I didn't either.
[ A wry snort leaves him, disdainful and dark humor there. Trauma does a lot to people, leaves them absolute wrecks some days. Scott holds it together pretty well, in the absence of their family-- they'd been so lucky to narrowly avoid being there when it happened, even if he takes moments to question just how lucky it is to live after their family has gone. All of them, wolf and human alike.
And then Laura was taken from them, not that long ago. If only she could have survived. A piece of him, the one that used to look up to his sister, thinks that maybe she could've held it all together.
There's no denying that he can hear every shift in Stiles, the way his heart skips and his breathing stutters in response. He simply sits and watches him, senses so finely tuned that he could likely find his budding emissary clear across the castle-- perhaps clear across the surrounding castletown, even-- but here, in the quiet of the night? It's every single slightest thing.
He rubs his thumb, absently, against the line of his knuckles. ] I haven't had a good dream in a long time.
[ Quietly, Stiles looks down at their joined hands, then turns his fingers into the spaces between Derek's, so that he can properly twine them together. It's an intimate gesture to say the least, but there's nothing really nervous in it, at least not at the moment--maybe Stiles can't find the words to make it better, but there's always been sort of an unspoken connection between the two of them, since day one.
Lifting his head up, Stiles finally turns his gaze away to look at the ceiling. It's a contemplative thing, as he ponders his own dreams, a series of nightmares where he killed everyone he loved in order to cause chaos. ] Me either.
I mean, the last time I thought I had an awesome dream, I got hired at a freakin castle. [ His mouth lifts up, a little lopsidedly, and he turns his gaze onto Derek again, brown eyes searching his face. ] So it's hard to top that.
[ There's neither resistance nor tension when Stiles twines their fingers together, and instead Derek settles comfortably as he drops his eyes down to their joined hands. But he doesn't speak, just takes the warmth of his touch and his presence as his own heart steadies, his nerves calms, his breathing evens. To be perfectly honest, there's no chance that he's going to be going back to sleep tonight. Hell, he might not even sleep tomorrow, either. Which isn't the best thing, considering the fact that they're preparing for the arrival of the Yukimura guests in the upcoming days.
Still, it's not as if he's slept well for a solid decade.
A small hum is all he offers Stiles at first, but then Derek looks at him once more and regards him thoughtfully. Angling his head the slightest bit towards him as those giant, amber eyes watch him, he squeezes his fingers gently around Stiles'. ] You know, you were a nightmare for the longest time.
Now, not so much. [ You just have a place in them now. ] It's good that you came.
[ He can almost feel Derek starting to settle beside him, and it makes some of the tension loosen in his shoulders; Stiles slumps a little and leans in closer. He's exhausted, having spent the past few days in difficult, training magic lessons with Deaton, but for Derek? For Derek he'd stay up all night.
If it meant he didn't have to see that red-eyed panic in his face one more time, Stiles'd never sleep again.
He's a little surprised with the affection, because Derek isn't exactly what you'd call a loving boss (well, he's lovably grumpy, usually. And an unmitigated asshole, but Stiles totally digs that, so it's fine.) and he can't help the warmth that squeezes around his chest as he ducks his gaze away. ]
I grow on people, it's what I do. Not everyone's Scott, but everyone comes around to his taste in people eventually. Even if they're jerks. [ His laugh is a little self deprecating, but not in a bad way. ]
Came now, or...? [ He probably already knows the answer. ]
Saying you grow on people makes you sound like you're a fungus. But, Scott has good taste in friends. [ Women? Not so much. He and Scott are alike in this regard.
Though he should send Stiles back to bed, Derek takes one moment to be selfish. A king should never be selfish, should be impartial but understanding and giving where it's needed. But here, he's going to take something for himself, especially when it's something that he often times pushes away every time that it rears its head.
It's not something he wants to think about, even now. But it lingers.
His expression softens a little, and he keeps his gaze on Stiles even as he drops his own. ] Came to the castle. Came now. [ For a second, he goes silent, before quietly admitting more. ] Came any time that I needed you there.
Stiles decided to tell him one afternoon about the Yukimura alliance, because apparently he was integral to it going well. He didn't explain all of the details, due to the fact that Derek made him promise not to, but what the young prince does know is the fact that the Yukimuras apparently have a daughter their age that he's supposed to meet and show around their kingdom. He's a little excited about that, at least, because he can do that. That's no problem.
But he also doesn't want to screw it up, because this alliance is integral to their kingdom rebuilding and recovering. The eastern kingdom has a lot to offer, but he heard Derek growling about how they'd said they didn't see a lot of growth potential and it'd even made him mad. How could they something about that when they were in the midst of tragedy still? It had taken a long time for Laura to even get things planned for reconstruction, and in her passing death and their uncle's betrayal it all sort of got put on the backburner until Derek could get his feet under him.
And now Deaton is training Scott as if his cousin, his older brother, were about to be killed as well. It's a lot for him to take in.
But he can do this. He can show the foreign princess around. For now, though, he stands with the rest of the court-- Derek and Deaton and Stiles and the council and some of the kingsguard-- at the docks, trying not to rock back and forth from heel to toe (too noticeably, anyways) as he waits for the arrival party to finish docking. If he keeps elbowing Stiles and goofing off and whispering to him a little, well, Derek hasn't told either of them to stop yet. So he figures it's fine for now. ]
What if I say something stupid, though? Like, is there anything that'd be rude to say to them?
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uvu
his father was promoted to head of the kingsguard and stiles? well, here he was, studying politics and getting into more, albeit less random and more appropriate, arguments with said king. he got along famously with prince scott, and was pretty much attached at his hip from the first day, but while dr. deaton focused on advising the young prince into taking the throne someday, stiles found himself interacting more and more with king derek hale.
they had to train scott, because the same thing had just happened to derek; the rest of the hale family had been wiped away in a vicious arson, leaving only derek and scott alive. but stiles didn't really think it was fair that the actual king didn't get that much concrete help.
so he tried. he tried his goddamn best to make sure that derek was making good decisions, talking him through arguments, doing anything and everything a good advisor was supposed to do. at the moment, that was dealing in a political alliance wanting to be arranged by the yukimura family from the east and trying to decide how to set it up.
he's lying flat on his back on derek's table when derek arrives, ten minutes early and holding what looks like a huge book over his head, flipping pages, brown eyes scanning the pages and occasionally grabbing a quill to make markings in the margins. this position of reading has mostly ended up with getting splotches of ink on his face, but at least he's focused. ]
Stiles pls.
The fire swept away much of their family. Cora has been missing for months now, Laura taken from them, his uncle unfit to rule and considered a traitor. Now, all he has left is Scott. He's not about to lose him, too.
Even if he's feeling strained, frustrated, some form of resentment building up in him. It's not towards Scott, never towards Scott, but he watches Deaton work with him and prime him to be the king in his stead and he can't help but let it form in the burnt out space of his chest. Though he might understand why the advisor does what he does, it's not as if he was ever prepared for this himself. Laura was going to become the ruler after their mother, but now the position has fallen to him.
And he has no idea what he's doing.
But while Deaton works with Scott-- and Scott gives him apologetic looks for it, sometimes-- Stiles has stepped forward. He doesn't know how this has happened, how they went from errant arguments to Stiles actually helping him, but he's not going to turn it away. They've got a rapport going now, some form of friendship that he's not sure how to actually label, and it just continues to grow as the days go by. He's excellent conversation, and is more than willing to play devil's advocate even when Derek is less than thrilled about the discussions. He keeps Derek anchored, and from straying off the path his mother would've wanted him to stay on.
He's also ridiculous. Raising an eyebrow as he comes into the room on silent feet, he watches as a bit of ink drips down onto the smooth skin of his cheek before he-- just as quietly-- closes the door behind him and comes over. He reaches out, swiping his thumb across his cheek to wipe the ink away. ]
\uwu/ you hired him
stiles really wishes he could make that as easy as it sounded, but you know, such is his life.
he's startled out of his thought, quill tip in his mouth, when suddenly, a hand reaches out and touches his face. stiles jerks and drops the quill, freezing and staring at derek with those big brown eyes. ] Your highness!
[ that comes out in a squawk, and a flush tracks across his cheeks where the ink used to be--stiles scrambles to a sitting position and refuses to admit to himself that the flush wasn't just from embarrassment at the king scaring the shit out of him. ] Oh--my god, jesus christ, you have got to start wearing a bell or something.
For some reason.
Sometimes, though, he thinks he can detect it in Stiles. He comes from a lesson with Deaton, and he can smell the ozone on him. It's slow progress, but it's still progress.
Snorting as Stiles startles, he rubs thumb and forefinger together idly to remove the ink from his skin. There's something... vaguely endearing about this, about when Stiles gets so distracted with his work. He tries not to assess it, and instead raises his eyebrows at his advisor-in-training. ]
Hello, Stiles. [ Using a foot, he nudges his chair back and calmly takes a seat at the table, hardly fazed by the fact he's still got a teenager perched on it. ] You wouldn't be the first to say that.
because he's capable ty
[ Now that he's super awkward as usual, Stiles taps both hands on the book. ] Soooo, the Yukimura alliance.
[ At least he has the good grace to look a tiny bit sympathetic. ]
Uhhuh.
Watching as Stiles gets comfortable, Derek reaches to loosen the collar of his shirt now that he's no longer expected to keep up appearances. There's just something about Stiles that lets him relax, for as much as he gets under his skin and drives him nuts and mortify him in front of the court on the rare occasion, and he can't help but slump down in his seat as he regards the papers and books spread across the worn mahogany.
He'd rather not deal with this.
Head rolling across his shoulder, he regards Stiles from under his brow before sighing noisily and reaching to open one of the drawers so that he can root through them. ] The Yukimura alliance. Have we heard back from their dignitary?
uwu*
Their King is hesitant about it. [ Because of what happened, but he doesn't really need to say that part out loud. ] The dignitary basically fed me and Dr. Deaton a lot of bullshit about how impressed they were with the kingdom but thought we didn't have a lot of ~growth potential~ [ Said so, so sarcastically, hands waving in a jazz motion ] and they need something to to solidify the entire alliance.
So a visit might be in order. [ And another sympathy wince. Sorry Derek. Visits mean dinners and hostings and politics and basically nothing that anyone wants to do, ever, but Stiles kind of has an idea....it just depends on what Scott'll do with it. ]
MORE SIGHS
If he's bothered by Stiles' behavior, he doesn't indicate it. ]
Don't have-- that's a crock of shit. [ A disgruntled rumble leaves him, but he sets the letter aside. ] We're in the middle of rebuilding, I don't know what the hell they're expecting.
[ But then he Stiles points out that they're likely slated for a visit, and he brings his hand up to rub at his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Dinners and hostings and meetings and his already scarce nights of sleep completely disappearing. ] Might as well.
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Werewolf. Whatever.
Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Stiles ponders over his last point, his idea. Derek is probably going to rip his throat out the minute he mentions it is. ] That is, unless...you, arrange a meeting of a different kind, if you know what I mean.
[ Wow, great start. ] He's got a daughter, yanno. Bout my age.
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Slowly lifting his head a little, he looks up over his hand at Stiles at the noise he makes, eyes slowly narrowing a little. For as underestimated as his intelligence is, it takes a moment for his words to click into place.
When they do, his eyes narrow further. ] About Scott's age.
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Derek's gonna kill him. Whoops. ] She's seventeen, a princess, rich and her dad's looking for a match for her. You know it'd work perfectly.
[ He's prepared to fight for this--he can see why it would bother Derek, when he was betrothed to a girl who passed away because she couldn't take the bite. The key is Kira is--she's human. At least as far as Stiles knows. ]
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He sweeps away the thoughts of ash and smoke for now, working his jaw a little. ] It would, if they actually meet and mesh.
[ Between Paige and Kate, he's been numbed to the idea of love being for him. Scott? Scott deserves love, deserves that happiness. And ever since things ended with Allison, he's been half-smiles when he thinks no one notices. So he mulls over it, an internal debate before he seems to give up, clear eyes flicking up to meet Stiles' bright amber. ] We send the invitation, but if it looks like it's not going to work in any way, shape, or form, it's called off and we think of another way to get the alliance as a Plan B.
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suddenly out of nowhere....
He couldn't sleep, sprawled out across his bed in the hallway across from the king and the prince's rooms. It's quiet over here, and it feels like the room is suffocating him with every breath he takes; Stiles wants to fidget and run and jump and do basically anything but sleep because there's this feeling in his gut that something's not right. And maybe he's oversensitive--maybe Deaton's magic training is starting to actually work--but he hears a noise from across the hall and springs out of bed in half a second, stumbling across the room in his pajama pants.
It's coming from Derek's room, and when he pushes the door open, he's not dying, but Stiles' heart stutters in his throat anyway, because that...that sounds like a nightmare. Stiles would know; his nightmares about his mom plagued him for years, to the point of where he'd thrash and whimper and scream in the night trying to tell her I'm sorry the only way his subconscious knew how.
He's across the room in half a second, hurrying to grab Derek's hands, any sort of protocol or pretense forgotten as he starts talking, hurriedly. ] Derek--Derek, hey, come on, it's just a dream, it's just a dream, wake up--
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After experiencing so much loss in his life, Derek's got plenty of fuel for the figurative fire-- and how wildly yet awfully appropriate that phrasing is-- survivor's guilt and blood on his hands and the knowledge that it'd all been his fault. Of course things never go right for him, it's as if the universe is trying to give him the punishment he feels he deserves for everything that's happened.
Thus, of course the king has nightmares. Quiet, mostly, until they strike the hardest.
Most nights it's flames and blood, his mind filling in where his memories fail, the strong smell of charred flesh and burning wood. It's hardly new to him, such a typical image that he should be used to it by this point. But it rips into the heart of him, his family dying before his very eyes, his first betrothed smiling and thanking him for ending her pain.
Tonight, it's different. One face that comes to him is familiar, showing itself occasionally-- Scott is the only remaining family he has, Cora still gone from the kingdom and god knows where, Peter a rogue and a traitor, and he's basically been his brother since the younger werewolf was born. But the second has only recently joined the ranks, and it just feels so real--
So when he jerks awake, to warm touch and bright eyes, red flashing in his own, he nearly jerks back. ] No.
[ Because, somehow, Stiles has entered those dark corners of his mind. ]
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He knows he has every reason to.
Derek's life hasn't been what some would call stellar, after all. And even though it's been years since the fire, the death of his sister is probably still fresh, and that's the kind of thing that Stiles thinks probably stays with you forever, the way sometimes he thinks he hears his mother's voice asking him why he killed her in the deep, dark of the night.
Stiles doesn't know how to comfort. But this--this he knows. His hands gentle a little, until the touch is more of a caress than a hold, and his eyebrows knit together, voice going a little softer. ] Hey--hey, big guy, it's a dream. It was just a dream.
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Whatever it is, he looks at Stiles for a long moment, pale eyes scanning his face as he takes him in. He registers the touch, the attempt to soothe, but it takes a little bit longer for him to really remember how to breathe properly. Waking from a nightmare makes him feel like he's drowning, can only pull in ash and soot and smoke, but eventually he lets out a shuddering breath and sits up a little more.
Bringing a hand up, he covers his face, rubs away sweat as he lets Stiles bring him back down. Just a dream-- Derek's life since he was fifteen has been a nightmare, and that has been his reality. It would be good if it all started to fade away like a dream after waking. ]
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Part of that is touching, at least a little bit, anchoring yourself to reality. Stiles' hand moves to rest on his shoulder instead, calloused skin on smooth muscle, and he offers a small smile, rubbing the spot. He's relieved--so, so relieved--but it's overwhelmed by concern for Derek at the moment, instead. ] Happens to the best of us. Even Scott gets nightmares.
[ It's a weak joke, but a joke nonetheless. ]
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A shaky exhale leaves him again, and he brings his hand away from his face to trace fingertips over Stiles' hand, following the top of his palm to his knuckles, overlapping his fingers and sitting there for a long moment in silence. The contact is appreciated, despite how frequently he shies away from any attempts typically made. There are some people that get away with it, obviously-- Scott and Stiles chief among them-- but most days he doesn't reciprocate the same as they would.
Most days he doesn't return the touch of hands. Bad memories go with that particular gesture. ]
He didn't used to have as many. [ Finally getting some control of himself again, he lifts his eyes to look at Stiles. ]
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Stiles returns his gaze though, steady, eyebrows knitted together in worry. Scott didn't stir, possibly from his room being so far from Derek's, but Stiles did. Maybe there's something important about that--maybe Stiles is becoming a true emissary, that he's so attuned to his alpha that he can hear him in any time of distress. It'll be a good thing when there's actual distress, if someone does try to kill him, and his stomach lurches a little nervously at the thought, heartbeat skipping.
He has to stay calm, though. Be the anchor he's always tried to be. ] I didn't either.
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And then Laura was taken from them, not that long ago. If only she could have survived. A piece of him, the one that used to look up to his sister, thinks that maybe she could've held it all together.
There's no denying that he can hear every shift in Stiles, the way his heart skips and his breathing stutters in response. He simply sits and watches him, senses so finely tuned that he could likely find his budding emissary clear across the castle-- perhaps clear across the surrounding castletown, even-- but here, in the quiet of the night? It's every single slightest thing.
He rubs his thumb, absently, against the line of his knuckles. ] I haven't had a good dream in a long time.
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Lifting his head up, Stiles finally turns his gaze away to look at the ceiling. It's a contemplative thing, as he ponders his own dreams, a series of nightmares where he killed everyone he loved in order to cause chaos. ] Me either.
I mean, the last time I thought I had an awesome dream, I got hired at a freakin castle. [ His mouth lifts up, a little lopsidedly, and he turns his gaze onto Derek again, brown eyes searching his face. ] So it's hard to top that.
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Still, it's not as if he's slept well for a solid decade.
A small hum is all he offers Stiles at first, but then Derek looks at him once more and regards him thoughtfully. Angling his head the slightest bit towards him as those giant, amber eyes watch him, he squeezes his fingers gently around Stiles'. ] You know, you were a nightmare for the longest time.
Now, not so much. [ You just have a place in them now. ] It's good that you came.
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If it meant he didn't have to see that red-eyed panic in his face one more time, Stiles'd never sleep again.
He's a little surprised with the affection, because Derek isn't exactly what you'd call a loving boss (well, he's lovably grumpy, usually. And an unmitigated asshole, but Stiles totally digs that, so it's fine.) and he can't help the warmth that squeezes around his chest as he ducks his gaze away. ]
I grow on people, it's what I do. Not everyone's Scott, but everyone comes around to his taste in people eventually. Even if they're jerks. [ His laugh is a little self deprecating, but not in a bad way. ]
Came now, or...? [ He probably already knows the answer. ]
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Though he should send Stiles back to bed, Derek takes one moment to be selfish. A king should never be selfish, should be impartial but understanding and giving where it's needed. But here, he's going to take something for himself, especially when it's something that he often times pushes away every time that it rears its head.
It's not something he wants to think about, even now. But it lingers.
His expression softens a little, and he keeps his gaze on Stiles even as he drops his own. ] Came to the castle. Came now. [ For a second, he goes silent, before quietly admitting more. ] Came any time that I needed you there.
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I'm supposed to be working rn but Blackboard won't load. So I guess it wants me to tag.
And finally a tag.
uwu
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sets thing down
Absolutely.
Stiles decided to tell him one afternoon about the Yukimura alliance, because apparently he was integral to it going well. He didn't explain all of the details, due to the fact that Derek made him promise not to, but what the young prince does know is the fact that the Yukimuras apparently have a daughter their age that he's supposed to meet and show around their kingdom. He's a little excited about that, at least, because he can do that. That's no problem.
But he also doesn't want to screw it up, because this alliance is integral to their kingdom rebuilding and recovering. The eastern kingdom has a lot to offer, but he heard Derek growling about how they'd said they didn't see a lot of growth potential and it'd even made him mad. How could they something about that when they were in the midst of tragedy still? It had taken a long time for Laura to even get things planned for reconstruction, and in her passing death and their uncle's betrayal it all sort of got put on the backburner until Derek could get his feet under him.
And now Deaton is training Scott as if his cousin, his older brother, were about to be killed as well. It's a lot for him to take in.
But he can do this. He can show the foreign princess around. For now, though, he stands with the rest of the court-- Derek and Deaton and Stiles and the council and some of the kingsguard-- at the docks, trying not to rock back and forth from heel to toe (too noticeably, anyways) as he waits for the arrival party to finish docking. If he keeps elbowing Stiles and goofing off and whispering to him a little, well, Derek hasn't told either of them to stop yet. So he figures it's fine for now. ]
What if I say something stupid, though? Like, is there anything that'd be rude to say to them?